So let's talk about boys, to get it out of the way for the month. It's pretty inevitable. Please feel free to skip past this entry, as I realize it is destined to be self serving and long-winded. Let's call a particular boy Dobbin, because the name Dobbin makes me laugh and it's easier for me to call him something else. Dobbin was a boy in my Geometry class. He was tall. He wore glasses. He was very outgoing and extroverted. He liked Harry Potter. We became sort-of friends (I'm weird about calling people friends), and I introduced him to Nerdfighteria. It was all very platonic and fine until late April, when we realized we liked one another.
Before Dobbin, I had never had a boyfriend. I wasn't particularly interested in having one, and it isn't as if there are scores of hot nerdy gentlemen ideals here in Hicksville, Texas (or, indeed, anywhere I have lived). But he asked me out and I was so, so excited at the prospect of getting to know him better. But... that didn't happen. I would ask him questions and he would seem surprised I had asked. I would worry, and tell him I was worried, and he would continually reassure me that things were fine. I can be a skeptic, and trust is not something that comes naturally to me, so his reassuring and flowery words always left me doubting. However, I was sort of happy. I was hopeful, despite my many journal entries filled with unanswered questions.
We saw each other very little. All I wanted, I swear, was to sit the guy down and have an actual conversation. I was not looking for hanky panky, or lifelong commitment. As I say, trust isn't something I give out eagerly. My trust is tattered, and I'm exceedingly tentative with it. But I was so, so honest. So honest. I never lied, and I tried so hard to communicate. School let out (for me) in late May, and the last time I saw him for longer than a five minute interval was at our high school's graduation. Dobbin was even more distracted than usual at this event, I think, because many of his friends were graduating. And while I (and a lot of other people) teased him for ignoring me, I was okay with it. It was a big deal for him, and I was just sort of there. That was okay.
Less than okay was the fact that I wrote him a seven page letter that he responded to with two sentences pertaining to the first page. The idea was that if he couldn't talk to me in person without his stomach flipping (excuses are fun, aren't they?), maybe writing would be a solution. Even in this, I moved on. It was okay. I felt like I had a handle on it, and I started to... trust. He kept pressing me with those pretty words and told me he loved me, told me I could trust him, that I was safe with him. No, I didn't know when I would see him again. Yes, I was often left confused by his actions. But I started to trust, whether this is a logical progression or not.
It was a week short of two months "together" that he broke up with me. I had just gotten back from a visit with my dad and grandparents that left me scattered and upset. It was Monday evening and we were texting. Everything seemed fine. Everything was fine. We were discussing nicknames and his visit with his aunt and he told me he loved me. Two hours later... well. He threw ellipses all over the place, stuttering via text that he wasn't sure how to say something. I answered back multiple times as he refused to fess up, saying he could call me or say whatever it was with the caveat that it wouldn't sound right. I spent thirty minutes sitting at my desk, phone in hand, shaking. When he finally replied it was to say that maybe we weren't meant to be more than friends, that his "head and [his] heart" had been aching over this, that he was sorry and could we "still be friends?"
Yes, I put the text messages on Facebook. It wasn't my finest hour. He had told me that everything was fine, and all those pretty things I began to believe, and then he dumped me in a text message. I don't trust easily. It takes a lot for me to call someone my friend, even. But I trusted and then this happened, and it made no sense. I am constantly looking for logic in things, and there was none. Having not accepted his plea for a continued friendship or his friend request on Facebook (HAHAHAHAHA), I made my twitter private and spent a great deal of time in a rage of confusion and horror and what-have-you. After almost two weeks of contemplation and upset, I sent him a message.
Let's be clear here. I needed closure. I needed to be able to say my piece and walk away, never to speak with Dobbin again. While many would advise against it, I needed that and spent a lot of time thinking before I sent something. I showed it to my mom before I sent it. I thought and wrote a lot, which is one way that I am able to process things. I was rational and I did not regret it when I pressed send. It was a great letter, if I do say so myself. Four days later he responded, saying he had been going through personal difficulties at the time and was very sorry in light of his cowardice. This was one thing. It shocked me that he said sorry, but I wasn't sure of my next move. At first I drafted a short, curt response and was leaving it for a while when... he poked me on Facebook. There was definite yelling at the computer screen involved when I received it, and it gave me (personal) license to send it off. It ended with "have a nice life." And with his response, "Goodbye Katherine", our communications came to an end. Thank God.
So. Closure having been acquired, I was left both relieved and in another quandary. Why had he lied? Why had he said all of those things, then taken them back with a tone that seemed rather like another way to say "just kidding"? I didn't know why, and answers are a subject I think about often. That is, not having them. I never have the answers, and so much in my life is not remotely my control. I am trying to learn to focus on what I can control, and to take things one at a time, but as with anything it is a process. Very difficult. My next step had been to compile all documents relating to him, date and fold them and place them in order. All of this went into a shoebox, along with a burned CD of relevant things and anything else I found. I wrote a lot of drafts and moonbrained tirades in this time frame, which composed most of this stuff. The box went with me a lot of places for a while. Now it lives in my closet, where I can still pull it out and look if I really need to. The point is this: with these papers contained in this box, they aren't going to jump out and attack me when I'm not expecting it. It provides some structure where I can find none.
And that's about that. I still deal with feelings about this, but they aren't as horrific as they were at first. My twitter is no longer private. Dobbin isn't all I think about any more. He won't be going to our school next year, even, that I'm aware of. It's possible that I will never lay eyes on him again, and in that I guess I'm lucky. It could have been worse, I realize, but the situation still took over a large portion of my life. It still hurt and it continues to show no logic. This isn't all of it. There are details I haven't pressed here, but as I'm realizing... words are not all-encompassing. I love them so, but mine are destined to be scattered and incomplete. Through this, I was still my own person. Better things will come, and I have hope. I still have hope, and this remains especially relevant.
Appropriately, my sister is playing "Nerdfighterlike" at the moment. Personally, I'm glad I've gotten this post over with early in the month. If you've read it, I commend your sheer amazingness and stamina. Thanks for bearing with me as I regale you with my personal troubles.
