Umm, You *Aren’t* the One that Got Away

You ever walk into a situation with someone and think—feel confident—it’s going to be a certain way, a certain good and validating kind of way, and then realize a handful of minutes later that this person doesn’t even like you? As in, they really don’t even want to be around you and it is abundantly clear they would rather be anywhere else and are making deals in their head about how much time they have to put in before they can go while still being polite? Oh, me neither.

I am almost always friends with my exes. In layman’s terms: I always thought my exes liked being around me. Sometimes it was because I felt like they still had feelings for me, but most often, I thought they still had a fondness for me. They could still laugh at my jokes, or listen to my animated and detailed stories, or appreciate my personality on some level. I may not be the most charismatic person, but I’m charming, and friendly, and I am genuinely interested in how you’re doing. With most of my exes, I knew why we weren’t together and why it wouldn’t work. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t secretly cultivate a little flicker of feeling that maybe someday, or maybe if we’d met at a different time, or maybe if I was more patient or less me, that we would work out. Or, at least, that they cared for me, still would want to be with me, thought highly of me, or even still loved me. I dunno! It’s what gave me a little comfort. That being said, I am possibly delusional.

One time I went to New York, and I made a plan to see a person who has been an ex for, ballpark, 12 years? 15? We were a rollercoaster in our early-to-mid-twenties, fiery and dramatic and mean and manipulative, but in the last ten years had half-assed trying to be friends here and there, one of us trying more than the other, and then not. Breakups usually triggered a desire to connect, emotional stability a hibernation in need. The spring before this trip we had been having a communicative season, and it seemed to me like after all this time, we might actually be able to be friends, without the burden of resentment and low simmering contempt ruining everything like it usually did. I might have thought there was potential for healing, and finally being able to talk about how our relationship had been painful and sad and fraught and lovesick. I felt like perspective might be possible, now that we were so far away from it.

When I walked up to where we were meeting, outside in the Lower East Side, near Tompkins Park, it became clear that we had very different expectations. I went in with a wide smile coupled with clear smizing eyes, and a hug, and I got one of those stiff side-pats, where someone pretends to hug you but in actuality is just standing there with their arm crooked out from their body. So, that was the first sign that this meeting was doomed.

I am one of those people who, the more uncomfortable things get, the bigger and more theatrical I get. It’s like I am trying to remedy the situation by sheer force, plowing over any subtle indications to leave something alone as I go, steamrolling the conversation into making fun of myself or some version of monologue that can withstand any self-awareness at all. It’s pretty much my panic place, like Jodie Foster had in that one movie,except instead of quiet it’s very loud.

Entertaining someone who does not want to be present is an uphill battle. I couldn’t get myself out of it, and he was not throwing me many bones. When I am in that space, my panic room, I can’t step back and think, much less salvage any dignity. After we parted ways, I took the subway going the wrong direction. It was like I couldn’t see/hear/or think straight. When I finally calmed down, it dawned on me: not only did this person not want to be my friend, but they didn’t even like me. I don’t have that hard a time with not being liked anymore, but I also didn’t really comprehend it. How can someone who once liked you so much not like you at all? Have I changed? Or have I not changed when everyone else has?

There’s a myriad of ways to interpret someone who once claimed to love you not liking you. There’s probably damage, there is definitely baggage, and there is also, most likely, truth. I know I did some pretty unlikeable things to that person, and I really didn’t care that much at the time. Even now, I do things I don’t like—I seek attention and validation from them, as some kind of proof that I am still wanted or needed or attractive, as if those things hold the kind of worth that personal growth does, and the intention I have dedicated to being a considerate and kind person as I move though life. With even a modicum of introspection, I know that seeking an ex’s affinity isn’t about my feelings about them, but my feelings about me. So, even if I am not the one that got away, I’m still one that’s going, bruised snail shell and all.