Day 100: The Grand Finale
I didn’t cry when he said he didn’t like me that way. I tried. I really did. I couldn’t do it because I didn’t believe that was it, I didn’t convince myself it was over just then, I still had it in my mind that things could work out in time, that he just needed to see how great I am and it would all come together.
Tonight, I cried. He came out with me and a friend to a Christmas market and he was silent and moody and made me look stupid, because I had just spent so much time alone with the friend trying to convince her he was a good guy. I wanted him to prove me right and he didn’t, he disappointed me and I got mad and said something when he and I were making our way home from Union Square. He mentioned that he really was planning on bringing a date, a girl named Tamara (what a stripper name), to the party tomorrow night, but he was afraid I’d be awkward about it. We launched into a whole long argument about this. He called me immature, I called him an asshole, he insulted my friends, I insults his relationship, he said he wished I would move on, I said I wished he would stop preventing me from that. We rode the subway in near silence, terrible, long, awkward silence, broken occasionally by me saying, “Please talk. I can’t deal with this, just say something.” “Nope.” A few stops to the end he finally spoke to tell a joke and the loudspeaker drowned him out. I spoke and got drowned out. We looked at each other in frustrated silence. We laughed getting off the subway.
As we emerged from the subway, however, we hit another brief silence and I exploded into a tirade on what I felt was wrong. “You see, I’ve looked at this very psychoanalytically. I have a problem with seeing you with other women because I get it in my head that you and I spend so much time together, have such good times, I don’t get why it can’t be a relationship, and then you mention these girls and I remember the missing piece: you’re not even remotely attracted to me! These girls are pretty and skinny and smart and funny -” “No they’re not!” “Ok, they’re not smart or funny or awesome, but that’s just it, you get sex from them and then you come to me for the rest of the relationship and that’s not fucking fair! I’m always the other half for guys, I’m always the girl they go to to talk and laugh, and I just can’t be the fucking alone comedian for the rest of my life! I can’t do it anymore! Fuck this!” “I used to be that too! You just need to learn!” “No. No, I am always put right into the friends zone. Guys don’t give me a fucking chance because I’m not a fucking supermodel, I’m a friend. That’s it. They have me judged and categorized within five fucking seconds. So fuck you, you have no idea.” We reached my dorm. I was going inside to get the movie for the night because fuck it, it’s movie night and we’re going to watch a fucking movie no matter how much we hate each other right now and we’re going to fucking LIKE it.
We talk a bit walking to his dorm, nothing explosive, generally cool banter or silence. When we reached his room, he left because some chick made him food earlier and he wanted to go pick it up. He told me to start to movie so I did. 15 minutes passed and he wasn’t yet back. I felt awful. I considered leaving. I should have closed his laptop and left right then and there, I should have called up Hot D and gone out drinking with him, I should have called Dehui and talked, I should have found another place to be, anywhere but there. I was sitting in the room of the guy who was making me absolutely miserable, like a fucking idiot, waiting for him to get back. Always waiting. I was so afraid of awkwardly running into him on the way out and not knowing what to say that I stayed. We watched an awful, awful movie that made me hate men even more, Bad Santa. Fucking terrible movie. I got up and left without saying much, a bit of stupid joking, some “I hate you’s.”
As I walked down the street, all these thoughts were swirling in my head, I was thinking about how he just would not ever love me, how he had disappointed me so much, what an asshole he had been to me, how I just let this happen to me, how I defended him, how I still like him, maybe even love him, so much, how awful I will feel leaving for London. I cried. Not dramatically. Not long. I texted Hot D and Dehui to see if they were around. It was 12:30am, but it was worth a shot. I walked onto campus, walking past all the drunk kids doing stupid shit, being obnoxious, thinking about how I never noticed them all because I’m usually drunk right along with him, thinking how much I’d like to be drunk. Considered going up to the top of the International Affairs Building (not to jump, don’t worry) to see the city, but thought that might make me more miserable, especially if security busts me. Dehui called and I lost it. “You called? What’s up?” “I don’t know, I’m just trying not to be alone right now,” I started sobbing, “I just fought with Amir tonight and it’s awful and he’s such an asshole and-” “Where are you? I hear voices…” “I’m in the middle of campus, the sundial. I didn’t know where else to go. There’s lots of drunk people.” “Ok, I’m coming out, meet me at Broadway.” “Ok.”
She hugged me as soon as she emerged from her dorm and I lost it again, and we walked toward the center of campus again to sit on the sundial and talk a bit. It’s where I tend to go every time I’m miserable, but I almost never tell anyone when I’m that miserable. I rough it alone, I move on. It was nice to actually talk to someone for once and have a good cry with someone. It’s something I haven’t actually done in months, maybe years, that I can remember. We talked a while. I went through the story haphazardly and we yelled about men being assholes and laughed a lot and got weird looks from people walking by. She laughed about how incredibly honest I am with guys, how I tell them absolutely everything I’m feeling and thinking, how surprising this is to her. Talking cheered me up a bit, and she had to get back to work around 1:00am. We had concocted a plan for me to bring my own date to the dinner tomorrow night even though he wasn’t bringing the girl after all. I was very seriously considering drafting my good gay guy friend from Brooklyn to come uptown and pose as my new (straight) very cute boy. He would’ve been great. That or get my old RA to finally act on his saying “I’d date you!”
I returned to my dorm, opened my computer and was automatically signed on to Skype. A few minutes later, I received an incredibly startling message: “I just broke up with Lauren.” I thought he was fucking with me, being insanely cruel. “…” “Yeah.” “What happened?” He video-chatted me and explained that it wasn’t really a break up, but it was a fight in which he basically said the relationship wasn’t going the way he wanted, and he wasn’t happy with it, and he felt like she was pushing him into marriage and everything and he just wasn’t sure how he felt about it all anymore. He said a lot of cruel things to her. She’s probably joining me in misery this evening. But I am a good friend. I listened to him, I gave him the most unbiased advice I could muster, I talked to him about how to see it from her perspective, how she is in the real world and not college now and is thinking babies/house/settling, how he’s too self-destructive, how he can improve things between them, how he can make himself happier. I’m such a good friend that I will literally break my own heart to fix his. (I’m an expert on self-destructive behavior.) I’m an expert on relationships despite never having been in one myself. He told me I should be a psychologist because I was giving him freaking brilliant shit. I told him I’ve been a licensed psychologist since 8th grade. “Honestly, this argument will blow over, you’ll apologize tomorrow, she’ll blame herself, you won’t break up. This isn’t the end of your relationship.” “I’m going to break up with her after the holidays, though. I can’t now because I have plane tickets and cruises and shit.” “You say that now. But you’ll have your romantic two weeks with her and you won’t even remember feeling this way by January.”
I asked him, “Do you love her? Do you really, truly love her?” He paused, gave an inquisitive look. “Really, tell me. Be completely honest with me. I won’t hate you.” I meant it. Psychologist Lauren can hear it all impartially. He considered his words carefully. “She is what would be best for me in the future.” “That’s not answering my question, so I will take it that you do not love her.” He nods confirmation. “So she’s basically just what you think you should love. She’s the political wife you need, but she’s not necessarily the person you will be happy with?” “…Yes.” We delved into this for a while.
We also talked about us a bit more, about when he knew I liked him, about when I thought he knew, about when I knew he didn’t like me, about what he did to lead me on, about how the things he says to girls can make them get the completely wrong message. We talked about our dynamic, he told me exactly what he thinks would happen if he were to date me. “Well I wouldn’t be genuinely into you, so I’d probably date you fine at first but then I’d treat you worse than you’ve ever been treated in your life because I wouldn’t have the balls to break up with you. I’d be afraid of damaging what we have now and losing you, so I’d just be an asshole until you broke up with me.” “You’d still lose me either way.” “I know. Which is why I won’t date you.”
It feels fitting, I suppose, to be ending on this note. He and I recapped the entire relationship start to finish tonight, everything I’ve documented here. “What did I say that made you think I liked you? Give an example.” “We were in Shake Shack with everyone. Out of nowhere, you turned and looked at me and said ‘You make you happy.’ Made my fucking week. I thought this was it, I finally found someone good.” “You do make me happy.” “I know I do. But not in the let’s-get-married-and-live-happily-ever-after sense, which is what my mind automatically jumps to. And there’s the problem.” “I had no idea.” It’s all being revealed to him bit by bit. I like honesty. I don’t remember what it was that made me decide to always speak my mind with guys, but it was a good decision.
Our conversation wound down and it got late. “Alright, I think it’s time for us to go to sleep. See you tomorrow.” “Yeah…Listen, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m going to London soon. I’ve got awesome things coming my way, and I’ll be over this soon enough. I really will.” “I know you will. I just hate that I’m making you miserable now, and I hate that I’m making everyone in my life fucking miserable.” “I know.” “I’m a good guy.” “I know you are. You act like an asshole sometimes, but I know you’re good. I do defend you a lot.” “Thanks for all the advice. I guess I’ll call her tomorrow and apologize just to keep things alright for Christmas, and after that…I’ll just have to think about it.” “Yeah. Sounds like a plan. Goodnight.” “Goodnight.”
This is my role. This is who I am. I stand by people even when they destroy me. I do my best to put myself first most of the time but when I fall, I fall hard and I forget about my love affair with myself. I’m not that bitter or jaded, 100 days later. I’m disappointed. I’m hurt. But I have loved, I do love, I will love again. That ability is not gone. He said to me, “You know, love is an ability. And at least you have that,” on the subway, and it was really corny, yes, and stolen from a movie, but it was right for the moment. “I am incredibly proficient in loving,” I replied, “But not in being loved.” I later told him how I don’t believe in ‘the one that got away.’ I don’t think this mysterious ‘one’ can get away. I think if we’re meant to lose someone, that’s it. If we see them again, if we love them again or they love us again, then that’s what was supposed to happen all along. I’m a believer in fate when it comes to love. I like thinking I have no control over the outcome. It makes me feel better when things don’t work out - there was nothing I could do. And I’m a believer in karma. And I believe I’ve got a lot of good coming my way to take care of all the bad because, god damnit, what goes around comes around and I’ve been sending out good in one direction for so long; I’m just waiting for that good to curve back around and make its way to me. It’s just taking its dear sweet time, is all.
I’m optimistic about the future. I’m incredibly hurt and sad right now, but I’ve got London coming up. I’m young. I’ve got the whole entire world to see still. A world full of people to meet. Many pages to write. There’s so much ahead of me right now. And when I come back from London I think, perhaps, I will be changed. Good things ahead. I hope you all - whoever exactly constitutes this ‘you all’ - have enjoyed my neurotic little hundred-day jaunt through the world of love. It deviated from its original intent, but hey, I think it took a turn for the better, right? And with this, I bid thee adieu.
— L.
