If you’re just now joining us, I’m telling a story… About a boy. If you want to catch up before jumping in, start here first.
I was shocked at how easy it was to block him.
For some reason I had pictured this drawn out, pain in the butt process.
But... it was simple.
For $5 a month, AT&T set me up with a program that would allow me to block up to 20 people at a time. I could manage it all myself online.
Which of course led to a friend and I testing what happened when someone who was blocked called or texted.
I blocked her, and she called.
The message made it pretty clear that I wasn’t accepting calls from that number.
She texted, and the same thing happened. She immediately received a text back saying I wasn’t accepting texts from her number.
Perfect.
The best part about the whole thing was that it blocked me from being able to call or text him as well.
Not that I thought I was going to make that mistake again, but it was nice knowing that if I tried – it would take a whole other level of steps before I would be able to.
Steps that I was fairly sure would slow me down and likely stop me in the process if I found myself suffering from a bout of momentary insanity.
At this point though, I have to admit that I still wasn’t convinced we were completely over.
But I told myself that this was the best way to enforce that space I had been saying we needed for months now.
Ever since the first time he’d really pushed – the night after his divorce.
This was the best way to keep him from getting in touch with me when he was drunk and lonely, and the best way to keep me from caving if and when he came crawling back full of excuses.
Because I was sure he would. By this point I recognized the pattern.
I was sure it would only be a matter of time.
In so many ways, this had become the cycle of abuse. I had a degree in psychology for goodness sake. I knew this. I knew how it worked.
He hurts me. Then he turns on the charm and begs for forgiveness. Then he hurts me again.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
And all I knew was that we were cycling faster and faster as time went on.
The good times becoming more abbreviated as the bad increased.
No, he had never once physically harmed me. I would never in a million years try to imply that he had.
But, I knew enough to know that this wasn’t healthy.
To know that what he was doing to me wasn’t acceptable.
Never in my life had anyone ever given me the run-around like he had. Never in my life had anyone ever put me on such a roller coaster.
And never in my life had I ever believed anyone to be so capable of completing me and breaking me apart all at once.
I wasn’t ready to say we were done. In the back of my mind, I still believed that eventually he would make this up to me.
That somewhere down the line (be it 3 months, 6 months, or even a year) he would pull his head out of his ass and go above and beyond to repair what we’d had.
But I knew we needed time.
I knew we both needed time.
And this was the only way I could think of to make that point crystal clear.
I was fairly sure he would try to call me that night, a Friday. That he’d go out drinking with his buddies, knock a few back, and suddenly decide he missed me.
I wasn’t about to let that happen. To let him open the door once more because of alcohol.
This really was the best decision.
And I knew that when he did try to get in touch with me, he would know.
Right away, he would know.
While I was aware of the fact that he obviously knew how to get ahold of me otherwise, I didn’t anticipate hearing from him once he figured out what I’d done.
I knew he would know that this time, it was for real.
So the weeks passed, and we didn’t speak.
No contact at all.
I remained confident in my belief that this was for the best.
That it was something I needed to do.
Something he needed to realize I was capable of doing.
But over the weeks, the guilt started to creep in.
I envisioned him calling, night after night, to see if I had unblocked him yet.
I pictured him hurt, and alone. Knowing of course that he had caused this, but still… suddenly feeling even more lost and abandoned in not having me to reach out to.
I knew that I had been there for him over the months in a way that wouldn’t be easy for him to do without. I knew that he had relied on me more than anyone else.
I knew that the silence between us must be painful for him.
And I started to feel guilty.
Both for having severed those ties, and for having done so with no explanation at all.
I knew he would understand. That as soon as he realized what I’d done, he would know it was because he had broken those promises to me.
But that over-communicative side of me still lamented the fact that I hadn’t given him an explanation.
Or a heads up.
Or the opportunity to at least explain himself before I shut the door.
I hadn’t given him any of that.
And I began to wonder if how I’d dealt with things had really been the right way, or if it was instead… the coward’s way.
As the weeks went by I grew stronger in my resolve that we couldn’t be together. That right now, there was nothing good that could come from us crossing those lines.
And as I grew stronger in that, I began to wonder if maybe I could be his friend.
If maybe I could still be there for him, without acting upon anything else.
I cared about him, and with us not talking… I found myself worrying about him more.
Wondering how he was doing, and hating that I wasn’t there to support him.
But I didn’t do anything about it. I didn’t act on those worries.
I just… worried.
Less and less about myself every day.
It was 3 weeks after I had blocked his number when Mel sent me an e-mail to let me know that she and Jay would be in town the following night. They were going on the beer train (something that happens here once a year) and then would be heading out downtown after. She said they’d love to see me, and wanted to know if I would be up for meeting them out.
I immediately responded with a resounding “yes”. I loved these two. I loved hanging out with them. But I hadn’t been sure where my place was with the boy and I now not speaking, so I hadn’t wanted to initiate us spending time together myself.
Not long after I responded though, she sent me a text.
“Just a heads up that the boy will be with us too.”
It’s worth noting that she actually did call him “the boy”.
And that upon seeing that, my stomach flew up into my chest.
For a myriad of reasons of course, but one of them being that I caught myself wondering if she had read my blog.
I don’t keep this space a secret. There are plenty of people in my real life who read here, and I have nothing I'm trying to hide. Even those who know me only casually know that I do a lot of writing on the side.
The blog is not a secret.
But… I was 99% positive that I had never mentioned it to Mel myself.
Had the boy?
He did know about the blog, but he’d never really asked any questions about it.
I wasn’t sure if it was something he himself had ever even looked at, so I really couldn’t picture him mentioning it to others.
Especially since at the time, I had barely written about our relationship at all.
I couldn’t bring myself to ask her though, and I have to admit that I still don’t know.
Had she been reading here, or was it just a fluke?
That’s probably something I could ask now, but the truth is – I’d forgotten all about it until going back through the texts to write this.
I’d forgotten about it, because as much as it jolted me at the time, the more pressing issue still obviously remained that she was suggesting putting the boy and I in the same place at the same time the following evening.
It had been almost a month since we’d seen each other. Almost a month since we’d spoken.
And while I was feeling stronger in my resolve every day, I still wasn’t sure this was a good idea.
But… there was that part of me that wanted to. That part of me that good or bad, wanted to see him.
To know he was doing OK.
I responded back that I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, and that I would have to think about it.
If anyone understood, it was Mel. She had been through this mess with Jay years before.
She got it.
She even offered to ditch him once they got downtown, just so that she and Jay could see me.
I told her she didn’t have to do that though, and to just call me when they were heading out. I was having dinner with a friend, but told her I would definitely think about it. .
And I did think about it. I thought about it a lot.
Which is probably why for some reason, that night, I decided to unblock his number.
I was just feeling so much guilt over having blocked him at all.
And I didn’t feel like I needed it anymore. I didn’t feel like I needed that barrier there to keep us apart.
Even at the prospect of seeing him, I felt strong in my resolve to keep distance between us.
To not cross that line.
I didn’t do anything after unblocking him. I didn’t call, or text. I had no intention of doing either. And I assumed that even if he had been calling to see if I’d removed the block before, he had probably given up by now. I didn’t anticipate hearing from him any time soon.
In truth, it was a fairly meaningless act. I’m not sure what I expected to get out of it.
But I felt better, just knowing that those lines were open again.
It was a little before 9 the next night when Mel let me know they were heading out.
I was still at dinner, but told her I would text her as soon as I was done. As an aside, I asked if they were still with him.
She said they had actually gotten split up when getting off the train. She wasn’t sure where he was, but said they still might meet up with him later.
I actually thought this was perfect. I could go see them for a bit, and then if he showed – make some excuse up and head home. I didn’t have to stay hanging out with him all night though. I didn’t have to invest that much of myself into it. I could see him, know he was OK, and then leave.
Perfect.
As I was leaving the restaurant though, I sent her a text saying I was on my way, and she immediately responded by telling me he was now there.
I started to question myself.
I asked her if she thought this was a horrible idea, but then as soon as I hit “send” I felt like I had my answer.
So I replied again that I was thinking I should probably just head home.
She sent me a series of texts after that. First asking if she should ask him. And then saying that Jay wanted me to come. And then replying that the boy said he was fine with it, he just didn’t want to give me any false impressions. And finally saying that she wanted me to come so that she could see my beautiful face.
Hold up. Wait a minute.
Back the ‘F’ up.
He’d said what?
He didn’t want to give me any false impressions?
That was what he was telling them?
Like I was some sad little puppy dog who had been following him around and just couldn’t get the hint?
I almost threw up.
But I maintained my cool. Jay started texting me that they really wanted to see me. That I should just come out, and it would be a fun night for all.
Meanwhile, I was fuming.
Literally, fuming.
I responded with grace though. All smiley faces and exclamation points. Saying I just thought it was a bad idea, but I would love to see them if they wanted to grab breakfast in the morning.
I was keeping my cool.
He responded again to say that the boy was totally good with my coming and that it would be fun, but before I could reply back… I got a text from the boy.
All it said was “Come out and meet us you dork! I won’t bite!”
He didn't know when he sent that text what it would signify, but for me… it was the breaking point.
Because it was in that moment, with that text, that I realized he had no idea I had blocked his number.
Which meant, he hadn’t tried to contact me.
At all.
It had been almost 4 weeks since the night he’d declined coming over to my house, citing depression.
4 weeks
He hadn’t called.
He hadn’t texted.
He hadn’t e-mailed.
He hadn't sent carrier pigeons.
He hadn’t shown up at my house.
So presumably, he hadn’t been thinking of me at all.
After fighting so hard to get another chance.
After never once before being able to go more than a week without contacting me; even when I asked him to.
After all the promises. All the “I love you’s”. All the assurances that I was what he wanted.
That he could do this.
He hadn’t attempted to contact me even once in 4 weeks to tell me that he couldn’t.
And now, he was telling Jay and Mel that he didn’t want to give me false impressions.
Making me look (and feel) like an idiot.
Even though he had never bothered to give me the right impression.
Suddenly, the barrier broke.
I texted both Mel and Jay back that while the boy may have been totally good with my coming, I had suddenly realized that I wasn’t. I let all maturity fall away when I wrote “I kind of want to punch him in his stupid asshole face.”
I knew it probably made no sense to them. Up to this point, I had at least been entertaining the idea. I knew my dramatic shift would likely catch them totally off guard.
But I didn’t care. I was finally pissed.
Really pissed.
Not 10 minutes later, I received another text from the boy.
“Thanks for calling me an asshole” he said.
I couldn’t contain myself “You are a fucking asshole.” I replied. “If you don’t know that already, you’re a fucking idiot too.”
It was so unlike me. So out of the realm of normal for how I would typically have reacted.
But I suddenly felt more clarity than I had felt in months.
He responded with “Wow!! Not the girl I know. Take care.”
It only pissed me off more.
It felt so manipulative.
So contrived.
So calculating.
It felt like him telling me I wasn’t allowed to have feelings about this. That just because I had treated him with compassion and sympathy up to this point, I wasn’t allowed to be angry that he had so royally screwed me now.
Not without tainting the image he had of me in his head.
I didn’t respond.
I had no intention of responding.
I just sat there in my car, shaking.
Trying only to calm down enough to drive home.
It was as I was pulling into my garage that he called.
I didn’t answer initially; parking without crashing taking all of my concentration in this moment.
I was literally having a difficult time seeing straight.
He texted me immediately after that “Answer your phone.”
It felt like an order now, coming from him. And I was in no mood for orders.
But I also had more than a few things I was busting at the seams to say to him. .
So when he called again, I answered.
“What the hell is going on?” He asked. Sounding genuinely confused, which I just did not get.
At all.
Was he fucking kidding me?
I launched into an expletive filled account of “what the hell” was going on.
The main point being… “You disappeared. You sucked me back in when I was doing just fine without you. You made me all kinds of promises, and then you disappeared.”
What kind of a soulless fuck would do that?
His main argument against this rant?
“Well… it’s not like you called me either.”
At this point, he still had no idea I’d blocked his number. No clue at all, because he had never bothered to call.
All those weeks I’d spent worrying about him. Feeling guilty. Questioning my own moves.
All those weeks…. And he had never once thought to pick up the phone and call me.
But he was right. The phone lines worked both ways.
As I explained to him though, what the hell was I supposed to do? I mean, really? When he pulled away, seemingly without explanation, it had only been a week since he had begged for my forgiveness. Since he had pleaded for another chance. Since he had sworn he was ready, and that he wouldn’t hurt me again.
A week.
Was I really supposed to chase him down at that point? To call him when he wasn’t calling me?
Was I really supposed to be that sad little puppy dog who couldn’t get a hint that he was already apparently portraying me to be?
It had never in a million years occurred to me that he wouldn’t have called me in all that time.
That he wouldn’t have tried, even once, to make contact.
But the fact that he hadn’t… it made it pretty clear that no good would have come from my contacting him even if I had.
I was suddenly infinitely grateful that I had been oblivious to this fact. That blocking his number had kept me from waiting night after night for a call that never would have come.
Because I have no doubt that if I had been waiting for that call, I eventually would have caved and called him myself. The absence of communication would eventually have made me crazy enough to reach out, if only to ask what was going on.
It turned out; blocking his number had been the best thing I ever could have done for myself.
Even if he had never realized I’d done it.
But that didn’t stop me from yelling now. From calling him out on every misstep he’d ever made with me.
From seething with a rage he had never before witnessed rising out of me.
He had been right. In this moment, I wasn't the girl he knew.
But that was his fault. He had broken that girl. And I was intent upon making him see that.
Intent upon using my words to show him exactly what he’d done.
This wasn't who I was. Not anymore. I had wasted years of my life being angry. I had once upon a time spewed venom in every direction, including towards those I cared about the most.
Just ask my dad about some of the hateful things he's heard from me.
I had a gift for conjuring up the words that could cut the deepest. But I had worked hard to suppress that side of myself. To put people and their feelings ahead of my need to make others hurt as much as I did.
Here I was though. That girl fighting to get through. Begging for just 30 seconds with the boy.
Just 30 seconds to make him bleed the way he had me.
There were so many things I could have said. So many words on the tip of my tongue that could have pummeled him.
But I held her back; that assassin inside of me. Succumbing only to the yelling. The fierce coldness with which I addressed he and his excuses. The assassin there, just at the edge, but never fully breaking through.
It had been years since she had come so close to the surface. I had worked to send her away. To let go of my anger and hurt. I had worked to live my life with compassion and understanding.
To live my life without her.
And after years of thinking she was gone, he had managed to bring her back to the surface in only a matter of months.
For that, I almost hated him the most.
He began throwing out the now tired and used line that he was just “so messed up” right now. That he had no idea what it was he wanted.
In fact, at one point I'm fairly sure he even shouted that back at me.
“Do you really think I know what I want? Do you really think I know what I need?”
I didn’t care anymore though.
I no longer felt sorry for him.
Not in the slightest.
“Do you think you’re the only person in the world who has ever been hurt?” I shouted. “Do you think you're the only one who has ever felt this pain? Because you’re wrong. You’re dead wrong! I’ve been hurt! I’ve been hurt by the people in my life who were supposed to protect me the most! I’ve been hurt by life! I’ve been hurt by you! But you don’t see me using that as an excuse to hurt other people! You don’t see me using my past as a reason to take others down!”
One of the things I had always admired about the boy was that while he could be selfish and insensitive, he was always very open to what I had to say when I called him on it. Always quick to apologize and attempt to rectify the situation.
Typically something he hadn’t even been aware he’d done or said until I pointed it out.
He was good about this. Good about dropping all defenses and trying to understand where I was coming from when I was upset.
Good at looking himself in the mirror when directly confronted with his own misdeeds.
Not now though. Now, he was fighting back.
Defensive right out the gate. Barely listening to a word I was saying.
Even as I shouted those words for all to hear.
I can’t say I blamed him. Gone were the days of my being rational and sensitive to his feelings. Gone were the times when I carefully picked my words before approaching him.
Now, with her fighting in the background to be released; I was attacking.
With almost everything I had.
It made sense that this would push him into defense mode.
So when I said that, his immediate response was to yell back. “You have no idea what I’ve been through!" he proclaimed. "You have no idea how it’s made me feel! You may have been through plenty yourself, but that doesn’t mean you understand what this is! What it means to love someone and to plan on spending the rest of your life with them, only to have them walk out on you! You have no idea!”
I knew I wasn’t getting through to him. That I would need to tone it down, even just an little, if I was going to make the impression I needed to make.
So, I took a deep breath and dialed back the volume.
Locking my jaw as I spoke, in an attempt to keep the words from coming out as daggers.
“I never said you didn’t have a right to feel the way you feel. I never said I was judging what you’re going through. You’re right – I have no idea what it is she really did to you. But I have been compassionate, and understanding, and there for you every step of the way. I have spent entire nights listening to you. I have never once blocked you out or told you that you didn’t have a right to feel what you were feeling. I have worried about you, and cared about you, and supported you with everything I've got. I know you’re hurting, and I get that. I hate her for what she did to you. All I’m saying, is that nothing she did gives you an excuse to turn around and do the same to me.”
Suddenly, it was like a light bulb went off for him.
A moment of clarity against the madness.
“You’re right.” He said. “I’m so sorry. You’re right.”
Another moment passed, before he continued “I… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”
I didn’t even have to think about my response.
I’d made my point.
I’d forced him to see.
And that was all I cared about in that moment.
“You just keep doing whatever it is you’ve been doing” I replied. “It’s obvious you haven’t been wasting a whole lot of time thinking about me, so you might as well keep that up. I really don’t care what you do anymore though… I’m done.”
Which is when I told him “goodbye”, before promptly hanging up.
Still shaking. Still seething. Still boiling red with hatred.
I focused only on my last words to him.
“I’m done.”
And for the first time, I knew…
I meant it.
(to be continued…)
ADSPACE
