It’s been a while since the last time I wrote. Maybe that’s why I feel alwrong – that should be the correct opposite of alright.

Things have been weird and I feel weird and I have broken down in savage tears a couple of times too many for my liking. But that’s ok, it’s probably all a big step forward. Although I actually feel much more stuck than I thought I would ever be.

I spent the day with Simon.

I don’t know how to handle this. It has caused such an unreasonable amount of distress I can’t help thinking that I’m not ready for this yet. When I say “this”, I mean dealing with men in general, dealing on a level that far precedes any relationship, I mean dealing with the commotion and chaos the mere fact of liking someone brings to my soul. With “distress” I mean all of the very different emotions that have defined my days ever since I met him. With “ready” I mean the hardest thing of all, because I don’t know how to get ready, nor if I ever will.
I was in such panic I called Maddie. I talked this over with her and she was right. I take all this matter, boys, in the wrongest way of all: I expect or hope to find love. I can’t really deny it, I do. And it’s been like that forever. And I know I would be so much calmer if I didn’t. Now some hopeless romantic might say it’s the only way to proceed, and as far as I am concerned I would appreciate the answer, but the harsh reality is that it hurts too much to be the right way. For my own sanity’s sake, I should avoid it.

I wish I could find someone who likes me for who I am. Not for my body, not for my presumed easiness, not because of anything else. I tend to like people for how they are, sometimes more than what they look like. I like the possibility of sharing things with them, I like the way they think, the way they make me feel, I admire the way the live, I assume they could teach me something. Sure, I most often like how they look like too, but it’s rarely all.

I wish I could find someone like that, someone who likes my blue eyes just as much as the way I talk, someone who appreciates my body as well as my sense of humor. I thought he could be like that.

Ever since I met him, there has been great turmoil inside of me. It’s been very different from the others before, different from Alex, Hector, even Coach. We’ve texted extensively every day since the day we met, although it was strange, unexpected and probably premature, I liked it so much. It made me feel safe, he made me feel wanted and appreciated. I loved the fact that he liked me and I liked the fact that he is the kind of person who can like someone like me, for the qualities he saw the night we met; the ones that make me too little feminine, too aggressive, too spontaneous and unexpected.

It was safe seeing him not disappear day after day, it was good reading what he liked about me and how sure he seemed of what he wanted and how he pursued it. It was alluring reading his provocations, his allusions to sex, his impersonal propositions. He sounded like a man confident enough to lay it all out there with no fear of being judged.

Still at times I was scared. Scared of how much it could mean if it was true, scared of how I could react to finding someone like him so soon, scared by the possible complications if nothing were to go south.

The first trauma came when I suspected he had invited himself to sleep over. It was basically a misunderstanding, or so it seemed, but it was enough to break the spell. I plunged into panic, because I suddenly thought I had it all wrong. All the qualities he had seen in me might simply equal to someone who lives sex like a man, and the idea of being pursued just as an easy fuck killed me. Not because of the idea as such but because I really didn’t expect it from him. Nor would I have accepted it. But when I proposed a change of plans to accommodate my discomfort he didn’t flinch, acknowledge the misunderstanding and accepted new plans straight away.

Then, several texts and virtual conversations later, the day got closer, when we were supposed to meet and the night before I was newly in panic because I started worrying about the fact that he may not come at all and stand me up. And this was unreasonable and unmotivated but it was enough to make me start sobbing like a crazy person. So I called Maddie and as she tried to calm me down; she started saying how she wouldn’t trust someone who was so keen on writing since the very first start and that he probably just wanted that one thing and quickly. And I just started to believe it too. So again I felt stupid and naive for believing he might like me more than just for that.

And then along came all the past with First Fred. It was just so obvious it all came from there. The fear of being abandoned, the shame of believing a lie, the preemptive worry of erratic and unmotivated behaviour… the fear of realising how much damage that experience has done to me and how much I am going to have to suffer for it in the future, again and again until I can finally break the spell, if ever. I can’t allow myself to be the stupid girl who believes nice words, I cry and I panic because I don’t want to believe I am the same silly girl now at 31 as when I was 17. So I started hoping he wouldn’t even come, I started hoping he would reveal himself for the prick he supposedly was and just disappear before he could perpetrate any damage. I went to bed empty and disillusioned.

So the morning after, when indeed he confirmed again he was coming, my attitude was that of someone who wouldn’t give in for anything in the world. I was ready to play catch, to lure him and deny him, to defend myself from someone who would make a very obvious pass on me for the only reason of wanting some sex. I was ready to fight and win the battle. I expected someone like Anthony to start charming me with the same captivating words used in his messages. I had turned myself into Maddie.

So when I walked him to his train at the end of the day and he didn’t even try to kiss me, I was shocked. Worse, I was hurt. Because that definitively changed everything. Of course my fighting attitude didn’t last long, because it was very obvious there was no battle, but at least one kiss, I did expect that. I longed for that. In light of everything he had written me, of how excited he seemed to see me again and given that the day was good. Or seemed good.

One thing became very clear to me however: he was not at all what Maddie expected and her advice was completely pointless. As stupid and obvious as this may sound, I should have trusted my guts more. Because one thing is sure: I may still make many horrible mistakes, but I can read people and intentions much better now than when I was 17 and if in the end I trusted this person to be different from the others and if I believed what he said, maybe there was a reason. It might be stretching it a little too thin, but maybe he did write to me so much because he just wanted to get to know me while we couldn’t spend time together and maybe he pushed himself in some bold texts because he knows he wouldn’t have the courage to do it face to face. Because he is a nerd, in the end, just like me.

But that missing kiss… All it meant to me was he had changed his mind. That would unfortunately not be a surprise. Every member of the aforementioned trio changed his mind about me, I wouldn’t know why it should be any different with him. And that is probably the very worst thing right now, because with the others I couldn’t actually be sure of how interested in me they were in the first place; in this case, I know. I was suddenly terrified I would never hear from him again.

Unreasonable exaggeration? I still don’t know. But right now I am not only extremely disappointed at the idea of having lost him too, I am deeply scared at the idea that this is no way to deal with the whole dating matter and have no way of overcoming the problem. I am hurting myself way too much with my attitude. And while I could force myself to be celibate, if I wanted to, I can’t refrain from liking men. While I perfectly know I could do without him since I’ve done it so far not even knowing him until last week, I don’t have the faintest idea of how I could ever survive the next crush and the next and the next after that without being crushed myself.