I must have stared at that damn text for three minutes.
At first I thought it must have been from someone else and I’d clicked on it, mistakenly thinking it was from him.
But after blinking at it and staring at it until the message started to blur, it sunk in that yes, it really was from Jonathan. Saying he was getting back together with his ex-girlfriend.
I was completely confused. I wasn’t even mad. I was just…bewildered. I just could not reconcile this news with what he had told me about himself, the things I thought I knew. My finger hovered above my phone and I honestly didn’t know what to write back.
So I decided to pour myself a glass of wine. Because at this point I didn’t really give a crap about The Plan.
Then I started to cry.
Because I didn’t believe him.
There was something about the way he said it. The timing of the text, that made me feel he wasn’t telling the truth.
I hadn’t heard from him the day after he’d said he would come visit, which was unusual. And then the next day either, which was even more unusual. So I’d finally called him. He didn’t answer and then texted back that he couldn’t talk. And I just knew, knew at that point, that something had shifted. So I asked him about it. I could tell that annoyed him, as he gave me vague and sort of philosophical responses. Then I brought up the visit. And I could tell that annoyed him even more. But because I am me, and I can’t let sleeping dogs lie, I kept pressing him. And that’s when he sent me the text of the reconciliation.
But there was no follow up, no “I’m sorry” or “I know this must come as a surprise,” or “Let me explain.”
There was just…nothing.
And because of that, I didn’t believe what he said. What I did believe was that he was grasping at the one thing he could say to shut me up. The one thing he could say to make me leave him alone. Because I had pushed too hard. Again. Even though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.
I drank another glass of wine.
Nine times out of ten, Zeke is the person I call whenever I’m in emotional dire straits. Zeke has known me for a very, very long time so he has seen me at my best and he has seen me at my worst. I do not have any fear that if I am hysterical with him I will lose his friendship. I know he can handle it. So I called him. But his phone went to voicemail. So I told the whole sorry tale to the empty space, with weeping words.
I sat on my couch and looked at Jonathan’s text. I then sent some rather snotty and immature messages in the hopes that at least he would respond.
He did not respond.
Looking back, this does not surprise me. They were pretty pathetic. I did not do my writer-self justice at all.
Then I had another glass of wine.
And instead of the escape I’d hoped for, a storm began brewing in my head, with thoughts crashing into each other, over and over.
I began pacing the apartment.
This was all my fault. It was my fault for pushing so hard. This never would have happened if I could have just ‘enjoyed the experience’ like everyone had told me to. Everything would have been fine if I could have managed myself better. If I could just get it together.
I called Jonathan many more times than is lady-like that night, to try to get some sort of clarity on all of this.
But he never answered.
Time went on and the hurricane in my head intensified. What was wrong with me? Why did I have to ruin everything? When was I finally going to act like a normal person? Tears streamed hotly over my cheeks and neck and I hated myself.
At 11:30pm, I wiped at my eyes and looked at the clock. It was too late to call anyone. And I didn’t have anyone to call.
I went to the kitchen to plug in my phone. And then I sank to the floor and sobbed.
And then, I called My Ex.