Here's what I think happened, part 1

I have a story. I was going to try to remain somewhat cryptic about something that I’ve been rather cryptic about in the past. It seemed appropriate – at first, it was so private and wonderful that I didn’t want anything to intrude upon it. In the middle, I hoped things would turn around and stop being so painful and weird and I wasn’t comfortable sharing details, though you may have noticed the appearance of uncomfortable posts. And now, after the end, I’ve started to consider what I’ve learned, how the story played out in reality and not in my head, and decided I’d try to tell you.

I read blogs to get out of my own head. To appreciate someone’s problems, to understand her motivation, to feel pain over his misfortune. At a time in my life when I feel relatively disconnected from people I love most, there’s a connection here that I value. I can’t offer very much to you – a comment here or there, perhaps an email – because your problems remain your own. And I try to accept responsibility for my problems. (And, oh, I do have some. I know that.) But part of how I handle things of late is through writing them out. Letting the thoughts find their way into words. Releasing some of that energy and knowing that you’re not obligated to do anything with it.

I appreciate the comments, by the way. As for what I deserve or how valid my sadness may be? I’m not sure. I can’t figure myself out right now. So maybe if I can write this, step back and read it after I’m done, let it settle as an event that has reached completion, I’ll be better. For today was hard. I woke at 2AM and haven’t slept since. I walked for an hour through weather that threatened storms just after dawn, went to church, had a friend over. Her presence – even when I had my head in my hands, trying to muster some composure – helped. I ate a bit. I talked some. I tried to focus on her attempts at distraction. I came up with some mildly funny stories. Watched the lake and wished I'd brought my camera so I could remember how pretty it was as the sun set. And I appreciated her allowing the silence sometimes. For me to think and hurt and compose parts of this in my head.

As stories go, it’s tempting to start this one at the end. You all know it doesn’t end well and I’m struggling most with that part, but I think to gain some perspective – for myself more than any of you – I should start at the beginning.

I sent an email in February – just before Valentine’s Day, I think. I don’t know if I’ve confessed this or not, but I very much wanted to meet someone who read my blog. We would write, then meet, fall in love, and I’d feel safe being with him because he knew me. Had read this place where I put my secrets and embarrassments and stories I think are important. So in addition to figuring some things out for myself, I wanted to pick up a partner along the way. It sounds silly perhaps, but I was so very lonely. Away from my family and friends. Living in my beloved house, but isolated enough that I couldn’t hear signs of life through the walls. It was just me and Chienne. I’d go to a job that wasn’t moving fast enough or making me feel productive. I continued to gain weight and was avoiding looking in mirrors. I felt stuck in this awful cycle and was trying something different – a blog – to escape it.

I wrote that first email carefully. Chose words – even looked some up to make sure they were exactly what I wanted – and put them together so that I could make some contact with someone I decided I liked very much. He read my blog and seemed to really understand it. He was smart, charming, funny and kind. He was my favorite, and I picked him.

From that first night, I didn’t expect much. A flattered response, perhaps. Some expression of appreciation that I seemed to have such a crush on someone I’d never met. But there was more. I’m not sure how to articulate this part. I found so much of what he wrote compelling. It seemed to mirror so many of my thoughts and I was dazzled by this mutual understanding we seemed to display. And so there was email – quite a lot of it at first. I remembered the password to my blog Gmail account so I could check it at work, so very eager was I for more words. More interest from someone I considered so amazing.

I started taking walks in the morning. Needed to burn off some energy from this euphoria that I finally found someone who made me nearly giddy. But unlike the others, this one saw me. Knew me and wanted to know more. Smiled over me and recognized how wonderful I was. There was this honesty, we said. No games over how long to wait before responding. We liked each other. It was OK to express those feelings.

I brushed aside his gentle warning not to get too serious. There are, after all, people online who might hurt me. It’s best to be careful. I didn’t want to be cautious or reserved though. I wanted to believe that I was going to receive what I had feared I’d never find. Someone who loved me. A solid relationship which we’d build slowly then live with forever. Grand dreams, I know, but I somehow bought into them. Not because he promised them to me – not at all – but because I wanted them so much. Was so terribly open and vulnerable and eager because I really thought he was right for me. And the hope – the happiness and relief – were amazing.

There were – quite quickly – sharing of personal details (my name, current location and job, some rough family sketches) then pictures. The former was easy – I’m quite proud of where I am, what I’ve accomplished, the people who share my last name. The latter was tremendously difficult. Sending the picture, living with the miserable certainty that he wouldn’t find me attractive, would regret our mild flirtation so far, would refuse to continue something I so badly wanted – it brought me to tears that shocked and embarrassed me on a rainy bus ride to my car. He would go away, and I would miss him, and it would be hard. So I composed an email that offered him an easy out – it was fine not to find someone attractive. It’s either there or it isn’t, and if it isn’t, the kind thing to do is to opt out immediately.

He didn’t. I fluttered under his gentle scolding that I was being silly. I was cute. He was attracted, a little, because pictures didn’t convey the entirety of a person. He still wanted to know me. No more worries about not being good enough – I, quite simply, was. Then, easing my discomfort over having been so out of control emotionally, he shared a painful story of his own. I wanted badly to soothe him, to offer what comfort I could, so I tried. I didn’t want him to feel ill or angry or betrayed or foolish or anything bad. I thought so very highly of him, after all, that anything good I could offer him, I’d do so willingly. Completely.

Even then, as I warned myself sternly not to fall too hard – we were far away from each other, it didn’t really make sense that he’d like me and I’d like him when I’d never found something so mutual and perfect – I knew I wasn’t able to control it. I had decided on him, and if he was going to allow it, I’d keep him for my very own.

I got through that with very little pain, so I think that’s enough for tonight. I think it’s coming together in my mind – my role, his responses, what we had versus what I wanted to believe we had. In the event that this is unfair or inappropriate, well, I’ll apologize right up front. It is not, and was never, my intention to hurt anyone. And if I’m the one who’s suffering the most right now, that’s likely appropriate. But blogs – or at least this one – are for stories. For anyone interested to peek in my life and see what I did, how I felt, and how it ended. It helps me to write it, honestly, and I’m being selfish right now. I'm using every mechanism I can think of to cope. To understand. And to stop being so pathetically miserable. It's going to take a few days - I'm told you can't rush these things. So I'll work and clean and try to get some sleep. And I'll tell the rest of this story, I think.