I still dream about him sometimes. You would think that after so many months of having absolutely no contact, the dreams would stop. Or the wondering would stop. I wonder about him. Is he OK? Did he find love? Did he leave another woman in his wake? And of course: Does he ever think about me? The way we left it, years ago, was with a question I had posed to him. We were on the phone and he had just told me that he had joined a dating site. After years of being my “beneficial” friend, after telling me he loved me, that I was his closest friend, after having the most incredible physical chemistry, after knowing how much I ached for him and how I would do anything for him, he blithely told me he had joined a dating site. Why don’t you want to be with me, I had asked. He said he didn’t know. I asked him to think about it and call me back. Gravely and earnestly, he said OK.

I waited. I counted the days that he did not call. Then I counted the weeks. Then at the start of each new month, I indulged in tapping out the number of silent months with my fingers. After a year, I stopped. Waiting for someone to call you back for a year is a humbling exercise, one that I do not recommend to anyone. 

Now, I can’t remember if it’s been two years or three. The pain of those days is a distant memory. The heart palpitations and shallow breaths, the wide eyed nights staring at the ceiling in disbelief and anguish and misery, those nights are long gone. I never called him again. His casual dismissal of me and my offer of love was humiliating enough. I was not going to beg for any more morsels of his attention. Perhaps I should have been more demanding, though I think the end result would have been the same.
While I waited, I had sex with a lot of people. And for the most part, it was fun. And even during this little minxy phase of mine, I was aware of why I was in it. I was trying to see how he could have done it to me, how he could be so passionate, so charming, kiss me so deeply and with such feeling, and then drop me without so much as a goodbye. So I became him, a collector of passion, a purveyor of sex, a consumer of pleasure, but never a wholehearted participant of love. Never anyone more than once. I was not interested in leading anyone on when I felt so dead inside. But also, I was a bit repulsed by them afterward. Which of course is to say I was repulsed by myself – since they were really me and I was really “him”. 
I’m done with all that now, and I feel more alive inside every day. But once in a while he still figures in my dreams.
Fallflower Fallflower
41-45, F
4 Responses Jan 23, 2013

The one you dream about---is he the father of your kids??

Have you ever thought of how many men you did that to when you were sleeping with all those guys ...

No, as the story says, I didn't meet anyone more than once.

Once is all it takes. You think you need to use a person more than once for it to damage them like you described above?
I have been very severely damaged by women who used and discarded me once. So has my brother. Lots of men and women have.

I'm just trying to help you understand, what that man did to you, you likely did to many others.

I'm not taking responsibility for someone who gets hurt after a one night stand where the expectation was crystal clear from the beginning. It is not the same thing at all as what that guy did. That was years of torment, on again off again love and indifference. Sheesh.

The expectation was clear from the beginning? I didn't know that

1 More Response

I also had a similar situation like this. Hugs Its great you have moved on and its okay to have thoughts about him and wonder...natural. I don't think we can control that.

Sorry to hear that you went through the same thing... douchebags abound, I guess! Hugs :)

This is my story except I never found the minx phase. I just dropped out of life. I feel like I shed it, like skin, that part of me that craved and longed. I hate to admit this, but --I begged--begged, for a word, a good bye, and I'm sorry. I had no shame. I got nothing. Days and weeks turned into months and now years.
It was like I was just phased out,
but like you, he knew I was waiting. Promises had been made. I guess I believed that if I was just patient enough that he would wake up one day and remember me, remember how amazing the chemistry was (you can't fake that completely, can you?), remember that...
oh yeah! I love her!
But in a recent story I wrote that some people are always on the lookout for something better and perhaps that is what happened to us. Maybe it was love but it expired, evaporated. Or maybe...someone else came along. Maybe it is just as simple as that. Love means different things to different people. I was told "I love you" I will never know what happened, and I fear, that unlike you, it will haunt me for the rest of my life.

This is a truly amazing story and not just because your story mimics mine, but because you expressed it all without malice and with a positive spin on it concerning growth and moving on. I need to pay attention. I am not there yet. I need to take this to heart.

Q, I've always admired how open you are about this - I know we have a similar story but I've always been too shy to really talk about it. It does still kinda haunt me and I will always wonder why. I worry that I'll never love again like that. But I'm thinking that kind of love is not desirable or sustainable anyway. The panic attacks were a bit of a pain.

Being loved back by someone that consistently reminds me of his love, makes my love different. More warm, less desperate - more grateful, maybe less intense. But I have learned that a lack of angst doesn't necessarily lead to a lack of passion.

Thank you for your comment. You do the best comments.

There is no doubt that he thinks of you and remembers you.