This is not so anonymous, because I'm letting you all know right now, I'm a woman.
So many stories women tell friends, co-workers, dental hygenists--sometimes random strangers in an extra-long and slow grocery queue--begin with, "So, there's this guy..."
I have one of those stories that I have been telling, retelling, and updating for the last 5 years. The guy? A friend I met 7 or more years ago--we met briefly, exchanged information, and kept an estranged correspondence over MySpace before Facebook was accessible for us. (Note: This is silly, childish, but it's what we did.) We would find each other about twice a year and send messages like, "Wow, it's been so long, how are you doing?" (As high-schoolers, we really weren't doing much.)
The summer after my first year of college, I was stewing in guilt over my first boyfriend and my subsequent dumping of said boyfriend. In my impressionable youth, I viewed myself as an evil man-eater, cruel bitch who dangled a guy on a string and then beat him into the ground. (He cried the night we broke up, and if nothing else, I felt like shit for making a boy cry.) What I didn't realize, of course, was that the breakup was such a small issue, and honestly, the only way our relationship could have gone, anyway. And of course I know now that a first boyfriend who happens in the first part of a life transition like college is more likely to be temporary.
But I digress.
That summer, I hated myself for hurting a nice guy. So when Mr Myspace Friend confessesd his affections for me late one night (online! The cheesiness of it all is so cringingly adorable!), I was of course unprepared and unbelievably gun-shy. I felt like such an adult when I told him things like "I just got out of a really serious relatiosnhip" (it wasn't) and "I can't date you, I'll break your heart--I'm a bad person" (really unfair to myself, but my emotions clouded reasonable thinking).
He was a bit hurt, what with the rejection, but he recovered, and I was relieved that he didn't hate me. And so we stayed in a little closer touch, but only by means of more annoying MySpace messages, and long and pointless MSN conversations late at night. Stupid, but hey, it's evolving adolescence--it's the experience that allows you to learn.
But then I went crazy.
Mid-way through my sophomore year of college, I recognized that I hated feeling alone in my singleness, and I wanted some guy to be my affectionate, doting boyfriend. Of course, my thoughts settled on the only other guy I knew who'd at least somewhat recently had feelings for me--Mr Myspace Friend, whom I'll now call This Guy (as in, "There's this guy..."). I started messaging him more often, added him to Facebook and pestered him there, trying to nudge my way in. I thought that if I could become his friend in a more immediate way, then I'd have a chance to remind him how much he wanted me. (Note: I told you this was crazy. I didn't lie.)
So for the rest of college, I chased him, however distantly. I sent silly messages around the holidays, saying things like, "Happy Easter--wish my vacation was longer so I could see you!", and spending huge amounts of cellphone minutes in conversation with him.
The thing was, I felt like shit. When we talked, I felt silly, immature, inexperienced, unaware--and I hated myself for it. Somehow, I'd gotten this idea that he was perfect, and that I was a complete fuck-up, and that I had to convince him in tandem that I was a complete loser, but that he should also be in love with me. He was unaware of the depth of this psychosis, but I'm sure he sensed my intentions somewhere along the way. Regardless of his awareness, he played along--answered my messages, took my phone calls, gave backhanded compliments to counter my self-depricating rants. (He was being more mature by doing that, and I respect that.)
My craziness didn't stop there.
I let my imagination take over in a very dangerous and very ridiculous way. I built and played out scenarios in my head: I'd buy a plane ticket, have him meet me in the airport, and confess my feelings for This Guy--what I was sure of at this point was love--and then we'd kiss, a la Braff and Portman at the end of "Garden State." Or, I'd drive to his house (8 hours and 2 states away), stand at his doorstep, confess my love, and then we'd kiss. Shit like that--cute but crazy, like me.
I must now admit that I was still maintaining those ideas until a few weeks ago. I kept chasing, in blind desperation. Somewhere I'd convinced myself that I was incapable of loving anyone but This Guy, and that if I didn't tell him that I loved him, I'd never have closure. This past Christmastime, I made plans to buy and gift to him a vintage album that I knew he'd like--never mind that it costed 80 dollars, plus an extra 30 to ship from New Zealand. I had written out a cryptic message--"This is for you. You know why"--and was going to put it inside the album sleeve...Really smarmy movie-type shit, right?
Thank goodness for an Internet time-out error. My PayPal request couldn't be processed, so I didn't get the album in time, and I figured it could wait until April--his birthday.
Flash-forward to a few weeks ago. I was sitting in my car after work one evening, about to go into the house, just wasting a minute checking Facebook updates. There was This Guy's status update: In a Relationship.
I burst into tears and cried for one minute. (The fact that a crummy 90s love-whine ballad was weeping on the radio only encouraged it.)
For the next minute, I swore at myself, hating all the time and thought I wasted on him, when clearly, he didn't love me. I felt deeply, deeply stupid.
And then I felt fine. I said aloud, "Well, that ends that. Okay." I turned off the car, wiped the moisture from my face, gathered my stuff, and went into the house as though nothing out of the usual had happened.
And honestly, that was it. I am so amazed that it was so easy to let go, when I was so sure that the dream of being with This Guy was the only thing I'd ever have to cling to.
Now, I'm relieved. It feels so good to stop the crazed running. I'm done chasing This Guy.
And thank jeezus I didn't do any/some/all of the things I'd planned to do--most of them involved spending large amounts of money (rare expensive gifts, weekend plane tickets, miles worth of gasoline).
I know that there are books and movies that insist to women, "Get it in your head! He's just not that into you!" But I had to learn this in my own way, and I'm glad I did. The experience has taught me, and I get it. And it's sort of a fun story to tell, in its way.
But, yes. As of a few Wednesdays ago, I'm done chasing This Guy. And it feels infinitely better than any airport kiss would have. :)
