Every keystroke is painful tonight.
Weekend activities overshadowed in the wake of an unexpected, albeit inevitable, event that took place less than 24 hours ago.
It was a dirty martini kind of evening. We were celebrating new, organic friendships, grown with mutual respect and untainted admiration. The company was welcomed. I haven’t felt the desire to explore new relationships in a while. Risking heart ache or stress to adventure into new situations hasn’t taken priority in my life lately. It’s safer to stay within the confines of the known. This is why I haven’t been dating. This is why I’ve known the majority of my friends for multiple years. Self-preservation was my goal, until this weekend.
While enjoying the company and discussing opportunities and ambitions, I was struck by an idea that involved someone from my past. I needed to call James.
Long story short?
While attempting to explain my motives, some information was provided that led him to the same site you’re staring at now. In less than an hour, James blew through every entry tagged to ‘his’ category on my blog.
I’ve kept this a secret since July. He knew I was writing but never asked for specifics. I didn’t hint at or wish for him to find it. This has been my safe haven. I dish every ounce of bitterness, every piece of heartbreak or frustration, and do so with no fear. At the end of his smile, or between his words and deafening absences, I come here to get it off my chest. Now, he’s privy to see it too.
He found me. He found my secrets. Today, I sit at home feeling as if I’m somewhere else, standing in front of him, naked, asking him to make some judgment. Yet instead of a response, critique, or judgment, I’ve been given apathy. Tell me that doesn’t hurt so I can tell you that you’ve never actually had someone who you care about act indifferent.
I can see him now. Sitting at home, reading this from his phone, rolling his eyes at the dramatic language I’m using.
Are you there, James? It’s me, Fina, telling you that I do truly hate the hold you have over me. I’ve tried to let it go. I’ve tried to move forward. And I’m going to keep going. But you rocked my world today when you told me that my words had already vanished from your memory and you weren’t mad that I’d written what I had. Maybe you should have told me I was crazy, or stupid, or dishonest. Maybe you could have told me that you thought my perspective was biased. I would have loved to hear your thoughts on my “I Win” post and questions, or been given a piece of your mind about what it’s like to be the guy who claims the piece of ass he’s been after for two years, only to walk away because you conquered me.
I want to shout these things. But I know it’s not worth it.
I’m not sure that he’ll ever return to my blog. And if he does, in all honesty, I don’t want to know what the fuck he thinks anymore. His inability to connect on any level today royally screwed up any later conversations we might have. I’m defensive. I’m pissed. And I want to scream that he’s a complete and total fuck. I want my lungs to hurt. Not my heart.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I know him well enough to know that he’s not going to come out and tell me everything he’s thinking. Shit, his thoughts are probably ever-changing. But at the same time, that sort of “oh well” mentality irks me more than anything. He probably had a few thoughts he didn’t share. And that’s fine…because I did too. But I also didn’t act like this didn’t bother me. Because that would be a lie.
Rewind to the part where I said that I was standing in front of him naked. I would rather him turn up his nose and tell me that I’m fat or gross or that he hates the tattoo on my lower back than say nothing at all. And that’s what I got. I don’t have to turn him on. I just want to turn him in some direction.
The kicker? My words, he said, had the same effect on him that they would if I told him that I threw away his bubble gum.
I’m chewed up, spit out, and left to wallow in the garbage that such a comment stirred in my soul.
This anger has been owned today. And I’ll abandon it tomorrow. But right now I’m pissed and hurt. And James is to blame. I knew, eventually, he would find out about my corner of the Internet. I just expected a reaction.
Part of me wonders if I’m writing this now to get him to react. But we all know that this is how I deal. I don’t shy away from pain or truth. A new pair of eyes being here isn’t going to change that. Ever.
How’s that for bold?
Oh yeah, he said he loved reading the comments after each post. Show him what’s up, friends. I’m sure you have thoughts you would like to share too.