I don't especially care about Valentine's Day. Being single on it is not a particular sore point for me - I figure it's just a holiday that doesn't pertain to me, like Yom Kippur or Easter. But until the last few weeks, I had thought this year was going to be different. Not that I was jazzed about Valentine's Day - but the 14th would have been the six-month anniversary of a relationship I was really, truly happy about.
And here's the "but": but it was long distance, and he has vanished, and I have no idea what happened. No communication from him, in any form, for three weeks; by no means am I a relationship expert, but I'm assuming this means that he's decided we're through. I'm not sure what else to do than take it very personally.
Okay. I can very easily understand not wanting to date me, or that the distance was just too hard, or any number of other situations - trapped under a bus, kidnapped by coyotes, hospitalized without cell phone - but what I don't understand is why I am apparently not worth even a perfunctory explanation. If he cared for me at all, why didn't he spend three minutes to write a text message saying something, anything, to let me know what's going on? And if I did something wrong - which I can hardly keep from assuming I did - surely telling me would be kinder, so at the very least I can work on it for next time? And if I am so awful that he had to flee, why did he take me on in the first place?
And here's a question: if someone seems to have changed their mind about you, does that undo, make false, all the lovely things they once said and felt about you? Does it mean the whole thing was imaginary? Does it mean you never mattered, were never loved, were never worth the thoughtful compliments and shared laughted and closeness? Because that's how it feels - it feels like everything is gone, not only the future but the past too, and while I know I shouldn't dwell on the past (even in the best of times), knowing that the past was real makes me know at least that there were some truly good things about us, about me, I guess, more selfishly, even if they aren't relevant any more. I can deal with that - but it's much harder to deal with the idea that it was all imaginary to begin with, that I was a fool for ever thinking it was otherwise.
This isn't the person I thought I knew. None of this seems like him. I never would have guessed this could happen, that he could be so hurtful, that I would hold so little significance to him that he could dismiss me with not a single word of explanation or anger or goodbye. The thing I liked about him most was his warmth and kidness. Very little about this adds up or makes any sense to me, which I think is what's hardest.
I often joke that I'm really a seventh-grader inside; maybe this silent treatment is a sign that I'm finally getting back what I've sewn (sown? no idea).
Vanishing without a trace is a lot more towards Bollywood than my life usually runs. And not in the good way.
sad sack
Monday, February 12, 2007 3:47 PM
4 comments
4 comments
I'm sorry to hear this, Beth.
By 
alienvoord, at
February 13, 2007
Nearly the same thing happened to me recently, sistergirl. Sheeeeeeeeeit.
A friend of mine pointed out that perhaps I have missed a bullet by being unceremoniously dumped (by e-mail,and we live in the same medium-sized city, and we're both supposedly grown-ups). He said he'd be willing to clarify things for me, but then didn't return my e-mail.
He's telling me things about himself that he doesn't really want me to know, and he's too unkind to cop out by taking the rap with the "it's not you; it's me" schtick. Rather than being honest with himself, he has chosen to indirectly accuse me of some awful stuff and hit the road.
I need that like I need a prefrontal lobotomy.
I've rewritten the script so it goes like this (and I quote from an e-mail I sent to friends last week): "In the Bollywood movie in my head, I stand in the coffee shop and belt out an a capella 'If you don't know me by now, you will never, never know me' with some soulful backup harmonies by the [independent coffee shop's] Smoking Muslim Cab Drivers' Quintet. [The baker]could float out of the kitchen in his perpetual five o'clock shadow and a pink tutu, a tiara on his bald head, to present me with a microphone and some flowers."
Hell, what would Rani Mukherjee do?
I'm sorry to go on so...
By 
, at
February 18, 2007
Goofy - thanks - good thing I have other projects to distract me eh?
anneonymousone - jeeze, that is definitely...well, let's say "unimpressive" behavior, isn't it? Bah. Good idea re: Bollywood rewrite. I like the idea of having WWRMD t-shirts. Or Helen. Or Amrish Puri. Or...oh, the list goes on! (Oh, and thanks for stopping by here - and Bollywood Fugly!)
By Beth Loves Bollywood, at
February 18, 2007
I've come to this blog after a really long time and I have to say, that is a nasty, horrible, *cowardly* thing to do - I really didn't think he'd be like this.
So sorry, Beth.
The man doesn't know what he's missing. Gah!
By Chronicus Skepticus, at
March 15, 2007
