Five Weeks backwards

Yesterday I was at the gym for a class again. I was half hoping and half afraid I’d see him. To put myself out of my misery, I thought “Since I was warm and friendly and proactive in establishing contact when I’d met him before, I could simply ask if he’d be there.” I did, and in response was sent a photo of a half glass of beer, with the caption “What do you think”, followed by “It’s my second one.”

In our conversation the day before, he’d said he didn’t see the point of waking up in the morning. That there wasn’t really any meaning to life. That he’d started to drink again and the evening before had fallen asleep in front of the television after a few beers. He’d also told me before that for him, “one beer is too many, and 6 isn’t enough”, that he often had suicidal thoughts. He’d even told me once, in a moment of vulnerability in bed, that if he did not have me or his mother, he’d end it all now. His mother gave him a responsibility, and I gave him hope, he said.

The photo sat uneasily with me. I could not contemplate what I thought was his pain, without feeling like I had a role to hold space for him. I reminded myself the whole night that it was not my responsibility. That I could empathise, but he’s a grown man, who asked me to get out of his life, who was furious with me simply because I’d said he seemed forgetful and if there was anything wrong or anything I could do to help. It wasn’t my responsibility. I did not have to care. There had to be boundaries, and only I could set and keep them.

I woke at 2 am, then 3, then 4. It was impossible to get back to sleep without knowing I could let him know he had a person to talk to. He doesn’t really have friends - his friendships are process driven. Finally, I sent him a voice message, tagged on to the photo of the beer, in case he misunderstood my intention and thought I was trying to get him back. I said, “Hi. Would you like to get together sometime and hang out and talk? Let me know. Ok, bye.” I sent it.

All morning there was no response. No acknowledgement. Nothing. He’d heard the message, but no “Thanks, but no thanks.” No “I’ll think about”. No “thanks for the offer”. Not even a “not a chance.” Nothing.

When I sent the note, I’d thought of this as a possible outcome. I thought it through. Examine my feelings and motivations. Processed it and decided I could handle the worse case scenario - which was this ghosting. I convinced myself that I’d made such progress in the last 5 weeks, I was so calm and strong and warm and friendly the day before. I could handle it.

I’m now a heap of bloody mess again on the floor. An embarrassed, humiliated, broken, bewildered, furious broken heap of mess.

Clearly I did not prepare enough, and overestimated my self-awareness. I’m picking through the debris again, realising I’d just undid 5 weeks of hard work. But there will be no pity party. I made the move. No one asked me to.

It’s on me.