“I know you, more than you think I do.”
I’ve been casually talking to someone that I met over the internet; I’m okay with having met someone over the internet; I’m even okay with the fact that I started to like him after three months. After fourteen months of not really liking anyone or giving anyone the time of day, I was beginning to accept that maybe, just maybe, now would be the best time for me to move on and invest my time elsewhere.
I even liked that idea.
Saying “I miss you” and “I can’t wait to see you” became comfortable and hearing “You’re amazing” and “I miss you” was becoming acceptable to my barely-beating heart.
Until Friday, when I wake up at 2:30 a.m. to a text, which is the first sign that I’m probably wasting my time, anyway. It goes from him not having talked to me for two days to how much he “knows” me to him being terrified by my amazing daughter to him giving up everything because he doesn’t want a relationship. So I simply say, “Okay, if that’s how you feel, don’t text me at 2 a.m. anymore and please don’t pretend to be interested. Bye.” I’m pretty good at staying guarded, so he never really got that close.
Saturday comes and I think that I should call him to try to figure out what he was thinking, instead of just giving up and walking away like I’m so used to doing. So I’m thinking about calling him when I get a text—actually, I got three texts. It went something like, “Deal, I don’t want a relationship, I’m not ready for this—something something something—Bye,” so I simply said, “Okay, bye.”
Of course, after something like that happens, it makes you question the past three months and what was true and what wasn’t. When someone says, “I know you,” you wonder exactly how well they know you. Of course, in my case, I knew it wasn’t that well—because if he knew me, he would know that I’m fragile, that I’m different, and if he really knew me, he wouldn’t be able to give up and walk away that easily.
I thought about it a lot on Saturday. I wasn’t sad or hurt; I wasn’t numb—I could feel, but it wasn’t that important. It didn’t stop me or cause me to watch sad movies; it didn’t decrease my energy level or put me in a bad mood. I just continued my day. It felt good to know that he is the one who is missing out, not me.
Saturday evening I put my daughter in bed and laid down. He sent me a text—“I’m not ready for a relationship, I’m sorry.” He explained what he had been thinking and that he is afraid. I simply told him, “If we don’t fit, that’s okay—that’s a decision that you have to make and if it’s that easy to give up, then you don’t really deserve to have me.”
I’ve learned a lot of lessons from him, the biggest one being that you’re never ready for a relationship. You never plan it and it isn’t something that you can control—you have to let it happen, and if you can’t do that, it’s better to just walk away.