He was emotional. I was calm. and defensive.

I didn’t want to let on that I had missed him, that I was having a hard time. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his text messages had an affect on me. I wanted him to know that he wasn’t here, and he never came back to tell me he missed me himself. Why did he think he had the right to remind me about our relationship, when he didn’t want to date me and never said otherwise?

He said he loved me. And he missed me. Said he loved what we had together, and lots of other cliche relationship barf.

I asked what he wanted from me. He said he wanted to know that I cared. I was stoic, and he asked what I wanted. I said that I wanted to date him.

I said we really only have two options, you can date me, or you can stop texting me.

And he said, okay, then I guess I won’t text you anymore.

And I said okay and hung up the phone, even though every inch of me was screaming on the inside.

We never had a real one. Never had a what are we going to do? I’m actually going to miss you talk. Sure, we said things, but I knew he just wanted to get on with the rest of his life, and I just wanted to get out unscathed.

So between Facebook stalking Refuses and ignoring his texts, we would email once every month or so about stupid bands we both liked and anything to get a hit of each other during the workday. He was my high on the days that we talked, and my reason for being down on the days we didn’t. We kept it clean and short, and I showed no signs of remorse, no signs of giving in.

He caved first. Said that it was “obvious I had moved on and that he should too,” said that he wished he could talk to the me he remembered- the cute, sweet girlfriend me.

That last email infuriated me. He wanted me to act sweet and charming and say that I missed him? He didn’t want to date me, but wanted me to act like it? My blood was boiling.

I texted him to find out if he was okay. He said no, said that he hated breaking up and that he missed me. Said he was having a hard time. I asked if he wanted to talk, and told him I would call him later.

I postponed the conversation with a few glasses of wine- wine to kill the nerves that had been building for three months; wine to dull the anger.

Refuses texted me the day before Halloween.

“Hey I just got to Vegas for my buddy’s birthday & thinking about the awesome time we had when you and I were here. Miss you & hope you’re well “

And I was furious, but determined to not be brought down the day before my Halloween party. We had decorated! There were balloons! I was a sexy bee!

So I ignored him, because I didn’t want to stroke his ego, while he deflated my holiday. I just didn’t think that was fair.

The next day he texted “Sorry” only to earn no response from me. And honestly I could not have been more pissed, that he MOVED AWAY, and he couldn’t find it in himself to keep the pity party to himself?

So I partied without the pity part.

I feel like I’m on a see saw.

Every conversation puts me opposite of where you are. Happy, sad, angry, satisfied.

All I ask is for a little consistency. Put me somewhere in the middle and leave me there.

You heard me right, I said it.

LEAVE ME.

Can one of us talk without crushing the other?

I didn’t think so either.

Refuses: Sorry for the lame text…sounds like you’re moving on pretty well, so I should too…just having a little bit of a hard time. Allow me a little bit of weakness though, ok?

my non-responses:

..if you only knew.

FUCK OFF!

I wish you would just call me and fix it, but I have a hunch your actions mean more than your words. They always did. And you still haven’t called.

Grow a pair.

I miss you.

You don’t have the right. You did this. You don’t get to be sad, and you don’t get to drag me down with you.

If you loved me, you would let me go.

What are you thinking about?

The last time I chatted with an ex, I eventually slept with him and that was the end of that. That was the end.

Now, chatting with Refuses is just so painful, but doesn’t hurt enough to stop, because I want it so bad. Deep down, I want him to want to talk to me.

And it doesn’t really matter if I’m not the one starting it, or if I’m the one keeping it out of flirting territory, because I am the one enjoying it and I will enevitably be the one getting over it. solo. alone. without refuses. In my sweatpants, with my girl movie, and an extra season of Mad Men.

But I can’t help myself. I just want to talk to him. Want to see if there is really anything left there.

What I don’t want- is to be his entertainment in the meantime. His person until he finds the next one.

I don’t want to be around for when he is lonely or sad, and without any other girl to make him happy.

Rather I want to be the one he goes to make him happy, over all of the others.

REPEAT AFTER ME: I am the rule, not the exception. I am the rule, not the exception.

5. It is almost fall. That means there is still summer weather in San Diego, but I get to apply my dark purple nail polish to my toesies and not feel out of season. Yay!

4. Coats.

3. There will probably be a new boy by Christmas… err, hopefully by Easter?

2. Concerts, concerts and more concerts.Ohh I cannot wait for all of the swooning over lead singers, and the dancing.

1. 45 minute conversations with my brother. He is my anchor, time and time again.

the littlest big things you don’t know about me:

1. My youngest sister passed away when I was 10. She was 4 years old and died of brain cancer.
2. My parents divorced shortly after.
3. I lie all the time and say that I only have 2 brothers and a sister, although I really had 2 sisters. It still feels like a lie 13 years later.
4. I miss her a lot, and still talk to her every once in a while.
5. I believe in heaven and angels, if only for her.
6. When I was younger I used to talk to her nightly, and pretended she was in guardian angel school, training to be someone else’s guardian angel.
7. I have trouble imaging what it would have been like to have her when we were being shuttled between my parent’s houses in the midst of the divorce. I can’t decide if it would have been better or worse.
8. We used to write a note, tie it to balloons and let it go every year on her birthday and the anniversary of her death. Some years were harder than others.
9. I can’t imagine what my parent’s must have felt. They must have wanted to die themselves.
10. I still get envious when I hear my friends talk about younger siblings that would be the same age as her. They have no idea how much it stings.
11. She would have turned 19 years old last month.

Today is going to be awesome. So go suck it.

Thanks,

Me