Part of me wonders if it would be worthwhile to conduct a small scientific experiment to truly determine if what I hypothesize is correct: writing about a guy on this blog is the grim reaper of happiness. I mention how great things are going, and BAM. Things explode. Shit hits fans EVERYWHERE. And then explodes into smaller shits which hit smaller fans and then somewhere, someone is screaming "Nooo!" while a camera pans out to satellites in space where the sound is ricocheting off and back down to earth, where it will probably disrupt my television long enough to make me miss 20 minutes of The Kardashians and remember that this blog RUINED EVERYTHING.
Or something like that.
I'm not saying it's the blog's fault, specifically. At least not this time around. (Frankly it's probably Facebook's fault. I mean, if we're going to blame anything on the internet I figure starting there is usually a good idea.) But it is pretty ironic that the most recent post on here was about how great things were going with Mr. CYOA, and that said post has sat staring at me for the past few days while I tried to figure out how to tell you that in fact, things are now far from great. And more like completely over.
Basically, some things happened over the past week that showed me that he just isn't ready to commit to me the way I already feel committed to him. He doesn't want to claim me the way I want to claim him. He doesn't want to be claimed. And while the idea of dating and a boyfriend in general don't really blow my dress up right now -- frankly, the idea just stresses me out -- I very much wanted to be with him.
But I did it. I pulled the trigger, or bit the bullet, or some other firearm-related metaphor for doing something that involves catharsis and release, but backlash, too.
In a very real way, I feel like I've lost my best friend. There hasn't been much of anyone for the past several months of my life who's gotten more of my time or my investment or my care. But the way I figure, if I kept going on the way we were, knowing that he wasn't quite ready for this or that and just waiting and hoping that he would be eventually, we would've come to a point eventually where absolutely irreparable damage had been done. And while damage has most certainly been done at this very point right here, what I think (and earnestly hope) is that by stopping things, by giving myself some time to try to reinvent this relationship in my head, we will be able to be friends.
And I guess I can't really stop you from leaving a comment and lecturing me about how you tried that once and so did your friends Susie and Jimmy and Dickface and it never worked for any of them, and platonic relationships are like the abominable snowman, blah, blah, blah. But the way I see it, I had a few options: a.) I could keep going: periods of intense happiness with my best friend and someone I thought I was building something with, punctuated by deep frustration and anxiety that I was doing something wrong, that he might not ever want to commit to me the way I do him and risk eventually feeling so hurt and so upset that the concept of friendship would be laughable; b.) I could cut it off now, give myself some time to try to compartmentalize some feelings, redefine my relationship with him and try to come back to the surface of all of it as friends; or c.) I could just give up, right now, completely. And C was never really an option for me.
Unfortunately none of option B is particularly easy, either. On Thursday, at a particularly standard Mollie's night (read: absolutely, unbelievably RIDONKULOUS), I did a mystery shot and had way too much to drink and sent just a host of overly maudlin text messages that would've probably pushed anyone away, commitment-phobia or not.
I don't really know where we're going to come out on the other end of this, but my heart won't let me give up. What I worry is that, even when I think I've kind of figured out how to handle all of this, being with him will always make me wish things were different. Or wonder if he is now different somehow. Or imagine scenarios where he realizes that we're completely right for each other and then something involving sunsets and dolphins and maybe a big budget explosion of fireworks.
And then I wonder if I can really handle that. We'll see.
We have a trip to New York planned for October, to go to a music conference together. I remember thinking when we booked the tickets that maybe by then we'd actually be at that point. Actually be in an R word. It feels silly now, but I guess not as silly as the other idea that pops into my head where we lay low for the next month or so and then realize we can't live without each other in some tall building with a killer view of the Manhattan skyline.
My brain is the most ridiculous place, y'all. But I guess I need to be there for a little bit to sort this out. I asked him to give me a week, which feels like a completely unreasonable amount of time, but I guess we'll see where we are then. Something tells me I'm going to be telling myself that a lot for the next while.
We'll see.
cheers,
elizabeth
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