At least I don’t have to hate him. Well, not MUCH.

Of course. I’d finally shaken the pheasants out of my brain, taken a shower, sang along with some songs about hating men. Feeling OK, and… saw the message he’d sent this morning on Facebook:

“You’re a great person, but it seems like we’re looking for different things right now. I had a great time and wish you well too. As far as I’m concerned there’s no reason to avoid each other in the future, but I will respect your message and also keep an eye on guests lists [at mutual friends’ parties].”

It’d gotten tangled in the “fuckfaces you deleted/unknown messenger matrix, but was still sent this morning, meaning he just let me dangle last night.

Aaand because I will never learn, my reply:

“I feel like you’re saying the thing you’re supposed to say, but if it’s true, I’d like to know what you think I want that you don’t. Either way, I’m glad you said something. I had, perhaps mistakenly, thought we were at least KINDA friends, so I hated thinking you’d just bailed. That was really the only reason I had any issue seeing you in the future.”

If this conversation ends up dragging on all day, I’ll just recap it later. But I really am glad he said something. It means my instincts weren’t SO bad. And that I don’t have to hate him…much.

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Oh, cool, my trust issues got reinforced!

Because I have no impulse control, I sent a Facebook message that he saw an hour ago and didn’t answer, so… I guess that’s my answer. (Ahem…I may have also sent a follow-up. Also seen and unanswered.)

So I’m not being used for sex, but I DO trust people too easily and I AM a shit judge of character. Couldn’t even assemble the balls to be like, “Yeah, we’re done”?

Fine.

(For the record, I was right — hurts a little, but I know it’ll pass.)

A watched iPhone never beeps with a text that saves your faith in humanity.

Having given this some thought, and having STILL not heard from this guy…

I had sex with a person I liked, and who, at the time, I honestly thought liked me. Not LOVED me, not falling for me, but like…we could be friends.

THEN he started fading away. We haven’t had sex since.

So, that’s not this guy keeping me around to get his dick wet, not any reason for me to feel slutty. That’s a relationship that started, was fine for a few weeks, then…ended? I guess? It’d be SUPER great to be sure of that. I don’t think I’ll be convinced until we get to the weekend and he’s still radio silent. (We had tentative plans.)

I WILL actually be hurt if he just ghosted. Not BADLY, but I slept with him because I thought we were at least THAT cool. Like, hey, I swallowed your semen — show some goddamn respect.

But I can handle “ghosting;” I’ve been on the other side of that. Nice person, fine in bed, but just not for me, but I’m a little bitch who can’t just say that, hence the fadeaway.*

That helps.

*For the record, though, it DOES feel shitty and I’ve tried to learn to be a goddamn grownup and tell people. It sucks, but it’s not THAT bad. Tell people. Don’t be a dick.

The Girls’ Guide to Emotional Fort Building

Ah, yes. A key decision in any “relationship” — do I end it now while I’m pretty sure I can handle it, or let it ride until it crashes and burns in the most damaging possible way?

Pfft. JK, it’s not actually a question. Y’all know I’ll suffer for a good story — let’s dance, Feelings!

Kidding. The beauty of having played the He’s Just Not That Into You home game for 2 years a while back is that I can see it easily now. Plus ending the 10-year relationship right before THAT… I mean, it can’t hurt TOO much if this one ends. “We’re done? Oh, OK, cool. I’ll have more time to clean.”

But it turns out the “slut shame” doesn’t come from the sex. It comes from sex being all there is — from me not being feelings-worthy for whatever reason, from being kept around solely for my ability to wet a dick.

I’m not built for that. I don’t need Edward Lewis, but I damn sure ain’t settlin’ for Stuckey. 

I acknowledge the possibility that I’m hormonal and misinterpreting, but I think I’m right. If I can’t tell that you, um, like me, or want to spend time with me, that is legit insane-making for my membranes.

I deleted (not blocked) his number, and, with it, my ability to text him anything belligerent and cunty. He’s still free to contact me, though, so we’ll see what happens.

Hm… Though I guess I probably should’ve seen what happened before I spent the weekend getting myself over this based on these assumptions… Oops. Ah, well. Call it preventive care.