I’ve always been curious about what makes people tick. And what makes me tick. I’m a huge fan of self-reflection and also getting to the meat of the matter. So it should come as no shock that I couldn’t just let the shit go with Flea Market Guy. I know I said yesterday was the last blog because I was moving on. And when I wrote it, I definitely was. And then the day wore on. And as is my nature, I just kept getting more and more pissed off. Maybe it’s Mercury in retrograde. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment. Either way, I just needed some closure. I wanted a reason why he was acting like a shit. I wanted him to tell me what was wrong with me or to just tell me to fuck off. But I wanted….something.
So after rehearsals (for a show I’ll tell you all about soon), I called him. He didn’t answer. (I perused through our POF messages that I had saved, you know, because I thought he was going to be the last person I ever dated, and found his number that I had deleted from my phone). Then I text him. “I’m coming over. We need to talk.” No response. And then I called him again because I wasn’t really going to just pop up over there just in case he had another woman there. I mean, I’m cool with hurt feelings, but I was already pondering which gas can to buy, so I didn’t need to add any more fuel to that fire, if you get what I’m saying (haha, yea, I do think I’m funny).
Anyway, he answered the second time I called. I told him I was on my way. He said “great.” But not like, “great, can’t wait to see you.” More like, “great, more shit I don’t want to deal with in my life.” But I was so mad, and only worked about my feelings that I didn’t care. Like I said, I just wanted closure. Or to burn his apartment to the ground (which would also be a form of closure).
I know I shouldn’t let people get to me so much. I try to be a hardass, but I guess I’m just too soft, and emotional.
I wanted to go in guns blazing. But when I saw him, I just couldn’t. Because he was hurting and that made me hurt for him. Another character flaw I possess. But I did get a chance to say my piece eventually. And he got a chance to apologize. And when I left, I felt a lot better. Way less arson-ish. Not even homicidal at all. I felt peace. Which is what I was looking for all along. Because I’m no good when my soul is restless.
So, I realized something tonight. A few things actually.
- I worry about people too much. Even when they have hurt me, I worry that they might not be fine. I worry that everybody else has it worse than me.
- I feel like it’s my job to be the light in someone else’s world sometimes and turn off my own pain when someone else’s is clearly worse than my own.
- It feels better to forgive than it does to plan a murder.
- Sometimes people just need a friend.
- As much as I like to say I’m cold and dead inside, I feel everything. Maybe more than most.
- Sometimes, I throw away my better judgment even when I know it’s safe to assume it’s going to bite me in the ass.
- I’m a really good friend. And in a jam, I prefer to be a friend vs a lover.
- I don’t know if I know the difference between being selfish and self-preservation. I just know sometimes one makes me feel selfish and I don’t like feeling selfish.
- When someone apologizes, accept it. Especially if they are sincere.
- Most people don’t know how to help themselves, so you can’t expect them to be able to tell you how you can help them.
So without going into things because part of this story is not mine to tell, when I left Flea Market Guy’s house (after acting semi-batshit-crazy and not taking him up on his offer to let me smash some of his plates or to punch him in the face), I told him that even though he pissed me off, broke my heart, hurt my feelings, whatever, I still felt compelled to be in his life and/or to have him in mine. I told him that I was by no means trying to force myself into it if he didn’t want me in it and I told him that I was turning off the “romantic feelings” part of things which I could have done a lot earlier if he would have just been honest (insert a thousand eye rolls here for his dishonesty). And like I just said, maybe all of this will bite me in the ass later. Maybe I know better. Maybe I already know how this story ends. Maybe I don’t care because sometimes, people just need one understanding person in their life when everything seems to be going to shit. Someone who can accept them, flaws and all. And they need someone who they can dip out on for weeks on end who isn’t going to give them the third degree when they come back from the dark side. And I’m really good at being that person. And I’m lucky enough to have a pretty large handful of those kinds of people in my life. And I count myself among the elite few who can say that because it’s really a blessing to have.
So, yeah, I’m not ready to get rid of him altogether (or proceed with any of the 50 ways to get away with murder that I’ve been researching (for a book, of course)). And maybe I’m stupid, and if you think I am, just go ahead and keep it to yourself, because we all do stupid shit (repeatedly). But I firmly believe that everybody needs somebody. A good somebody. And I’m as good a somebody as anybody.
So we hugged. And left things in basically a, “if you need me, I’m around, but I’m not going to be hounding you for your time, attention or love” kind of way.
So, yes, it’s still over. No, things aren’t going to go back to the way they were (I did learn that lesson). Yes, I have a lot more clarity. No, it didn’t really have anything to do with me or anything that I did. Yes, I’m still super bummed that I won’t be spending my life with him.
Sometimes broken people just break other people and they don’t mean to do it. Sometimes they don’t even know they did it until it’s too late.
So we got the talk out of the way. Unfortunately for him, it was less like a friendly chat and more like a terroristic therapy session. Me, holding a gun to his head yelling, “tell me what I want to hear.” Except there wasn’t a real gun. Just the look in my eyes that said, “if you don’t answer all my questions honestly this time, I will erase you in more ways than one.”
I think maybe I can be scary at times. Or maybe he just wanted to get the lunatic out of his apartment and he knew the best way to do that was by telling me what I wanted to know, which was not what I wanted to hear, but at least it was the truth.