I will start this tale by saying that what follows isn’t meant to entertain you. It might depress you or make you sad in ways you did not expect from this blog. Despite this, I feel I must share because I know that you, reader who I’ve never met but already know and love, can relate on some level.
I met my Mr.Big on May 6, 2014. I was out for a girls’ night at a hipster bar in the west end and in about 30 mins, to quote the illustrious Aubrey Graham, my intoxication had gone from 0 to 100 – REAL QUICK. I was dancing in a manner one could only describe as spastic-chic when my friend, enabler of all enablers, said “M, go dance with that bearded guy behind you!” I turned around to find just that, a bearded 20 something male looking in my direction, so I did what came naturally — I pulled him close (without saying any words) and proceeded to assault him with my body – girating and oh yes, twerking, in ways Miley Cyrus would have been ashamed of. I can honestly say that, aside from the facial hair, I had no idea what my bearded dance partner looked like. He might as well have been a figment of drunk M’s imagination, because the next day when he added me on Facebook, my first reaction was truly “who da faq is this?” Followed closely by, “damn he’s cute! Who da faq is this?”
On our first date, we met for drinks and talked and talked until I had to go and meet up with my friend. Stupidly (but also first date with strangers 101) I made plans with a friend in case the night proved to be a bust. As all first dates go, I wasn’t sure how it went but I knew that I was interested and that I sensed he was too. It seems I was right because we hit it off after that date. He asked me out again and again until our meet ups were no longer dates, but rather hangouts with the person you are “dating”. The amalgamation of lives began shortly after– I met his boss, he met my friends, he invited me to his hometown, I invited him to mine. Sleepovers were assumed rather than awkwardly anticipated. I even, for a brief moment, had the keys to his apartment. Everything was perfect. More than perfect for me, if that was possible, which may be the reason I was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. I couldn’t imagine this person, better than anyone I could have conjured up in my imagination, could be interested in me — still an ugly duckling inside. Then one day, it happened– the shoe dropped. He asked me to go on vacation with him 6 months in the future, so, realizing that this meant that he assumed we would still be together at that time, I asked him if he was my boyfriend. That question seemed to have made some commitment issues resurface, because 5 days later, he ended it (via text) by saying that he didn’t want to be in a serious relationship.
I got the text when I was meeting with a friend for ice cream I semi-fancy part of downtown. I looked at the text, and ran into an alleyway to conceal the public from the operatic hysterical crying that I was about to unleash. I’m not sure whether this is good or bad, or a sign of “you don’t know what you’ve got till its gone”, but it was only in that moment that I realized how much he meant to me. I knew I liked him, but it was only in that moment that I realized that I didn’t want to be without him. I’m not sure what to call that feeling — I’m reluctant to call it love, but it’s a feeling of intimacy that I hadn’t felt before nor have I felt since. I’m not sure I’ll ever really understand what happened or why he didn’t “choose me”. I’ll probanly never be able to reconcile his actions and words pre and post his decision to end it. His attempts to explain were shrouded in politeness and slight condescension : “you’ll find someone, for sure, it’s just not me.”
It’s been almost a year since my Mr.Big Cryapalooza 2014 and I have thought about him every day since. Because I’m a sadist, I’ve talked to him quite a bit in that time (yes, even hooking up in that time) with each chat or encounter only building on my sense of loss for what could have been and rejection for that ugly duckling that will always be a part of me.
The Mr.Big saga has taught me some really useful things:
1) I am an ugly crier. When I cry, my face contorts in ways that make me think that I have an underlying degenerative disease that only surfaces when I’m upset. ( According to WebMD I am dying, so I should probably get that checked out).
2) Real friends know how to listen. Real friends will listen to you ugly cry about the same thing for a whole year, but at the same time call you out for wallowing in your sorrows. Bad friends will disregard your feelings. Bad friends don’t know how to listen. Real friends know that when you are hurting, sometimes you just need someone to sit therr and say nothing. Real friends will just be there.
3) I only now understand what it means to be profoundly sad. You can feel sadness viscerally. Sadness is that pit in your stomach. It’s that stone in your throat. It’s the constant migrane in your head when you get the feeling you are about to cry. People say that no one can make you feel a certain way, but I am conviced that is a lie. A person, whether it is the actual person or your image of that person can make you feel the highest highs and the lowest lows — when it comes down to your feelings, that distinction doesn’t matter. The same person who makes you feel like the most beautiful girl ( or boy) in the world can also make you feel like the smallest, most insignificant. The worst part about sadness is how cyclical it can be. You’re sad because of the situation, but you’re also sad because the situation has made you so sad, which not only adds to the sadness, but makes you feel stupid for feeling that way in the first place.
4) Sometimes the only way to grapple with the hard truth is to realize what you already know, but don’t want to admit: he simply doesn’t give a shit about you. This is “he’s just not that into you” 2.0 — better because it doesn’t leave you with the hope that one day he will be into you. A guy who gives a shit about you will make that known, and will never make you feel (or put you in a situation that makes you feel) like #3.
My friend says that my long line of terrible boy stories must be a way of building of my boy karma — so shitty in so many ways because it is leading to someone so amazing that it will all have been worth it. If it turns out that the sexy ass leprechaun at the end of this boy karma rainbow makes me feel as happy as the Mr.Big situation has made me feel sad, then yes, it is 100 percent worth it and I truly hope that is the case.
There’s no real way to end this post on an entirely postive note so I won’t insult you by trying, but I will say this: I’m not sure when will be completely over Mr.Big, but I do know it will happen eventually. There will be a day when I don’t think about him at all, days will turn into weeks, those weeks into months. I hope that one day Mr. Big reads this and realizes the emotional kamikaze he dropped on my life. I also hope that by then, I’ll be happy, whole and a much prettier crier than I am currently.
M, signing off.