Monday, 4 June 2012

Turns out I was Plan B

No, I'm not the reincarnation of a shit pseudo-cockney rapper/director/corporate whore (who knew he was such a renaissance man? Have just been informed his genre is 'UK Grime'. I did not know that was even a thing.) It turns out I was a Plan B when I thought I was a Plan A.

In a nutshell: I opened up to someone who persuaded me he had feelings for me. I have more walls than a walled in wall and that was a pretty big deal for me. To even allow myself to start to trust someone. I made sure I was clear about how I didn't want to be played or treated like a fool, that I've probably had more than my fair share of being dicked around and I would far rather just not go there at all, if this was in any way not serious for him. Now, I know no-one has any guarantees and the situation was compounded by the fact that we live very far away from each other.

So I explained that I didn't want to book tickets to go and see him if this was not what he really wanted. He was lovely. Caring, patient, sweet. He made me feel like this was absolutely what he wanted, in fact he made me feel like this could be something real. Mostly because that's what he said. With words. That came out of his mouth.

I felt the moment that there was a change in his tone, in the way he was communicating with me. And I fought a (losing) battle to keep my shit together, not freak out, give him the benefit of the doubt and have a little faith in what he was telling me when we did speak, which was all good.

For a couple of weeks there I had some pretty dark moments and thought: right, fuck this. I'm not going. I don't need crumbs from any fucker. I am better than this.

Then I'd speak to him and explain my fears and he would be lovely. In my experience explaining one's fears to a boy merely renders one labelled as a psycho/mental/nut job. But he was great.

Then he just stopped talking to me. Just for a few days. My sixth sense was in overdrive and I dreamt that it had literally all been a load of bollocks and he laughed at me for thinking he'd meant anything he'd said.

Days later I get a text, while I'm at a party, that starts: hey darling.

Ooh, that must be good, right? After all, no one calls you darling unless... Oh, hang on...

It ends: I've met someone else.

So that's less than two weeks before I was due to fly to see him to see if we would make a go of it, he's met someone else, fallen for them and is now with them. I call him and am, well, let's just say I'm fucking upset.

It was kind of like that scene in Dangerous Liaisons where John Malkovich randomly goes off Michelle Pfeiffer and she is left utterly confused. She begs him for an explanation and he just keeps repeating: it's beyond my control. It's beyond my control. It's beyond my control.

Of course, it wasn't as poetic and I'm no Michelle, but the upshot of the explanation seemed to be: it just happened, I can't help it. Repeat ad nauseam. Apparently, it was somehow nothing to do with him, it just happened. Out of nowhere. All by itself. Turns out that he's known her for ages. Oh, what a shock. Funnily enough she was never mentioned to me. I literally didn't know she existed while I was busy constructing my little fantasy that a guy actually meant what he said when he said he wanted to be with me.

Well, guess what? NOTHING happens all by itself. Everything is a choice. And he chose someone else. I was his back up plan, not the main event. I just didn't know that.

So, I'm left with a £160 unrefundable plane ticket, a bikini I won't wear and a very, very disenchanted and hurt heart. Is this too much? Too pathetic? Should I just be all: oh yeah, well, I didn't give a shit anyway and he can fuck who he likes, I don't care? I know that's how one is meant to react in such circumstances.

But the truth is I'm gutted, humiliated, hurt, sad and lonely. I don't know if it could have been anything real but the least I expected was the chance to find out, after everything we said to each other. But the old adages are true, aren't they? Words are just words and actions are where it's at.

Michelle Pfeiffer turned her face to the wall and died of a broken heart. Now, naturally, I'm hardly going to go that far. Luckily I don't have much heart left to break, so I'm sure after a bit, I'll recover and be absolutely fine. But that day is not today.

He did once say that he wanted to be in my blog.

Mission accomplished.

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