I’m angry again. This hadn’t happened in a while. When one of my coworkers got shut outside and I had to get up for the hundredth time to open the door, I wanted to spit fire like a dragon. I assume it is to be expected that when you’re born red you can’t just turn blue all of a sudden, purple maybe, but a hint of red will always stay.

I am angry and frustrated and worried, as I always am whenever I realise the change isn’t profound enough, or incomplete.

This time, it has to do with the feelings that a simple delayed message can trigger in me. I refuse to believe that it actually has to do with the absence of the message, because I’ve been there so many times before, it’s my typical response, it doesn’t matter who the sender is, not really. It happened with Second Fred, with Julius, with Coach, somehow with my husband too. I feel abandoned and I hate that.

It might sound perfectly normal, everybody gets mad if the person they’re dealing with disappears, but this feels different to me, this I cannot accept in myself. It probably has a lot to do with what I wrote in my previous post: I tend to get attached too easily. But that’s not all. It moves something deep, it touches nerves that I still can’t control.

Of course, if I could consider things for what they are, it probably wouldn’t happen. I don’t know the guy, he is not a pivotal figure in my life – case in point, we have only exchanged a couple of e-mails – why the hell should I care if all of a sudden he’s not in my life anymore? Yet, it does matter. It stings. Is it because of too grand expectations? Maybe, but then I wonder why my expectations tend to grow su unchained. It doesn’t happen for any other thing, only when I like someone. Not with friends, not for jobs… probably because it’s the only completely irrational thing I do.

I understand this time it may mean something more, because of the status of my life, because whether it’s stupid or not, it feels like it’s gone wrong twice already, with Coach and with Matthew, but I guess this explains more why I care so much rather that why it feels so bad to be left behind. Of course, when Batman disappeared I didn’t care, I hardly care about Matthew anymore, because he is such a jerk. This is different.

And then there are the endless questions: have I done or said something wrong, have I not done something I should have, did he find out something about me he didn’t like, did he make his way to this blog and now thinks I am the psycho? The fact that people disappears makes getting answers difficult, so basically this is what I am always left thinking: that it may be my fault, that I could have prevented it, that I’m not good enough and not knowing the problem, I’m cursed to repeat it every time forever. Of course, sometimes I realise he’s just a prick.

I have been trying to figure out if this has ever happened before First Fred. I haven’t really been able to answer that. I don’t remember, not exactly. With Phillip, no not really, with Micheal definitely not, with Andrew there wasn’t even the circumstance. I have had this crazy idea again, that it might stem from there. It’s troublesome, because I don’t know how to deal with something that happened such a long time ago, that is now buried under thick layers of denial, hardened feelings and scars. It was possibly the first time my expectations went to hell, the first time I didn’t see the blow coming, the first time I had opened up completely only to be stabbed in the back. And the means were exactly the same: he disappeared.

In these circumstances, one sentence always comes to mind: estote parati. Probably this is the real source of the problem. I can’t forgive myself for not being perfect enough to see it coming and I still batter myself for it. So my response now is imagining it’s going to happen every time in the illusion it’s going to hurt a little less. Which it doesn’t, first of all, and second, the only fact that I have to fight against my hope and try to surrender to negative feelings hurts even more. Why is the source of all my problems always the same? Why can’t I just fight the black witch and be who I am? I was supposed to be the girl who can fall for a perfect stranger who just wrote a couple of e-mails and all I was left being is the girl who denied romanticism, who laughed at hopes, who killed dreams and of course didn’t believe in herself. And it doesn’t even matter who I was supposed to be and who I shouldn’t have become, because the truth is I am every single one of those things and the only thing that the ensemble produces is that I am the girl who fights everything she is. Whether good or bad, it doesn’t matter, because there is no good or bad, there are feelings and there are weaknesses and there is happiness, and anything that works for you is what’s right. It doesn’t matter if it’s being naive, rigid, uncompromising or sweet. Fighting is nothing.

How do I get out of this? I perfectly realise that I can’t go on dealing with dating if I can’t overcome this, it would be hell again, just as it’s always been. I have tried to tell myself that reacting the way I react could be positive, that I need to change point of view: others could never have been as happy as I have been for the past week thanks to so little, and I should thank the heavens for such fine days, but if this is the price to pay, I’m not sure it’s such a good deal. I am black and white, I know no grey, and therefore all positive feelings are amplified, true enough, but so do the bad ones. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, not as such, but if mixed with all of my self-esteem issues it can become lethal.

The lure of the placebo effect is very strong. It would be easy to say “check your account again, he may have sent it just 2 minutes after you checked last time”. But that doesn’t work, now I know. This is not about finding a guy who will be so methodical to never disappoint my expectations, it’s about being ok whatever he does, being ok with hurting if he does something wrong but not before he even does it. I just don’t know where to start. I am just trying to find some balance within, before I open my mail again, find it empty and lose it. Or find a new message indeed waiting for me and discard the whole matter, because anxiety stopped gnawing.

In all that, I also need not to get lost and focus on the guy. Now that I have at least partially taken back my freedom of choice, I can’t let myself be at the mercy of feeling and say I am happy just because yay he did actually come back from the dead = he made me happy.

This is just a hunch, but it’s such a good one…

“Everybody’s complicated” sure thing, you just have no idea how complicated I am.