Post Published: November 2, 2022  

I just want to be close to someone.

From #MOODS, Men, & Mommy Issues:

And I’m just so annoyed and sad because it doesn’t have to be this way. This is him, refusing me again, refusing what I know he feels, fighting something that is good for him and good for me, and what we both want and deserve.

And so I sleep with the bartender at Full Circle that night because I needed attention and connection and he’s tall, intelligent, charming, and had a great playlist. And then I spend the next day with him, day drinking in the city and I can’t be bothered to remember that the love of my life is pulling this shit again. So I sit between the lanky bartender’s legs as he watches soccer, and I enjoy it when he puts his hands on my thighs. I just want to be close to someone. I want to feel someone’s body. I need that contact. I want to be engrossed in someone interesting so I can believe that more interesting people exist, so I can believe that I’m capable of connecting to someone else, that my body isn’t going to turn to dust, and my heart turn to stone. 

Until I get home and decide to message James and find out I’m blocked. Again.

Why not?

Would you just look at this idiot? (Me.)

I don’t fall apart or anything. I just glam up and go after my other goals. I’d been fired from the sales job I was complete shit at. I was collecting unemployment. I was going to really go for it finally, and launch my freelance business. I was going to build websites. I was going to work on my next book, set in the 80s in a South Jersey roadhouse bar. I was going to drink and fuck my summer away and I that was that.

James had gotten back with his ex, and hurt me again, cut me so very deeply this time with his layered denial that I couldn’t even feel it. 

I wouldn’t let myself. I had reset right back to where I was trying to get out from. But I would not feel this. I would not despair. I would not feel rejected or worthless. 

The silver lining in James’ return and repeat exit was I knew now (with as much certainty as I could extract from the situation) that it was nothing I’d ever done or said that made him this way. This was all him. I was amazing, and loving, and receptive, and open. And he was a fucking jackass.


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