I started writing this a few weeks ago, immediately after the fact. But I couldn't finish it, and I'm glad that I couldn't, because it would have been a mess. Now that I've had a little bit of time, I think I can strike the right balance between seeing this for what it is, yet another weird dating disaster story, and writing like a true woman scorned (which I'm really not, it was far too short a disaster for me to feel really bitter.) In case you haven't already guessed, this will be the last chapter in the incredibly brief novella that was my fling with Mr. A. I'll write this down, and then I'll let it go, with any luck.
After the first date, things progressed quickly. Time passed in a haze of ice cream dates, manic butterflies in my stomach, and finally, FINALLY, a physical connection. It seemed to be travelling well. He seemed to like me too. He remembered things that I liked, he arranged a thoughtful, amazing date that tapped into aspects of my personality that he appeared to have identified. I was smitten. And, in spite of the little Voice that is always with me telling me that I can never hold down a relationship and that this was bound to fail, I felt confident. I ignored that voice, telling myself that I needed to stop being so pessimistic. I listened to my friends, who told me that everything sounded so positive, and that they had good feelings about it all.
I had to go home to Sydney for a rather significant birthday that my darling little sister was celebrating, and I had let him know that I would be free early in the week after my return. He suggested a drink, and I gladly agreed. The little voice was somewhat quelled.
I arrived back in the afternoon before the planned drinks date, and ran around my house like an absolute mad thing, tidying everything up because it was pretty likely he would come home with me (as usual), unpacking my suitcase, and making myself look gorgeous (I'm pretty sure I succeeded in this last one, I got eyed off by a very handsome man on my way in to get dumped. I should have blown off Mr. A and struck up a conversation with that guy instead).
I got to the bar and he was already there. He didn't notice me walking up, he was reading (swoon), so I sat right by him, kissed him and was generally very enthusiastic about seeing him (mainly because I was really excited to see him). I went to grab a drink and then we had a conversation about our respective weekends. He suggested we go to get dinner and I readily agreed. We walked around the city, trying to find a restaurant, he held my hand, put his arm around me, acted just like he always did (pessimistic voice completely gone, new happy voice shouting at old voice telling it to disappear forever). We had dinner, chatted, he asked about personal family things, I held back slightly (still wary of over-sharing), but answered as honestly as I could without getting all dark on everything.
After dinner we went to a nice little quintessential Melbourne bar. I was completely relaxed, as you can imagine, everything seemed to be as it always was.Then he dropped the bomb. 'I'm really sorry, I can't do this anymore.'
I thought that I had misheard. He had, after all, been holding my hand and acting perfectly normal. We'd just had a dinner date for fuck's sake!
'I'm sorry, what?'
'I can't do this anymore, see you, I mean.'
I went from being comfortably sprawled in my chair to sitting straight up, hands on knees, almost rocking slightly. Why? WHY? WHY?
He offered a few excuses, intimacy issues, an instinct that it was wrong, the fact that he felt we were at cross-purposes (this one really threw me, I'd never really thought about my purpose in this. Sure, I had thought that maybe he might eventually be my boyfriend, but I had accepted it was early days, and hadn't made any plans. I'm not sure what his purposes were, but whatever they were, my undefined ones were at odds with them.) He told me that he didn't dislike me, that he found me 'oddly interesting,' and that due to his intimacy issues and his inability to hold down a relationship beyond three months, I could console myself with the fact that it probably wasn't me.
I told him that this was a shit situation, as I liked him, and had done so for a long time. I might have also mentioned the fact that I felt that this was a little unfair, and that whilst I acknowledged that there was some awkwardness between us, thought this was a by product of the fact that we were both kind of awkward people, and had expected that it would pass as time went by.
I left after this and walked in absolute shock to the best friend's place, where I cried. I cried for half an hour in absolute rage. I was in the midst of a self-blaming attack, what had I done wrong, why couldn't I keep men, what is WRONG with me? The best friend tried her best to comfort me.
My self-blame passed, and then I was filled with rage. An overwhelming, hateful rage. How dare he! He broke up with me! Then I just felt sad and crabby for a week.
I guess the overwhelming feeling I'm left with, a few weeks on, is disappointment. Disappointment that things didn't work out, because I did really like him and genuinely enjoyed his company. Disappointment that he didn't just take my alternative offer of friendship at the outset. Because I never acted in a way that was anything other than how I am. He knew the kind of person I was before diving in, and I feel like if he had doubts about our compatability even then (which I imagine he did), he should have just indicated that he would rather be friends. And I would have been fine with that. This wasn't a great love, akin to the way I felt about The Writer. The crush would have passed, and we would have been able to get along quite well in a platonic way, in my opinion. But now, he's fucked that, because I don't want to be friends with someone who could behave in the absolutely appalling way he did. I'm also disappointed in myself, for once again picking the wrong guy. But I'm not going to beat myself up over it, one of these days I have to get something right, the odds are kind of in my favour, surely I'm very close to having used up all my bad luck. And it would be much worse if I wasn't open to giving people a chance, because I might miss out on some awesome opportunities.
So, the point of this post was to close off this shitty little chapter of my much bigger, happier story, but also to offer the following advice to people who want to end a relationship in the very early stages. Don't do the following things on the night you plan to dump someone:
Instead, do the following things:
At some serious cross-purposes,
B. J. Barnes
After the first date, things progressed quickly. Time passed in a haze of ice cream dates, manic butterflies in my stomach, and finally, FINALLY, a physical connection. It seemed to be travelling well. He seemed to like me too. He remembered things that I liked, he arranged a thoughtful, amazing date that tapped into aspects of my personality that he appeared to have identified. I was smitten. And, in spite of the little Voice that is always with me telling me that I can never hold down a relationship and that this was bound to fail, I felt confident. I ignored that voice, telling myself that I needed to stop being so pessimistic. I listened to my friends, who told me that everything sounded so positive, and that they had good feelings about it all.
I had to go home to Sydney for a rather significant birthday that my darling little sister was celebrating, and I had let him know that I would be free early in the week after my return. He suggested a drink, and I gladly agreed. The little voice was somewhat quelled.
I arrived back in the afternoon before the planned drinks date, and ran around my house like an absolute mad thing, tidying everything up because it was pretty likely he would come home with me (as usual), unpacking my suitcase, and making myself look gorgeous (I'm pretty sure I succeeded in this last one, I got eyed off by a very handsome man on my way in to get dumped. I should have blown off Mr. A and struck up a conversation with that guy instead).
I got to the bar and he was already there. He didn't notice me walking up, he was reading (swoon), so I sat right by him, kissed him and was generally very enthusiastic about seeing him (mainly because I was really excited to see him). I went to grab a drink and then we had a conversation about our respective weekends. He suggested we go to get dinner and I readily agreed. We walked around the city, trying to find a restaurant, he held my hand, put his arm around me, acted just like he always did (pessimistic voice completely gone, new happy voice shouting at old voice telling it to disappear forever). We had dinner, chatted, he asked about personal family things, I held back slightly (still wary of over-sharing), but answered as honestly as I could without getting all dark on everything.
After dinner we went to a nice little quintessential Melbourne bar. I was completely relaxed, as you can imagine, everything seemed to be as it always was.Then he dropped the bomb. 'I'm really sorry, I can't do this anymore.'
I thought that I had misheard. He had, after all, been holding my hand and acting perfectly normal. We'd just had a dinner date for fuck's sake!
'I'm sorry, what?'
'I can't do this anymore, see you, I mean.'
I went from being comfortably sprawled in my chair to sitting straight up, hands on knees, almost rocking slightly. Why? WHY? WHY?
He offered a few excuses, intimacy issues, an instinct that it was wrong, the fact that he felt we were at cross-purposes (this one really threw me, I'd never really thought about my purpose in this. Sure, I had thought that maybe he might eventually be my boyfriend, but I had accepted it was early days, and hadn't made any plans. I'm not sure what his purposes were, but whatever they were, my undefined ones were at odds with them.) He told me that he didn't dislike me, that he found me 'oddly interesting,' and that due to his intimacy issues and his inability to hold down a relationship beyond three months, I could console myself with the fact that it probably wasn't me.
I told him that this was a shit situation, as I liked him, and had done so for a long time. I might have also mentioned the fact that I felt that this was a little unfair, and that whilst I acknowledged that there was some awkwardness between us, thought this was a by product of the fact that we were both kind of awkward people, and had expected that it would pass as time went by.
I left after this and walked in absolute shock to the best friend's place, where I cried. I cried for half an hour in absolute rage. I was in the midst of a self-blaming attack, what had I done wrong, why couldn't I keep men, what is WRONG with me? The best friend tried her best to comfort me.
My self-blame passed, and then I was filled with rage. An overwhelming, hateful rage. How dare he! He broke up with me! Then I just felt sad and crabby for a week.
I guess the overwhelming feeling I'm left with, a few weeks on, is disappointment. Disappointment that things didn't work out, because I did really like him and genuinely enjoyed his company. Disappointment that he didn't just take my alternative offer of friendship at the outset. Because I never acted in a way that was anything other than how I am. He knew the kind of person I was before diving in, and I feel like if he had doubts about our compatability even then (which I imagine he did), he should have just indicated that he would rather be friends. And I would have been fine with that. This wasn't a great love, akin to the way I felt about The Writer. The crush would have passed, and we would have been able to get along quite well in a platonic way, in my opinion. But now, he's fucked that, because I don't want to be friends with someone who could behave in the absolutely appalling way he did. I'm also disappointed in myself, for once again picking the wrong guy. But I'm not going to beat myself up over it, one of these days I have to get something right, the odds are kind of in my favour, surely I'm very close to having used up all my bad luck. And it would be much worse if I wasn't open to giving people a chance, because I might miss out on some awesome opportunities.
So, the point of this post was to close off this shitty little chapter of my much bigger, happier story, but also to offer the following advice to people who want to end a relationship in the very early stages. Don't do the following things on the night you plan to dump someone:
- Show any affection towards the person you're Planning on Dumping;
- Go on a dinner date with the person you're planning on dumping; and
- Generally act the way you always do, thus setting the person you're planning on dumping at ease.
Instead, do the following things:
- There is nothing wrong with ending a fling over the phone. My younger self would have disagreed with this advice, but there was absolutely no need for me to see him that evening. I could have been at home in my pyjamas eating chocolate;
- If you insist on seeing the person you're planning on dumping (and, again, totally no need for this after a handful of dates), do the dumping quickly, like ripping off a band aid. It's better for everyone. Don't drag this shit out, it just makes it even more perplexing; and
- Accept that the person you're planning on dumping is probably going to be shocked and a bit angry with you. Allow yourself to be the bad person in this scenario (especially if this person offered you the choice to just be friends only weeks prior to this ultimate act of awkwardness).
At some serious cross-purposes,
B. J. Barnes
