Here's what I think happened, part 2

The danger in email is the false sense of security. Of safety. I was involved on some deep level, and because I felt that we’d shared so many thoughts, assumed he was similarly infatuated. We got to know each other – I can’t remember what we discussed and found myself clenching when I tried to go over the emails to remember the timeline of what happened.

I complained and he listened. Soothed. I had a bad day at work planned and he seemed to wince for me then offered some distraction. I was a bit jealous of someone I thought held much of his interest, and… well, he avoided answering that section of the message. I brought up sex – in what I still think is a well-written email, actually. Years of reading romance novels apparently paid off in that way – then realized that my motivation for bringing up that topic had nothing to do with me. I misread something he wrote – was told that he was talking about someone else with this longing I thought was for me. It wasn’t. He was honest about that and we stepped back, though he put significant effort into trying to reassure me. I was scared – realized he had the power to hurt me pretty badly. Yet I didn’t want to stop.

So we went on. I was eager for his attention and lavished my own on him. I doted on him, I think he once said, and it was true. I missed him if he couldn’t get to a computer and send email. I wanted to start thinking about moving forward. He was wonderful and I was growing tired of email alone. I wanted more. So I started to push.

Our messages got more intimate. We slowly eased into fantasies that I would read – over and over – for months. He filled the empty place in my head where a husband – someone I loved and wanted – should have been. And I let him. Told my family, assured them that I’d be careful, but warned that I might be making a visit soon. I wanted to meet him. To see where we stood. He said he wanted children – I did too. I thought about the balance we’d offer each other and how we would be as parents. He didn’t want me to get ahead of myself – we just weren’t likely to end up together. But at my continued pushing – explanations and offers to move and willingness to make this work – he agreed, said he saw the possibility though it wasn’t likely. Wanted to be together as we were until one of us needed more. And though I wanted more then, I was willing to give it some time. I’m relatively young, after all. I have quite a few years before I’m looking at “now or never” and believed he was right even if our timing was not. If I could get grudging agreement from him, that was enough encouragement for now.

My friends had varied reactions. Elle immediately said he seemed too detached. I was so interested and he was so reluctant, she said. Something struck her as off. M was thrilled. She knew that someone amazing would come along for me! This was fantastic! When would we meet? Talk on the phone? It was all just so exciting! Rachel was similarly joyful. She too knew he was out there. Though she had settled in her own life, I had waited – not so patiently – and was finally being rewarded. Carrie wanted more details – demanded to see his picture and know more about him. She deemed him perfect and added her blessings to the others. I even talked Elle into him, though she was skeptical from the beginning.

As things went on, I read more and more. Fell deeper and deeper. Knew enough to fill in daydreams, and he played his role perfectly. Matched my pace at his fastest, and slowed me down at others. When I told him I was falling in love with him, then tried to take it back, he made it OK. I was always left feeling good about him – partly because he was such a wonderful guy with honorable intentions, partly because I wanted him to be the one. No more looking. It wasn’t perfect – he was complicated, moody and selfish. But he did care about me – got angry over one particular personal problem I shared and I thrilled in our feeling the same way about the same thing, emailed when he’d get depressed so I could go into a routine of how spectacular he was to remind him that life wasn’t so bad. We seemed right – I remember as I got to know him, I said that I could handle him. His faults were fine – I could deal with the bad stuff - no, would enjoy enduring the bad stuff - because he was so incredibly worthwhile. I was so glad I found him and the happiness over this – a set of email messages – colored my whole world for a while. Someone loved me, or at the very least was on his way there. It would be fine. I'd simply demand that it be so.

The twinges came very infrequently – a sense that something wasn’t as it seemed. I pushed them aside as quickly as I could. I trust easily and quickly. It doesn’t make sense that you’re out to hurt me or use me, especially in situations such as this. I’m not all that pretty – though I have lovely days – so if he was interested, it was because he saw my heart. My poor, open, vulnerable heart that certainly would never hurt him. The rushes of fear were infrequent, but I talked myself out of them. I hadn't loved like this before. Didn't think I'd have anything so intense in my life. I wasn't silly enough to let it go because I had questions. We'd figure everything out in time.

But I’d get jealous. It was an emotion that was new to me in relationships – I’m usually very relaxed about other women – friendships, even flirtations. If he doesn’t want to be with me, then I’m out. I can’t deal with competitive romance like that – while it may work for some people, I am not one of them. So I mentioned (or think I did – I can’t quite make myself go through old email right now to check) that I was too insecure to handle it. If he decided he wanted to pursue another relationship – in life or online – I’d want to know so I could opt out. My feelings were terrifyingly strong and there was one particular online persona who threatened me, I felt. I don’t remember reassurances on this subject, to be honest. I encouraged him to date if he found someone near him and he had done the same from the very beginning. I wouldn’t remain unnoticed for long, he noted, and if someone amazing came along, he would certainly step aside and let me explore that. Be envious of the man who was able to love me.

How sweet, I thought, then wrote. But no. My feelings for him were too intense to neglect. Why would I settle for the relationships I’d known – in all their blah moments and lack of excitement and longing – when I had this sparkling example of what should be? I was all in. It was part of who I was – who I hope to be again – and I didn’t want to look back and wonder if I would have tried harder, waited longer, trusted more… If I could have kept him. Tried to make him happy. Let him do the same for me.

It was about this time that I confessed I’d had a couple of other email flirtations. Nothing like him – not at all – but I felt badly about them. Stopped with one man completely and shifted firmly into friendship with another. Betrayal at this point was something I couldn’t tolerate in myself. I wanted to know – and wanted him to be aware – that I had picked. Chosen him and would focus all my energies there. It was actually the interest of these other two men who made so much of these feelings easy to accept. They seemed to like me – find me funny, intellectually attractive, and all three tried to correct me when I was too hard on myself. Did I have any intention of meeting and marrying the other two? Goodness, no. The very thought is silly. But with him… I wanted it. Put my hands to my lips when he asked if he could help falling in love with me though he didn’t think he was ready for the emotion. Could he know me and be content with fantasy and email? He said he doubted it, and I convinced myself it would happen. He would love me – I deserved it, we were right, this was it.

But after my confession of other former interests, things slowed. I had hurt him, I decided, and bitterly regretted my openness in this area. He didn’t have to know – it was terrible to unburden myself only to place that knowledge – that I had wondered about other men, was exploring myself as an attractive woman with much to offer – with him. It made him doubt me, “us.” At the same time, I unwisely started asking for a meeting. A short one as I’d be his city for a couple of hours on business. I wanted to meet. Please? Just for a little while? It doesn’t have to be intense or loving or anything. I just wanted to see how it was in person – to let go if he ran away in revulsion upon seeing me. To determine if this click – the sense of “oh, yes. Pick him.” existed in person.

He freaked out. Then so did I. There were sleepless nights in a strange city as I tried to comfort myself with what we’d had. Friendship, affection, fantasy. Humor, mutual admiration, and a tremendous amount of hope. I could fix it. Tried, actually, with a couple phone calls. The first was miserably awkward – I was left lying on a hotel bed afterward, heart beating too fast, thinking of how strange it was to be corrected about the sound of someone’s voice. It wasn’t what I expected, you see. Had heard mental-image-him speak differently in my head and when confronted with reality, I felt shaken. He was right when he said I didn’t know him – how he acted, his faults, preferences, daily behaviors. Had I fallen for someone who didn’t exist outside my thoughts? Was this like an imaginary relationship with some extra help from a man who lived a couple time zones away?

And here lies the mistake, I think. I should have let him go. I knew something had shifted and he would attribute it to various personal reasons, he assured me we'd get back to what we had. The teasing, good humor, affection, sexiness. And I would see glimpses of what we first had – the happy, teasing, loving exchanges – but it wouldn’t return. We took a slow slide into something else – something distant and colder. And instead of accepting it – understanding his lack of interest as, well, lack of interest, rather than some demons he was working through that were glitching my happy little plan – I fought. As hard as I could for as long as I could. Another phone call convinced me we could work things out – I did love him. Could reconcile the character in my head with the man he truly was. I knew enough to know I wanted him, berated myself for my moments of doubt – of wondering whether we should call this off before someone got really hurt. Did I not want to be happy? To have someone amazing in my life? Of course I did. So I watched my Gmail account fill with messages I sent that went unanswered. Our ratio of me:him was about 3:1, maybe 4:1, in terms of messages written. It felt different. Wrong. But I’d been so sure before that I couldn’t let go, didn’t want the regret of wondering if I’d just been more patient, more loving, more relaxed then I would have received what I so badly wanted.

So I talked myself into believing it would be OK. He did respond eventually, and if he was a bit cold and disinterested, that was fine. It was a phase. He was justified and we’d eventually move past it. I felt I knew him on some profound yet incomplete level and was eager to know more. So I pushed. Shamefully hard at times. And he agreed to meet when I was in town.