It has been about a month since things with MM officially ended and well over a month since our last date. I'm doing a little better. I still miss MM but I've accepted that it is over. That doesn't mean I don't think about him and wish that I could talk to him.
I realized that MM was damaged goods when I met him and, until he gets over his past, he isn't going to be able to have a successful relationship with me or anyone else. He was right; he does need to be alone right now. I know that the whole "It's not you, it's me" excuse is usually just a line, but in MM's case it really was HIM. (For the record he didn't actually use that line.) I've gone over and over it in my head and even at the end he was still into me. Just not enough to be ready for a real relationship. (When he told me he didn't think we should see each other anymore because I wanted more than he could give me, he jokingly told me when we hung out he would just have to settle for undressing me with his eyes. Later when I was upset, he said that it was hard for him not to try to comfort me.) Like Violet said, sometimes the timing just isn't right. The realization that there was nothing I could have done differently was somewhat liberating. His rejection was not an insult to my awesomeness. It was just proof that, at least right now, he isn't worthy of me.
Last weekend I went out for dinner with the Accidental Date Guy. I'm fairly certain it was not a date this time; however, he did pay for my dinner. I have to admit that was kind of nice. I really enjoy the Accidental Date Guy's company. It really is unfortunate that he is leaving in a couple of weeks but at least this ensures that I won't accidentally date him again.
When the Accidental Date Guy called me and asked if I wanted to do dinner with some meetup people this week, I was happy to hear from him. The Accidental Date Guy and MM don't really know each other that well, so I was surprised to see MM there. This meeting wasn't nearly as awkward as the last. Actually, I was kind of happy to see him and catch up. I'm fairly certain that MM felt the same way and was relieved that I didn't give him the cold shoulder. I was a little worried that seeing him would result in a relapse, but after seeing him I felt more confident that I need to move on. I'm healing or at least I thought so.
Today I was looking at match.com again and a saw quite a few new guys with potential. I think the holiday season and new years resolutions tend to inspire people to be more proactive and/or get over their fear of online dating. It was enough for me to seriously consider joining again. I even edited my profile a little more in preparation. When I remembered that updating my profile automatically unhides it, I thought "well it wouldn't hurt to see if I get some interest before I pay for a membership." (You can see if someone winks at you or emails you. You just can't read the email or see who emailed you.) So I walked away from my computer feeling v. proud of myself.
When I returned I already had a wink and a message. Suddenly and completely unexpectedly, I felt utterly panicked. I immediately hid my profile before I elicited someone else's interest. I'm not sure I even understand why. Is it that I'm not ready to start dating or am I afraid to get hurt again? This is completely new to me. I've never had my heart broken before. Honestly, when things ended with other guys, I barely even cared. I can't even remember crying over the other guys. I'm realizing that even once I'm over MM, there are going to be some residual effects.
I guess this is the "baggage" I've heard so much about. (Gotta say, I could have done without it!) So here is my question for you, do I push past the fear and panic and brave the world of online dating once again (OK for the third time) or do I give myself more time to heal? Would it be a bad idea to try to date now when I'm not sure I'm going to be, as the DH put it, "emotionally available"?
Showing posts with label post break-up syndrome. Show all posts
Showing posts with label post break-up syndrome. Show all posts
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Mars and Venus and Serendipity
I'm fine. Really. While I appreciate the concern, I'm not tempted to jump off a bridge or even lock myself up in my room. I haven't even lost my appetite.
That doesn't mean that I didn't lay in bed this morning entertaining fantasies of the Dark Horse telling me how much he misses me, and me telling him that he had his chance, now get lost. That doesn't mean that I didn't spent my afternoon in comfy pants, a fuzzy alpeca sweater with fringe (not only does Fenella know what I'm talking about, she owns one too!), glasses on, eating nutella with a spoon while watching Love Actually. (Because, Colin Firth, all I want for Christmas is YOU!) That doesn't mean that I wasn't so distracted that I went for a run, not realizing until after I started running that I had forgotten to put a sports bra on. It turned into a walk. And the shower I took after that walk, was the first I had taken since before Friday night's Christmas party. But remember, I'm feeling sorry for myself this weekend. Tomorrow I'm scheduled to get over it.
I have thought about what the Dark Horse said, though. That part where he went on and on about how amazing and wonderful I am, but how that's not quite enough, and the bad-timing bullshit. And I've realized something. For men and women, the search for The One is a completely different process. For women, it's all about the person. You may not even be looking for someone, but when you find that someone, you change your plans. It's not every day someone so right walks into your life, so when it happens, you have to go with it.
Men are completely different. With men, it doesn't matter how awesome or wonderful or beautiful or funny you are. With men, it's all about the timing. When men decide It's Time and that they are ready for a serious relationship, they have one practically immediately. But if they're not looking, don't even bother. Because no degree of awesomeness will persuade them to change their mind.
This is something that I can't quite grasp. I don't want to live my life with Regret. I don't want to turn someone down over timing, then think to myself months later, "Damn, he was perfect. I really fucked that up." I mean, is there ever a good time to turn your life upside down? Screw timing.
This makes me think two things:
1. "Bad timing" is polite-talk for "I'm just not that into you."
2. Men are stupid.
3. All of the above.
It also makes me wonder how people ever find anyone. To find that someone at just the right time is pure serendipity. I thought that my meeting the Dark Horse at random times in random places was itself serendipitous. And even though it won't work out, it still was a bit of serendipity. Because I don't have any regrets. I'm glad he happened. We never had anything but fun. (Except for those two times he delivered crushing disapointment. Both while I wasn't wearing pants. This is a pattern I really need to break.) Hey, if I'm going to be a singleton, I may as well have some fun while I'm at it.
That doesn't mean that I didn't lay in bed this morning entertaining fantasies of the Dark Horse telling me how much he misses me, and me telling him that he had his chance, now get lost. That doesn't mean that I didn't spent my afternoon in comfy pants, a fuzzy alpeca sweater with fringe (not only does Fenella know what I'm talking about, she owns one too!), glasses on, eating nutella with a spoon while watching Love Actually. (Because, Colin Firth, all I want for Christmas is YOU!) That doesn't mean that I wasn't so distracted that I went for a run, not realizing until after I started running that I had forgotten to put a sports bra on. It turned into a walk. And the shower I took after that walk, was the first I had taken since before Friday night's Christmas party. But remember, I'm feeling sorry for myself this weekend. Tomorrow I'm scheduled to get over it.
I have thought about what the Dark Horse said, though. That part where he went on and on about how amazing and wonderful I am, but how that's not quite enough, and the bad-timing bullshit. And I've realized something. For men and women, the search for The One is a completely different process. For women, it's all about the person. You may not even be looking for someone, but when you find that someone, you change your plans. It's not every day someone so right walks into your life, so when it happens, you have to go with it.
Men are completely different. With men, it doesn't matter how awesome or wonderful or beautiful or funny you are. With men, it's all about the timing. When men decide It's Time and that they are ready for a serious relationship, they have one practically immediately. But if they're not looking, don't even bother. Because no degree of awesomeness will persuade them to change their mind.
This is something that I can't quite grasp. I don't want to live my life with Regret. I don't want to turn someone down over timing, then think to myself months later, "Damn, he was perfect. I really fucked that up." I mean, is there ever a good time to turn your life upside down? Screw timing.
This makes me think two things:
1. "Bad timing" is polite-talk for "I'm just not that into you."
2. Men are stupid.
3. All of the above.
It also makes me wonder how people ever find anyone. To find that someone at just the right time is pure serendipity. I thought that my meeting the Dark Horse at random times in random places was itself serendipitous. And even though it won't work out, it still was a bit of serendipity. Because I don't have any regrets. I'm glad he happened. We never had anything but fun. (Except for those two times he delivered crushing disapointment. Both while I wasn't wearing pants. This is a pattern I really need to break.) Hey, if I'm going to be a singleton, I may as well have some fun while I'm at it.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
The Rage
Another one from Fenella!
I found writing my first WWBD? blog entry quite therapeutic, so I thought that I would have another go. However, as well as the free therapy I'm also using this entry to ask for a little advice. Advice being, how long until THE RAGE dissipates?
Obviously in order to understand where THE RAGE is coming from, you need some background information. (Many apologies have to go to Violet who has heard this story many, many times!)
Last year, whilst living in Peru I met a guy from Scotland, we shall call him Fergus (‘The Highlander’ would've been a better option, but that name is already taken). Now on paper Fergus pretty much checked all the right boxes:
* He was older than me
* He was interested in world events / current affairs
* He seemed to have a good sense of humor
* He seemed like a non-psycho
He was slightly shorter than I would've liked, but he was a teensy bit taller than me, so I decided to let that one slide. Things started off amazingly well. In hindsight, maybe a little too well. I came back to Cusco after my traveling and moved in with him, and after four months we headed back to the UK together.
Living in Cusco, he seemed like such a confident guy with quite an important job. He spoke fluent Spanish (I didn't), he'd lived in Cusco for six years (I hadn't), so knew everything there was to know about it, and he simply seemed so much better than my ex-boyfriend who just didn't really care about my opinions or anything apart from going out with his friends and drinking. I honestly and truly and naively thought that this was the guy for me.
However, back in the UK my feeling quickly began to change. There are many, many reasons and events for this swift and dramatic change in my feelings, but rather than bore you with them, I will simply say that Fergus is an extremely arrogant person who thinks that his opinion is the only right one and that he is better than most other people. He is also very critical and once again, in hindsight, I realised that I became pretty subservient to him, something which I will never, ever again repeat.
To cut this long story short, we got back from six weeks in India (oh Violet, how I understand the awkwardness of being away with someone knowing that it’s over!) and I ended it. (Twenty minutes later we had to eat dinner with his parents, I keep telling myself that one day I’ll laugh about it…) In the immediate aftermath I was pretty upset about the whole thing, but then as the dust settled, the upset turned to a lava boiling, face reddening, steam coming out of my ears, rage.
THE RAGE can hit me at any point. I can be feeling pretty calm and serene about life and then I’ll hear on the news how the Rangers (his favorite soccer team, bar none) have won a game, and then THE RAGE takes over. In the aftermath of the break-up, I tried the whole still staying friends thing, big mistake! Every time I saw his name in my inbox THE RAGE took over. Reading his emails near resulted in me stabbing the monitor with a pair of scissors. In order to try and curb this aspect of THE RAGE I emailed him saying I needed space,(a cliché, but an oh so necessary cliché), so at least the emails have stopped. But sadly, THE RAGE hasn’t. And I really don’t think it’s healthy. I now detest most things Scottish; Bruce Springsteen and looking at my travel photos conjures up THE RAGE rather than happy memories. I’ve tried different tactics to lessen the power of THE RAGE. I now support Celtic, the aforementioned Rangers’ arch-rivals, so that when I hear Celtic have won a game, I am filled with a strange type of happiness. I revel in watching reality shows because he hated them, and reading chick-lit is even more enjoyable now knowing that he thinks it’s all trash.
But, unfortunately, THE RAGE is still there, bubbling away under the surface until something makes it explode again. It’s been about three months now, and I was really hoping that it would’ve gone away by now. It’s really not healthy and the bright red face I get when THE RAGE takes over really doesn’t suit me. I do think that having THE RAGE after a break-up is better than getting all teary-eyed over your ex, texting him drunkenly, and Facebook stalking him, but it’s still not pleasant.
I’m really not a crazy person. I’m just angry, mostly at myself, that I was so taken in by him when in reality, he’s got a horrible temper, he’s extremely possessive and as I have previously mentioned, he thinks he’s brilliant at everything. He’s not.
So the advice I’m asking for is this: How long until THE RAGE goes away? Does it ever go away completely or is it something I’ll always have to live with? Will I be 40 and THE RAGE takes over when I hear that Rangers have won the cup final? Or, most scarily, is THE RAGE simply not normal and I should go and register for anger management classes right now?
I await your advice, meanwhile, I’ve just seen that he’s updated his Facebook status with tales of his mountain climbing, so I’m away to hide the scissors…
I found writing my first WWBD? blog entry quite therapeutic, so I thought that I would have another go. However, as well as the free therapy I'm also using this entry to ask for a little advice. Advice being, how long until THE RAGE dissipates?
Obviously in order to understand where THE RAGE is coming from, you need some background information. (Many apologies have to go to Violet who has heard this story many, many times!)
Last year, whilst living in Peru I met a guy from Scotland, we shall call him Fergus (‘The Highlander’ would've been a better option, but that name is already taken). Now on paper Fergus pretty much checked all the right boxes:
* He was older than me
* He was interested in world events / current affairs
* He seemed to have a good sense of humor
* He seemed like a non-psycho
He was slightly shorter than I would've liked, but he was a teensy bit taller than me, so I decided to let that one slide. Things started off amazingly well. In hindsight, maybe a little too well. I came back to Cusco after my traveling and moved in with him, and after four months we headed back to the UK together.
Living in Cusco, he seemed like such a confident guy with quite an important job. He spoke fluent Spanish (I didn't), he'd lived in Cusco for six years (I hadn't), so knew everything there was to know about it, and he simply seemed so much better than my ex-boyfriend who just didn't really care about my opinions or anything apart from going out with his friends and drinking. I honestly and truly and naively thought that this was the guy for me.
However, back in the UK my feeling quickly began to change. There are many, many reasons and events for this swift and dramatic change in my feelings, but rather than bore you with them, I will simply say that Fergus is an extremely arrogant person who thinks that his opinion is the only right one and that he is better than most other people. He is also very critical and once again, in hindsight, I realised that I became pretty subservient to him, something which I will never, ever again repeat.
To cut this long story short, we got back from six weeks in India (oh Violet, how I understand the awkwardness of being away with someone knowing that it’s over!) and I ended it. (Twenty minutes later we had to eat dinner with his parents, I keep telling myself that one day I’ll laugh about it…) In the immediate aftermath I was pretty upset about the whole thing, but then as the dust settled, the upset turned to a lava boiling, face reddening, steam coming out of my ears, rage.
THE RAGE can hit me at any point. I can be feeling pretty calm and serene about life and then I’ll hear on the news how the Rangers (his favorite soccer team, bar none) have won a game, and then THE RAGE takes over. In the aftermath of the break-up, I tried the whole still staying friends thing, big mistake! Every time I saw his name in my inbox THE RAGE took over. Reading his emails near resulted in me stabbing the monitor with a pair of scissors. In order to try and curb this aspect of THE RAGE I emailed him saying I needed space,(a cliché, but an oh so necessary cliché), so at least the emails have stopped. But sadly, THE RAGE hasn’t. And I really don’t think it’s healthy. I now detest most things Scottish; Bruce Springsteen and looking at my travel photos conjures up THE RAGE rather than happy memories. I’ve tried different tactics to lessen the power of THE RAGE. I now support Celtic, the aforementioned Rangers’ arch-rivals, so that when I hear Celtic have won a game, I am filled with a strange type of happiness. I revel in watching reality shows because he hated them, and reading chick-lit is even more enjoyable now knowing that he thinks it’s all trash.
But, unfortunately, THE RAGE is still there, bubbling away under the surface until something makes it explode again. It’s been about three months now, and I was really hoping that it would’ve gone away by now. It’s really not healthy and the bright red face I get when THE RAGE takes over really doesn’t suit me. I do think that having THE RAGE after a break-up is better than getting all teary-eyed over your ex, texting him drunkenly, and Facebook stalking him, but it’s still not pleasant.
I’m really not a crazy person. I’m just angry, mostly at myself, that I was so taken in by him when in reality, he’s got a horrible temper, he’s extremely possessive and as I have previously mentioned, he thinks he’s brilliant at everything. He’s not.
So the advice I’m asking for is this: How long until THE RAGE goes away? Does it ever go away completely or is it something I’ll always have to live with? Will I be 40 and THE RAGE takes over when I hear that Rangers have won the cup final? Or, most scarily, is THE RAGE simply not normal and I should go and register for anger management classes right now?
I await your advice, meanwhile, I’ve just seen that he’s updated his Facebook status with tales of his mountain climbing, so I’m away to hide the scissors…
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Happy Birthday, Violet!
Sschluuuuurp!
Listen, it's the sounds of your ovaries drying up! It's the tick tock of your biological clock!
All joking aside, Vi, I hope you have a fantastic day. You may be regretting that you decided to end perfectly convenient relationship right before your special day. Stop it. Think not of how you don't have a man to spend this day with, but of how you don't have to fake a pleasant surprise when you open that awful gift. Think not of how you won't go on a romantic dinner date to celebrate your birth, but instead think of how unromantic/fun tailgating with a bunch of friends will be tonight. (Romance, blah!). Think not of how he won't sing to you during a bubble bath, but think of how the parents will sing "Happy Birthday" to you via skype (Bubblebath optional).
You maybe be older, but your wiser, more experienced (*wink) and still hot! Go have fun tonight! (Action, action, we love action!)
Listen, it's the sounds of your ovaries drying up! It's the tick tock of your biological clock!
All joking aside, Vi, I hope you have a fantastic day. You may be regretting that you decided to end perfectly convenient relationship right before your special day. Stop it. Think not of how you don't have a man to spend this day with, but of how you don't have to fake a pleasant surprise when you open that awful gift. Think not of how you won't go on a romantic dinner date to celebrate your birth, but instead think of how unromantic/fun tailgating with a bunch of friends will be tonight. (Romance, blah!). Think not of how he won't sing to you during a bubble bath, but think of how the parents will sing "Happy Birthday" to you via skype (Bubblebath optional).
You maybe be older, but your wiser, more experienced (*wink) and still hot! Go have fun tonight! (Action, action, we love action!)
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Post-Breakup syndrome
Upon returning to reality yesterday after my weekend away with the Highlander, I knew we had come to the end of our road. The cons were just adding up far too quickly. I thought things were settled on Sunday when I said "Maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore," but apparently he thought I was saying that out of anger, because when he came over on Tuesday to pick up his cat (who I was very sorry to see go), he told me he was "confused" about us. "What do you think?," he asked. "I don't think we should see each other anymore." That ended his confusion.
And after he left, I was rather quite jolly. Here I had managed to end a relationship that in all aspects was extremely convenient, and would have been easy to stay in, but for all the wrong reasons. We both managed to act like mature adults, going out with a hug and a goodbye kiss (0r two), and the promise that we would hang out again, and wouldn't let our differences stand in the way of the budding friendship between our cats.
But it wasn't long before the post-breakup syndrome set in. You know, that sudden realization that you have no idea where your next kiss or cuddle is coming from. Or realizing that you are a mere 10 days away from your next birthday and are once again 100% single. (Why, oh why couldn't I have held out for the birthday?! No. That would have been immoral and wrong.) And finally, that sinking feeling that you really and truly haven't made any plans for the weekend yet. Because let's face it: when you're single, you have to work to fill up your evenings. If you don't put forth some serious effort, you will end up spending night after night watching Grey's Anatomy with your cat. (And that's only acceptable on Thursdays.)
My PBS was not helped by the fact that High sent me a sappy text or two about how sad he was. Call me crazy, but I see a break-up hookup in our future. But for now, I shook off the sappy texts and emailed my girls that I was now 100% single and needed some help in filling up my calendar. (This is why it helps not to ignore those girls while The Boy is still around. I pride myself in NEVER doing that.) They'll come through for me. They always do.
And after he left, I was rather quite jolly. Here I had managed to end a relationship that in all aspects was extremely convenient, and would have been easy to stay in, but for all the wrong reasons. We both managed to act like mature adults, going out with a hug and a goodbye kiss (0r two), and the promise that we would hang out again, and wouldn't let our differences stand in the way of the budding friendship between our cats.
But it wasn't long before the post-breakup syndrome set in. You know, that sudden realization that you have no idea where your next kiss or cuddle is coming from. Or realizing that you are a mere 10 days away from your next birthday and are once again 100% single. (Why, oh why couldn't I have held out for the birthday?! No. That would have been immoral and wrong.) And finally, that sinking feeling that you really and truly haven't made any plans for the weekend yet. Because let's face it: when you're single, you have to work to fill up your evenings. If you don't put forth some serious effort, you will end up spending night after night watching Grey's Anatomy with your cat. (And that's only acceptable on Thursdays.)
My PBS was not helped by the fact that High sent me a sappy text or two about how sad he was. Call me crazy, but I see a break-up hookup in our future. But for now, I shook off the sappy texts and emailed my girls that I was now 100% single and needed some help in filling up my calendar. (This is why it helps not to ignore those girls while The Boy is still around. I pride myself in NEVER doing that.) They'll come through for me. They always do.
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