…delivered to me by PM this morning with the dreaded words “I just want us to be friends” attached to it.
It’s mundane and pointless, I know. It happens to everyone. It’s happened to me quite a few times in the past - but damn it still hurts. At 39, it’s every bit as painful as it was twenty years ago. One never learns.
By PM!? That’s just cold, that is. Unless there’s really a distance factor involved there’s no good excuse for that. At the very least a phone call. These things should be done in person, or minimally, by voice.
At 39, you’re just as human as you were twenty years ago. That shouldn’t change. If you can’t feel pain, you probably have to do without joy and love, too. I do hope it gets better soon.
at least mine was by phone and i forced the issue, knowing something was in the wind.
the divemaster wanted to do it in person, i’ll say that much for him.
We’ve known each other for just over a year - dating for about four months. We work in the same building, and she lives just fifteen minutes away from me.
Two weeks ago, as I returned from a couple weeks vacation to see my parents who live in another part of the country, something had changed. We only talked via PM, because she’d be very busy all the time, and would make up excuses for not seeing me.
Cue flashing red lights…
The PM was probably my own fault. Today I asked her via PM if we could meet tonight. In reply, she sent me excerpts from the Olympic program and pointed out that she would be too busy watching. I am not making this up. This is only marginally better than being told “No, I have to get an oil change on my cat”, so I asked her straight out. And that was that.
Rum luck, bub. The ex-girlfriend did essentially the same thing to me (although at least in person and she was the one returning from a vacation) and it kicked my legs right out from under me. I’m not sure you can learn not to let it hurt unless you just date women you don’t really care about at all.
I suggest that you watch the “The job’s done…the bitch is dead,” sequence from Casino Royale over and over again until completely numb. Or any of Sam Peckinpah’s delightfully misogynistic films (The Wild Bunch, Straw Dogs, Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia). And if you like I can share my interpretation of Casablanca in which it turns out that Ilsa is a manipulative, lying grifter rather than the vacillating bimbo that the conventional analysis would have you believe. Sometimes the best way to dull the pain is to keep hitting yourself in the foot with a hammer.
Well, I’d try to look at it this way: If she really thought you’d buy that lame of an excuse, she’s probably too dumb to be worth your time anyway.
That definitely stinks. Hope things get better for ya soon.
Ah, if I had a nickel for every time I’ve had my heart seriously broken, I’d have… oh, 20 cents. I feel your pain. Can I recommend this website as some bittersweet entertainment? "I Just Want To Be Friends."