In my last post, I wrote the following about a feeling of rejection I was getting from a potential romantic interest:
“If he likes me enough, he will be clear about that, and he will be available. He will want to spend time with me, and the relationship will be on both our terms, not just his. So no matter how much I want this guy in my life and in my bed, none of it is even remotely worth it if I’m constantly questioning my position in his heart and always on the verge of heartbreak. Fuck that. Fuck that completely. Also, knowing what he knows about my most recent year, how dare he toy with me this way? How dare he be one more thing I have to work through?”
My confidence boosted by my hardcore decision making, adulting and self-protection capabilities, I launched headlong into my Wednesday and Thursday, secure in my abilities to cope with anything that came my way in the heart department.
And failed. He texted. I texted back noncommittally. He texted more, I texted back more. Eventually we were texting back and forth quite enthusiastically, which is totally out of character for him. It felt a lot like he was compensating for his lack of effort.
He feels like the kind of guy who only wants women who don’t want him. This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered this kind of thing. I know it because I’ve lived it. I had a phase in my early 20’s where I only wanted to sleep with guys who wouldn’t give me the time of day. My friend S has a podcast he does with a friend, and when that person asked him what kind of women he was interested in, he said “The kind who want nothing to do with me.” BOOM. There it is, in black and white. I feel that in my soul.
Is it the thrill of the chase? Is it self-loathing? What is it that makes men that way? So, I can only be with you if I constantly act like I’m totally indifferent to you, even if I’m not? I should act like you might be rejected at any moment? I understand that men don’t like women who are needy. But I’m not needy. I’m giving exactly what I’m getting. I’ve been letting him take the lead, but I’m following that lead. If you text me, I text back. If you don’t text me, it’s radio silence on my end as well.
I know I need to be less available. I can’t jump every time he asks me to. But what else can I do? I don’t beg. I don’t plead. I know I need to date other people, but I don’t want to. I want this one.
Upon re-reading what I’ve just written, I realize that I think it IS self-loathing (insert mind-blown-emoji here). A man who is well adjusted would want someone who loves them back. They would want someone to whom they can give affection, and who would give affection in return. Someone who hates themselves wants to debase themselves for the unattainable. They want to worship at the feet of a goddess who treats them with disdain, because it feeds their self-loathing.
I wrote another post (a private one, don’t worry Ghost, you didn’t miss anything, some of the things I write here are not for public consumption) in which I talked about how I was a catch, and I wished that someone would worship a little at my altar. But I only want that if I can worship at his, too. I don’t want to be the disdainful, cruel, cold goddess. I want to be the benevolent one, secure in her powers of beauty, brilliance and seduction, flourishing from the attention and the appreciation. And then I will let him know exactly how incredible I think he is, how strong and virile, how capable and gentle and genteel he is. How he is as much my god as I am his goddess.
And now that I’ve re-read all of that AGAIN, I realize that (HOLY SHIT) maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the one who still wants the unattainable. Maybe I don’t want to be vulnerable with anyone right now because that feels, well, vulnerable. And being fully present with someone else means you are allowing them to look into your soul. Part of the problem is his distance, and his reluctance to play with me. But the fact that I find that compelling is absolutely revolting to me to my core. That is absolutely NOT what I want. Not at all. Maybe I’m just falling back into old patterns because they’re familiar and easy.
Oh, My, GOD. It’s not him, it’s me.