Unintended Guinea Pig

I wrote this entry months ago. I wrote it right after being dumped. It felt too honest to share. It was too personal, I have my pride, and I worried that he would read it. I'm no longer concerned about his eyes on this however, because while he sat on my couch three months ago, ended the relationship because, he said, he didn't feel emotionally available (which I don't dispute), and told me how important I was to him, and while he told me in a text exchange weeks later how he wanted to touch base from time to time, it appears from where I sit that those words were simply words.

So funny, those words of smoke. Said with meaning and good intentions, but without longevity.

I don't need to worry about being vulnerable to him and worry about what that might think of me, because silence speaks volumes, and he has said nothing. Nothing for a long time.

This leaves me with only one logical conclusion; I am no longer important. Just like that. And if there's one thing I know about people who don't give a shit about you, they don't give a shit about reading your blog either.

So, this is how it felt three months ago when he sat on my couch and delivered words with the best of intentions.

My feelings have changed only slightly now, but I will keep that to myself. Since now, that's too personal.



You will date and date and date, trying to find someone you connect with. Then you will keep trying. You will go out with assholes and consider a second date because there is no one else.  You will keep trying because you don't want to give up hope.

You will try dating men who you know are not right for you because, it must be you, right? You're the problem and you should adapt. But it never works, because you'd rather be alone than pretend.

Time will pass and while you are grateful to have friends and family on your birthday, you will feel a pang because you don't have your person. In winter, there will be no one to take a walk with you in the snow. And hold you hand. No one to share the cape with, or go on adventures with in the fall. Year after year.

You will begin to realize love may not be for you. That you will be that woman in the office meeting who's in her fifties and radiates bitterness, but claim she prefers to be single, because what the fuck else is she supposed to say? You will realize that what you hoped for and felt everyone, including you, deserves, will simply not happen.

Then you will meet him. He will wear a shirt with a tiny elephant on it to your first date, and while you don't like to believe in signs, you will take note because they are your favorite animal. You will talk and talk while the band you were supposed to be listening to plays in the distance, and then you will both agree should get sushi, even though it was supposed to be a quick date. A meet-and-greet. He will be the right height, the right build. There will be chemistry. He will kiss you on that first date when saying goodnight, under the street lights.

He will have a smile that makes you happy, especially when you make it appear with your humor. He will make you laugh. Every. Single. Day. He will accept you as you are and be patient with your questions. He will cook with you, listen to music with you. Sing in the car with you. He will hold your hand in his sleep occasionally and tell you later he didn't realize he did that.  He will bounce ideas off you which makes you feel valued. He will hold you while you cry over the loss of a loved-one, and when you are recovering from gallbladder surgery he will send you the song "I Like You" by Ben Rector. You will listen to that song when the pain meds do nothing, and you will feel better. (This will make you feel a bit cheesy, but you won't care).

He will be a grown-up who cooks and cleans and cares for his kid, does laundry and shops and makes weekly menu plans. He will make time for you when he should probably be taking time for himself. He will show when he says he's going to, call nightly, and ask you to text him when you get home for safety. He will hold you often and touch you when he passes by, and these things will make you feel secure. You will take walks together and your dogs will become best of friends.

You will feel calm about the relationship, not anxious like all the others. You will admire his kindness. You will talk about weekend plans and in jest, add "...if we still like each other" with a wink.  He will be your date for your 40th birthday and comfortably tell people he is your boyfriend. You will feel immense joy that he is with you for this birthday.

He will notice your eyes are in fact hazel, and not brown as you'd thought your whole life.

He will be your confidante, a good ear, a supportive friend, a good hugger. When you're tired, he will start cooking even though you offered to cook that night.

You will think that maybe it's your turn. Maybe it's your time to have your person. You will finally feel peace within you and someone to love. The right one to love. Your home away from home.

But he will also be struggling, and hide that from you. He will never introduce you to his family or his friends. You will not exists in his online life. Using his phone, he will house-hunt in front of you. Looking at houses, to you, feels like a clear indication of a future he sees without you in it. You will tell him as much, while pointing out that you don't think about moving in together anytime soon, which is true. No need to rush when you're content in the moment.

You will hear his reasons - meeting friends is a logistical challenge, when he sees family he is with his kid (and it was never time to meet his kid), looking at houses is just fun, Facebook is for sharing photos of his daughter with family. And you will accept those answers, convincing yourself that in the long run none of that matters. It will never occur to you to stop seeing him, because you're happy. And you actually love him.

But you are not blind, and you check in with him regularly, steeling yourself to ask the hard questions -  Are you happy? Is this relationship too much? Am I a rebound?  You will ask him on your second date why he started dating so soon after being hurt.  And you will get the answers you crossed your fingers for and finally start asking them less.

You will continue to feel a calm peace within you, with a nearly imperceptible unease below the surface.

Then he will start responding to your texts a bit slower than usual. He will stop sending pictures to you of whatever fun adventures he's on with his daughter. When you speak on the phone, there is a subtle shift which you dismiss as him being tired and recognize later as a waning interest in you. You will dismiss all this as you being insecure, and you won't ask about it because you don't want to put pressure on him. You want to be a source of joy in his life, not an obligation, and so far you feel you have been. But at ten months, you will think it would be nice if "I love you"s were said when you parted ways, and it feels sad to not hear it.

But you say nothing, grateful for what you do have. And hoping that what you don't have will  come in time.

While you truly feel it wasn't on purpose, in the end, you are his unintended guinea pig. The first foray into post-divorce relationships. You will wish he knew himself better, knew better than to enter the dating pool when he did.  You will wish you never met him, while feeling grateful that you did.

You will feel completely worthless in the wake if it all.

While you were together, you knew that if it didn't work, you simply couldn't try again.  Couldn't continue to hope that your person exists.

And then, in the end, you will feel in your heart that this is true. You will be grateful for what you have, you will go to your job and make your living, you will have a nice time when you're with your friends and your family, you will walk your sweet dog who has taken such good care of you since you became so sad, and you will appreciate the the fact that you are breathing because you have loved ones who no longer are. 

You will also wonder like you did before he came, how you will find joy in your life. Except this time it will hurt more, because before, you had him, and now you don't.