Thank You For Not Killing Me

So, P just ended things.


Despite my previous entry, things had turned around. P was more himself, or at least like the guy who I had first started communicating with.

This was definitely out of nowhere (to me, perhaps naïvely) and a genuine punch to the gut.

I am Ralph here

I now feel like I have to stop myself from looking for subtle clues of disinterest in our texts and examining myself for what I did or didn’t do. What was said or not said.1

Can I stop myself? I have many questions, none of which I will ask because I don’t want to be the person who asks for truths or a critique they don’t really want to hear. Questions that two dates and three weeks of conversation don’t merit asking. Plus they all wrap around my self-consciousness like a vise.

I also am tempted to make a list akin to “well, here’s why you were wrong for me anyway.” It will compete with the list that my anxiety created in terms of space and length (added to that list – You shouldn’t have told him about your surgery and how you’re a freak who can’t eat anything. And you’re such a dumbass for making him cookies for his birthday and blurting out word vomit that amounted to a bunch of excuses). Ha — perhaps this was all confirming what I was anxious about. I am fucking annoying!

Now, I realize this happens. I don’t have to have and will not have chemistry with everyone. I just didn’t anticipate it now. And that hurts. And I suppose I should be grateful that he let me know now rather than after our third (or later) date. He was obviously nice about it.

My last text to him has been: “I guess thank you for not killing me now that you no longer find me interesting.”

I’m going to cry a bit now. It is at times like these I wish I could gorge myself on cookies and ice cream to soothe my emotions.

Thank god for therapy on Monday.


1. I had removed my website URL from my Instagram profile because I didn’t want to be found and my stuff read (especially in light of my juggling at the time; I didn’t exactly portray myself to P as someone who had options because, let’s face it, my options are a recent development). I have since put the link back. In the event P reads this and identifies himself — though I don’t think he will make such an investment — I suppose he can read this and either feel satisfied that he avoided my brand of crazy or lament that he let me get away. Whatever.

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