Okay, so May 2018. Almost one year of no contact with the skidmark who led me on for so long, just over two years since I first met him. I had just returned from a lovely trip to Southern Turkey, paid in full by the municipality of Mersin so I could attend the annual Global Summit of the World Disability Union. I’d spent the week not only listening to fascinating presentations on accessibility in schools and tourism, but strolling among palm trees and luscious roses, honeysuckle and hibiscus. I spent hours reading in the shade of a cabana with my toes peeking out to warm in the soft clean sand of the Mediterranean and enjoyed swimming amongst the clear, azure waves; collecting seashells and gaping in awe at the fiery pink sunsets. 

I was happy. Blissful, even. And yet I wasn’t. As soon as I became cognizant of how much I was enjoying myself, then suddenly I was more depressed than I had been in months. How could I be happy when I’d been tortured and rejected, when no-one had ever truly loved me? Does a watched pot ever boil?

Coming home, by pure chance I was on Twitter and encountered a meme-style image with text explaining that victims of “narcissistic abuse” need to remind themselves that it was not their fault, listing examples of narcissistic behaviour. This resonated hugely with me but I was distracted and didn’t think much further about it for another month. 

Around this time I decided to try harder to discover if there was a way for me to access therapy for free, because I’m low income and can’t afford it, and because I realized I wasn’t really healing from everything that happened even though it had been a long(ish) time since. I hooked up with a women’s shelter that interviewed me and agreed that what I’d been through was a lot of trauma and they would try to help.

Soon after that I went to New York for a few days in early June, to attend the CRPD/COSP and that was another fantastic experience. I stayed in Bushwick and took the subway into Manhattan every day, strolled through Central Park and saw the Statute of Liberty from the Staten Island ferry. A lot if it was very stressful, but that got me to start meditating again (after stopping altogether for the better part of a year).

When I returned from New York, I happened upon another post about narcissistic abuse and shortly thereafter had a “lightbulb moment” realizing that what I went through fit the pattern exactly, that the pain I felt was real; not in my head and not my fault. Purposefully designed to make me feel worthless and crazy. 

Around this time I also stopped doing the premium Snapchat thing because even though I’d made a few thousand in a few months, it was getting increasingly harder to find new customers and since I was only charging a one time fee, it wasn’t worth the trouble to sift through hundreds of losers who refused to pay and only wanted free samples just to find one or two who’d subscribe. An average of four hours per $60 doesn’t work out to much more than minimum wage and that’s not counting the time it took to actually make the videos.

It wasn’t long before I got assigned a trauma counsellor, though so far it hasn’t helped that much. Talking about it and trying activities to reframe negative thoughts doesn’t really help me stop feeling like no-one is ever going to love me or give me practical tools to avoid getting hurt again in the future.

In mid-June, having come to the realization that I really did experience abuse, I was frustrated at not being able to do anything about it; being unable to prevent it from happening to anyone else. Also feeling upset because I wanted to live in New Westminster and didn’t want to be scared away from where I wanted to be by that bastard, but also didn’t want to risk running into him more than necessary. So I contacted the police to ask about getting a restraining order. Turns out I could have easily gotten one, because the determining factor is fear, not whether a crime has technically been committed or not – but they only last a year and would have to be renewed annually forever. I did end up making an “information only” report (including his fantasizing about murdering strangers and collecting weapons, as well as the emotional abuse) so that if he ever does commit a legit crime or if someone else ever wants to get a protection order against him, it won’t just be their word against his, there will be proof of a pattern of behaviour.

Right around this time, at the end of June, I went on a first date with someone new. I had been about to delete tinder and give up on trying to find a match when he messaged me. On the very first date we had dinner at my favorite restaurant and after he came to the meditation centre I go to. 

On the second date, we went to Crescent beach in White Rock. It was overcast and too windy and rocky to want to swim so we strolled along the coast towards what was supposed to be a nude section of the beach. Before long we ended up canoodling on a big flat rock and he ate me out as it began gently raining on us. Being naked in the rain was truly magical, but since then I’ve looked back on that memory with a tainted perspective – because I didn’t consent and said I wasn’t ready.

Third date we talked for a few hours and then fooled around on a big log at the edge of a public park, another novel experience, having sexual contact surrounded by nature and birdsong…But also one I did not consent to and wasn’t at all comfortable with because it was too soon and I wasn’t really attracted to the guy yet because I didn’t know him yet.

For the first few weeks I would get long texts every day and then things changed. On the day of the Pride parade in Vancouver (August 5th) something happened with his ex attacking us and then he became super distant – he explained that it was depression and I understand what that’s like better than most, but still felt neglected.

The ex lives with him. He told me this on our first date, being very upfront about the situation… They broke up years ago but she’s got OCD and her mom doesn’t believe OCD is a real thing so she begged him to let her move in with him. I’m not sure how long ago she moved in or how long that was after they broke up but at least a few years as he’s dated other girls since they broke up and she’s dated other guys. 

We agreed to meet her somewhere neutral (a restaurant of her choosing) after pride, as a courtesy before me going to spend the night at his place and she blew up at him for no reason. She called him a dick and told him to fuck off because we went straight to the restaurant she suggested (the Storm Crow) instead of magically knowing she wanted to meet in a park first and go together. She apologized the next day – but only said “sorry for my part” when there were no other parts but hers and made excuses for why she did it (I truly do understand high anxiety but that’s no excuse) and he accepted that, even though she threatened to cut her wrists over me and gave him an ultimatum that letting me sleep over at his place where she stayed rent free would mean he’d be forcing her to be homeless. Super fucked up. Obviously I never slept over at his place and wasn’t even allowed to visit.

That evening on the way home, we stopped to chat because he was clearly very upset. He told me about his last ex before me and how he’d told her he loved her only three months in and she dumped him and he was crushed. He worried that he wasn’t good enough. As we were sitting there and I was comforting him he was hugging me and a man walking by stopped and pointed at us and said “now that’s love, that’s real love. He loves you you know, you should love him back” and once the man had walked on, he confessed that that word scared him a lot because of being rejected by his ex after saying it.

Anyway after that he became more distant and barely texted me one single sentence every 24 hours and then there was nothing for over 86 hours and I was ready to end things. We were slated to meet up and he cancelled on me but it came after the weirdest thing happened… 

Just as I was leaving my trauma counselling appointment headed to the library in Newton, some guy pulled up to me and asked me for directions to the Newton exchange, which was really strange since it was right there and I pointed and said so and he replied “I know,” so I assumed he just didn’t know how to get there via the road so I told him where to drive and turn and that it would then be on his left side and he couldn’t miss it and then I started to walk away but I’d only taken one step when he said “hang on come here for a second” which was also really weird so I took a step back and said “what is it?” And he said “look at me” and I looked at his face and he said “no, look at me” and jerked his head down towards his crotch and his penis was out and he was masturbating and ejaculating. Disgusted I said “ew fuck off” and turned to walk away and he drove off in the opposite direction. I felt hysterical like I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of something like that happening for real but at the same time I felt all cringey and violated and wanted to cry… 

A couple of minutes later I realized I should have gotten his license plate and felt like a loser for not doing so. Continued on to the library and worked on a book I’d been given by my counselor (which is why I had been headed to the library, plus to use the restroom) and when I was done half an hour later I ended up just sitting there staring at nothing for another two full hours, feeling numb. Around this point I realized that even if I didn’t get the license plate number I could still make a report to the police in case it happens to someone else they’ll have a record of multiple offences. Dude had a big mole on his right cheek, very identifiable, but he was in a classic windowless white pedo van (construction van) which is less identifiable. The cop got mad at me for not having called 911 immediately and I told him that I’m autistic (most phone calls are difficult and painful for most autistic people) and regardless I was in shock and he responded to say “if you’re autistic you must be pretty high functioning” and I kind of snapped at him and explained that there’s no such thing as high functioning and that functioning labels hurt all autistics and that I’d given speeches on this to major newspapers and at the United Nations, all blurted out very fast and then I felt foolish for having responded with such irritation to a cop (I’m a white woman, aware of my privilege there, but cops still misinterpret autistic behaviour as hostile and there’s a high risk of maltreatment because of that). Then I started crying and said I didn’t understand why this was having such a strong effect on me since I’d been more directly assaulted many times before and thought maybe it was because it was broad daylight in the middle of what I’d thought was a safe area. At the end of my statement he asked for a business card to learn more about autism and then when he called back later to tell me the case number he ended with “have a better day” which was really nice to say because I’ve had lots of really bad days where people say “have a good day” and it’s too late it’s already ruined, so using the word better really made it sound more sensitive while still being positive. After I left the station I felt very numb again. Kind of hungry but also feeling like I’d puke if I ate anything (eventually drank some water and even that almost came back up). My stomach was in knots and I didn’t know what to do or where to go. Felt like if I went home I’d never leave the house again not even for yoga and meditation the next day. 

The evening before that, Sunday night, I had broken down and called the guy who hadn’t replied to my text for four days and asked if he was okay and if he got the text. He replied back five hours later to thank me for reaching out and said he was feeling like he wanted to shut the world off but not actually suicidal and asked if I’d be free the next evening. The following morning I said yes to meeting him that evening. While I was in the police station I received a text from him that said he’d stayed up really late and was exhausted and didn’t feel up to it and could I do tomorrow instead. Because he should’ve known that I had meditation the following day and that I was really upset already from being ghosted for over 86 hours and we needed to talk and I felt like I was being stood up, I felt like just telling him to forget it via text and going home and never speaking to him again. But I was still in shock from the violation that had just happened so I couldn’t make my fingers type the words or even make my brain come up with a sentence so instead I called him and managed to get out what had happened. He offered to come out and I said that I didn’t want him to come just out of pity and we talked a bit more and then he offered again so I said yes and he came to meet me right away. 

We walked a bit and got water and then he took me to the neighborhood where he grew up and we sat by the creek he used to play by as a boy and we talked for hours. We talked about assault and abuse and abusive relationships and depression and autistic burnout (which is what had been happening to him with the not responding and I hadn’t recognized it until he described what he was feeling more and then I knew what it was) and we talked about cheating and monogamy and fear of intimacy and all sorts of things like that. At the end we said we both wanted to be exclusive and not date anyone else but still go slow and not put a label on anything yet (which was almost worse than not being exclusive).

During that chat he also confessed that he had felt like a punching bag being with that ex (the one mooching off of his kindness by living with him) and admitted that he cheated on her, a one night stand after years of being pushed around by her. I don’t think it counted as a red flag, since he volunteered it with zero prompting and seemed really guilty about it even after so long and with the context of her prolonged abuse. 

A week later he stood me up again, cancelling just half an hour before we were supposed to meet. I had just been to a funeral and had been looking forward to something positive after to cheer me up. I told him I was hurt and he apologized. I wrote a big letter but held off on sending it (I told him I wrote it and he said he wanted to read it but was still afraid it would push him away – also we talked about most of what I wrote in it soonafter so there was not much of a point anymore – at least not without rewriting most of it). That was Sunday and we met briefly for lunch on Tuesday. The following Friday we took the ferry to Vancouver Island together for the tattoo convention, though he only stayed one night because he had to work the next day.

.We got to the tattoo convention late at 9pm (it ended at 11) because we napped first and spent a hour looking for a restaurant to have dinner beforehand and we did a quick round looking at everything and lo and behold just as we were leaving, guess who we walked by? I saw the narcissist, recognised him and looked past him not making eye contact or acknowledging the shitstain and he did the same, looking angry and sad as usual. He was all alone (though he could have come with someone, he was alone at the time we crossed paths) and I’m very very grateful for that. I think he had his whole second arm tattooed since the last time I saw him almost two years ago but I wasn’t looking closely. I really didn’t want to run into him again, it was incredibly painful and brought back old memories and I never wanna have to think about that monster again.

It was painful to see him because it brought back all the darkest moments of rejection and self-hatred but it’s a good reminder of how much better off I am now. 

The guy left the next morning after I gave him a massage with special oil I’d bought and went back to the mainland to work and my mom came over on the ferry to join me for the remaining two nights of the long weekend. 

I went back to the tattoo convention Saturday night and the narcissist was there again, saw me again — it felt magnetic, the way my gaze was drawn to him (though I broke it and looked away immediately and left ASAP) and it felt like he was pulled to look at me just the same — he went into one of the booths (I think his girlfriend was either getting tattooed or was one of the artists, not sure, didn’t look too close & trying not to care – guess he wasn’t alone the other day)… It was still only 9 so I wanted to go sit in a cafe or restaurant or something to unwind before running away back to the airbnb but my mom was not very supportive and got into an argument with me because she was impatient and insensitive and didn’t understand how I was feeling… Or maybe just didn’t care. I think she was extra crabby because she didn’t have any cigarettes or cocaine for hours, on top of being the kind of person who’s terrible at showing sympathy anyway.

I texted the guy who had come to the island with me that I had seen the narcissist again. He replied to say his phone was dying and he’d respond in full when he had more time, said he missed me too, included an emoji heart… And then I didn’t hear from him for four more days. 

On Sunday I was too anxious to go back to the tattoo convention, so my mom and I explored Sidney, finding a handful of amazing antique bookshops, collecting sea glass and having lunch in a cafe. On Monday we went into Victoria one more time to see the Bug Zoo before heading back home. Monday night I texted the guy again, and sent him some pictures from our sightseeing but no response. A few more days went by and I became somewhat furious that he didn’t give enough of a shit about me to even send a short text to let me know he wasn’t completely abandoning me when I needed support most (because of being thrown into flashbacks). 

On Thursday evening I decided to send him the letter from before, and altered it. I titled the email “Second Chances, Three Strikes, Four Horsemen” and here it is:

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Second Chances, Three Strikes, Four Horsemen

Alright well last I heard from you, you said “I will reply in full when I have the time!” & “I miss you too.” But by this point it seems neither were true. 

It’s been over 100 hours since then and you have apparently chosen not to spare even one minute out of six thousand to send a brief text. Four words like “I’m not ignoring you” would’ve been enough to reassure me and I could have remained patient. 

There honestly is no reason on this earth that I can discern to justify such a prolonged and absolute silence – especially when you said you wouldn’t let it go beyond 72 hours again, when you know it hurts me, and when I’m both emotionally vulnerable and very physically sick. Basically you disappeared when I needed you most. 

I know you’re not in a great place yourself, but I cannot even begin to fathom why you would send me a text saying you’d reply more later and that you missed me too only to ghost me entirely for more than four days again.

When your phone broke you not only called me from your work landline immediately but emailed me twice within a few hours to make sure I knew the reason for your absence. Before pride we used to text a lot more than one short sentence per day. Maybe you were putting on a facade to reel me in and then decided I’m not worth the effort, maybe you legitimately fell into a deep depression because of what happened after the parade… 

But I’m becoming convinced that you can’t possibly give a shit about how much you’ve hurt me or it wouldn’t have gone on this long. I’d like very much to be swayed from that conviction but I can’t do that without some help from you… I’ve been suicidal and withdrawn myself, in fact I’m feeling that way right now, but that doesn’t excuse behaviour that leads someone else into the same state.

If you decided you never want to see me again, why lead me on before vanishing without a word? After I confessed how a lack of closure was the worst thing I’d ever been subjected to? That’s not merely careless, it’s definitively cruel. Maybe it was truly unintentional, but also inarguably detrimental. 

In that letter I wrote but never sent I said I love you; that I understand and want to fight the depression together to make things work. And I do. I love you just as you are. I said I’d be happy to just wallow with you and we could crawl into bed and be sad together… It’s rather clear now though that you likely don’t feel the same at all. 

If any part of you would like to rectify that impression, please agree to meet with me and explain what you’ve been going through. 

I’ve included the letter below. And I’ve refrained from censoring my negative feelings in this intro to it because repressing them is not healthy nor conducive to working through or preventing them in the future. 

I’d rather not end things with you. I’d rather discuss what’s been going on inside both of us honestly and in detail and find a way for us to support eachother. If you’re not interested in that at all (which is unfortunately how it seems at present) then at least I tried my best to be strong, kind, open and fair. If you don’t want to try the same then I will pity you and move on, but if you do want to try, I will be as patient and grateful as I know how.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Frog,

I feel bad for being honest earlier about being hurt because I don’t want to hurt you or make you feel bad for feeling bad. 

It feels like a lose-lose situation.

I want to protect my own needs but I don’t want to blame you at all. 

If you felt obliged to come out just for me (like you did on Monday) I’d feel like a worthless piece of shit (again) and being cancelled on also makes me feel the same way; unwanted and like an annoying burden. That’s my own insecurity at work, I just want you to know that it’s there under the surface.

We had a great talk on Monday and after you said you were glad you’d come, but I still felt guilty for dragging you out when you didn’t want to see me, just because I had some bad luck.

I’ve felt this way my whole life and it’s not your fault. I wanna be very clear that I’m not upset with you at all.

Meeting you and getting to know you has made me feel like someone finally wanted me but since Pride I’ve felt like I’m being rejected in little increments: purposefully pushed away so I have to be the one to end things. I don’t think that’s true, and you’ve good reason to be thrown back into depression and burnout and to withdraw, but logic can’t stop me from feeling that way. 

I need regular reassurance that you do want me in your life – I’m sorry, that’s not really fair to ask (and it’s my past and my fault for being insecure, not yours) but it’s what I need.

You work on Monday, presumably also on Wednesday and Thursday, I have meditation on Tuesday so I don’t see there being a chance to have any real conversations before Victoria and we would need to discuss the transit to get there (10 or 11am ferry? Where do we meet? Etc) and now I’m afraid that I’m gonna get another cancellation right before departure and be left to go alone feeling abandoned… And even mentioning this fear means I’d never be able to be sure that actually going together was something that was mutually desired or just done out of pity. Nevermind that I’m doubly afraid that saying something will turn it into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

To be clear, I still really wanna go and I’m looking forward to spending time with you FAR more than the convention itself. 

Things can only last between us if we make time to listen to what’s going on inside. I don’t want to end it before it’s really begun.

But it has begun. I already love you.

That’s a big scary word that maybe should be breached in person first, but I figure it’s most likely to send you running for the hills, so maybe it’s better to say it from a distance like this. 

Because it already hurts to think you’ll never feel the same.

Either it’s best to avoid getting hurt further, or you do want me too – and that’s worth fighting for. 

I don’t want you to let me go for my own good, either, I want you to think I’m worth the effort to keep around. Because I think you’re worth the effort.

You are kind and handsome and brilliant. Maybe you’re out of my league even. But if you want me, and you want to work on this with me, I think we could be good for eachother.

Depression is a dragon; an immortal foe of mythic proportions.

And not just that, it’s a disease and it’s contagious. 

Not hearing from you for those four days, I spent three of them crying. Being cancelled on last minute — last Monday I was already crying because I was leaving the police station but I cried a lot harder when I read your text and today I cried at the funeral after listening to Tarsem aunty wailing at the loss of her best friend but the tears began anew when I found out I wasn’t going to get to see you.

When my mom is depressed and lays in bed all day and doesn’t do anything it makes me want to do the same. I don’t think she was affected the same way when I was wallowing and sleeping all day like that, so maybe it’s just me and I’m susceptible to absorbing the emotions of those I care about. 

It’s like, for me, when I was in the worst of my depression, I kept going to yoga twice a week because I made a commitment to do so. Because I don’t want to disappoint anyone. And I know she’s depressed too, and I know she only comes out because she feels obligated to do the class for me… But it works for both of us. Almost every morning for over a year I felt depressed and didn’t wanna get out of bed… A few times it was bad enough that I’d cancel and have said I’m not feeling well enough to go and then I just ended up laying in bed all day, sleeping and crying and feeling sorry for myself… When I fight it and drag my ass out of bed I feel even more like shit for the first hour or two and can barely force myself to get dressed in my shabbiest pyjamas and brush my teeth and hair (I have often gone more than a week without showering, brushing my teeth or hair, many times I’ve gone four days without eating; I get what you’re feeling, as much as anyone who’s not you can) but then when I do go, I feel better. Always. I feel energized and less depressed after making myself go out and do something. And yet every time I still feel like I’m too sad and tired to go and wish I could cancel, even though I know it’ll make me feel better there’s still a part of me that fights it… but I can’t do that to my friend (at least not often) even though I know she’s feeling exactly the same and then we both always feel better for having made ourselves go for the sake of the other.

I kinda felt like you might have felt the same way about coming to see me, where you felt too depressed to do it but then did it for me and it ended up being a benefit to you and you felt happier after. But maybe I’m wrong about that and everything else. I’m often very wrong about a lot of things.

I need to be important enough to wanna get out of bed for. The desire to fight for eachother has to be mutual. 

Please work with me, side by side, to defeat this terrible monster together. Please tell me that what we have isn’t all in my head and that the connection is strong enough to weather any storm.

Obviously once in a while the Dragon is gonna win; it’s an ongoing war, not just one uphill battle and you’re done. Sometimes that fog is too thick to traverse and I really do understand that, I promise. It’s only a problem if it’s gonna be a consistently predominant pattern; I’m not strong enough to fight that alone, I need your help. 

If and when you don’t wanna go out I will always be happy to just wallow with you; we don’t have to do anything, all I need is your company to feel better. Either I can come get in bed with you and we’ll be sad together or I can make you tea and listen to you vent and give you a massage. I would love that. You don’t have to put on a mask to make me happy, I won’t leave just because you’re not perfect. I’m broken, too. All I want is for you to let me in.

Rumi says “you have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.”

And maybe we should be looking at places together, as you suggested a while back, to get both of us out of our living situations that are negatively impacting us so we can be happier together and have space away from the things and people in our lives who we can’t or don’t want to cut ties with but whose close proximity is feeding the Dragon.

Getting a text from you usually makes me smile wide and brightens my whole day and I feel so much happier when I hear from you or see you than I do without you in my life. I can only hope you feel the same about getting messages from me or seeing me.

Just because I feel in my heart like I’m a worthless loser that doesn’t mean my mind is ignorant of the fact that I still deserve someone who thinks I’m worthy… Someone who is excited to wish me good morning and good night every day, someone who wants to hold me and taste me and share interests with me and maybe even pick flowers for me. Someone who I can cook for and sing to, whose mind and body I can stimulate and satisfy effortlessly and enthusiastically. I think everyone deserves that, so we must too, even if we don’t always think that highly of ourselves.

I think you’re worth fighting for. I’ve already said I love you. Just as you are, flaws and favourable features all together in a beautiful blend that makes you who you are; a wonderful man.

You’re worth fighting for and I love you just as you are.

I dunno what to do or say. I feel like I’ve already said too much before even starting this long letter and I feel like I need to justify what I’ve already said by explaining my feelings further and I feel like I should just shut up because nothing I say or do matters because I’m a piece of shit and no-one will ever want me or be happy being with me. Even if I know that’s not completely true, it sure feels like it. Like I’m not good enough and I’m too needy.

I want to change that though by working with a partner to lift eachother up and support eachother in the dark times and I really hope you want to be that person, because I want to be that person for you.

Neither of us can do it alone and there’s nothing wrong with that. 

Hope is a curse but I can’t help it. I want you body and soul and I want you to want me back the same way.

Love,

Alanna 

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P.S. please take your time to process what I’ve written, as I did not send it in haste. If you are available on Monday that may be a good time to rendezvous and commiserate in person. I also have a few small trinkets I picked up on the island for you (one for your mother) and regardless of what happens I should like to give those to you. 

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I tried to call him to let him know that I’d sent the email but there was no answer and no room left on his voicemail so I sent an accompanying text:

“Well I tried to call you but there’s no room to leave a message. If you don’t hate me already for some undisclosed reason, you may well do after the email I just sent to you. Please read it and let me know if you’d be willing to talk to me; even if you don’t care at all about me, at the very least for the basic human decency of allowing some semblance of closure.”

The next day at noon, I awoke to the following text messages:

“I’m glad you got to see lots of stuff in Victoria before you had to leave. I’m sorry that one  of those stuffs was Him again. I know that would have been very upsetting, especially if you lacked support of your mother. Did you end up getting any ink after I returned home?

 I have been not doing very well. I have barely been eating or getting out of bed. I’ve been getting a lot anxiety at the thought of messaging you recently… The longer I leave it, the more anxious I feel.  

Our time together was lovely, but it didn’t bring me any closer to you. I feel like maybe we are not as compatible as we first thought. I no longer feel the desire to push past my comfort zones and to integrate you into my daily life.  I do not wish to continue under the pretenses of being that one romantic partner in eachothers lives.  I feel uninspired and anxious and I don’t think that’s a healthy foundation for any sort of partnership.  I can honestly say that I am not ready for a relationship right now. I don’t know if I ever will be at this rate. I really do like you a lot and I care about you. I hope that we can continue to be friends.

I know that this message will not do anything for your aforementioned sadness but I feel it’s better than silence. I wish to continue to give you the honesty and respect that you deserve, even in the face of unhappiness.”

“I had been sitting on this message since yesterday refining and obsessing and worrying about the implications and how it would be received.”

“It was never my intention to hurt you the way that I have but I recognize the consequences of my actions and I want to tell you that I am so very sorry.”

No I don’t hate you. Yes I still want to talk

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I cried for a bit at being rejected yet again, but the thing is, I kinda felt like I was settling for him. I liked him a lot but there wasn’t really enough of a spark to call it passion. I loved him as a fellow human being, and I still do, but that’s not the same as being in love with someone.

We got along well and shared interests and he was relatively attractive but my own slight hesitation was a sign that it wasn’t quite right. I’m not really that sad so I guess it’s for the best.

I responded to him, at first wanting to understand more why he felt the way he did but ultimately decided there was no point in talking. We could not “remain” friends because we never were in the first place and he knows damn-well how I feel about the concept of friendship in general after being friendzoned by that narcissist and regardless of either of those things, who would ever want to be friends with someone who dumped them and thought they weren’t good enough to be worth fighting for? 

Apparently I’m going to have to meet with him to explain this again though. And that’s where I am now. I redownloaded all my dating apps right away because I’m almost 28 and have still never been in a relationship, have never been anyone’s girlfriend and I don’t have any time to waste catching up; life is endless, but it’s also short… Part of me is happier alone, having space and peace. I’d make a decent ascetic I think…. But I’ve never really been loved by another human being and that feels like my only desire left on this material plane is to be wanted by someone, so I don’t think I can give up looking for that quite yet.

This guy who just dumped me unceremoniously over text mentioned before that two of his past girlfriends had called him their “Dark Prince” and “Goth Prince” and he objected strongly to the adjectives (though maybe not the title itself) but in the end he was far closer to coward than King. And if I want to find my regal equal, whether white Knight or Red Queen… Well, as the saying goes, “you’ve gotta kiss a lot of frogs.”