I just read a post by Ecrivain on her blog 'Another chapter in the same book', and this sentence made me cringe in recognition:
"Do you know how, when you’ve faced more disappointments than you can handle and the loneliness has just gotten so bad that you actually feel afraid to have any feelings for anybody because it’s like the Universe is out to get you and make you feel bad at every turn?"
Yes, I do know exactly what you mean, and precisely how that feels. There was a period in my life of about six years - mostly when I was studying for my undergraduate degrees - when I 'fell' pretty frequently for guys who never fell for me in their turn. To be fair, half of them probably had no idea how I felt, as I was far too shy/insecure to actually tell them - I think I expected, and probably still expect, the guys I like to be able to read my mind, and/or pick up from my behaviour/increased interest in talking to them, that I think they're wonderful. Not really a realistic expectation of most males in the first place, and as regular readers will know, my version of 'I'm interested body language/verbal signals' is pretty messed up anyway, so what hope did they, or I, possibly have?! At any rate, the number of times I sat by and watched those men 'light up' for someone else - often a colleague, sometimes a close friend - and felt that ghastly sinking feeling, when your teeth are on edge, your smile is so plastic and the lump in your throat so vast that you never know afterwards how you managed to speak, eventually got so hideous that I essentially refused to allow myself to find a guy attractive for years, because I couldn't see how I could possibly handle another round of that without breaking for good.
Maybe that's why I fell so hard when Mr Summer came along - another man I thought - still think, if I'm honest - was/is utterly wonderful. It had been, quite literally, years since I'd allowed myself to feel attraction. He has reappeared in the last few weeks, and in one easy swoop undone all the defences I rebuilt so painstakingly over the winter. He had good reason for disappearing and however detached I try to be, however hard I pinch myself and remind myself what it feels like and where I have been many times before, I cannot quite resist. The chances that he will ever respond as I wish he would are negligible - to the best of my knowledge he's back together with the girlfriend he broke up with just before we met. Nonetheless, every little detail makes my foolish, hopeful heart swoon, and reminds me of exactly why my defences didn't hold in the first place - the glorious, easy phone calls (that feel like we last saw each other yesterday, not a year ago) which he ends with "lots and lots of love", the thoughtful, helpful gesture in a tricky situation, the promise to come and support my professional life and "cheer and throw roses" - his words, not mine - telling his mother that he thinks I'm "a lovely person" - this is a genuinely wonderful man - caring, compassionate, eminently lovable - is it any wonder I can't conquer the hopeful delusion?
I know exactly how this ends - I've been there too many times before. Granted, in hindsight many of those men would have been abysmal matches anyway, but that didn't stop me from feeling what I felt at the time. In this case, in so many ways, he makes utter and complete sense, and because of this fact I have allowed the fear to be pushed back, and the hope to take over, through a stong sense of Deja vu that tells me this may be the worst one of all.
