Warning: confessional. Don’t read if drama bores you.
I told myself I wouldn’t post about this.
First, because the internet is full of people who don’t care. Second, there are a few people who do care, and this would worry them. Third, I pride myself on my self-sufficiency and it’s fucking embarassing to admit that I am in emotional pain.
But I am.
I woke up crying last night and I have been crying all day. I managed to make two half-assed posts (and this will be a third) through a haze of tears, which I spent earlier today feeling sort of proud of, though it seems meaningless at this point.
What happened, you ask?
I was dumped by somebody I really like. That sounds like such an ordinary thing. It’s happened to us all. It happens every day.
It wasn’t even in person. It was over the internet, which nobody should take seriously, because there aren’t real people behind those pixels. Right? It’s not the same as Real Life. Or so everybody says. Maybe I’m more sensitive about such things because of being so isolated in real life. People don’t even speak English here.
But it’s somebody I really, really liked, and whose work I admired, and being sort-of-friends with them meant a lot to me.
Yes, it is dumb to care so much when the other person thinks of you as little more than an acquaintance. Knowing it is dumb did not stop it from happening.
And no, I can’t just go out and replace the person, because people are unique and you can’t replace anybody ever.
Why did it happen? I can’t give personal details out of respect for the other person’s privacy, but here’s the general idea: Whilst in a slightly intoxicated state, I told the person something about themselves that was unflattering, but true. It was something that had been bothering me but I had kept it to myself because I didn’t want to start a fight. But it was something that hurt me and my feelings should matter too, even if I’m nobody special.
I know I spoke the truth, but I couldn’t explain it adequately. It wouldn’t matter even if I could, because he doesn’t want to hear.
I ruminate. Though I know I shouldn’t. I should just Stop Thinking About It and get on with my life. But easier said than done.
I blame myself for my feelings, though I should know that I only do it because women have been trained to blame themselves for everything that happens. And then I blame myself for blaming myself.
I care and he doesn’t, which puts me at a disadvantage always and forever. I hate this. Without caring, we are not really alive, but caring always sets us up to be hurt. I don’t want to walk around in pain but I don’t want to go around feeling disconnected and dead inside either. And it seems like those are our only choices.
If only I could get up the energy to hate him, but I haven’t got it. All I can do is cry. The crying does not relieve anything or make me feel better. It just goes on and on and on.
It’s like I am just a big open sore and it goes deeper and deeper and deeper.
There’s no cure for not mattering to someone. There’s nothing you can say to them that will make them see you as a human being.
If anyone is reading this and wants to make helpful suggestions about therapy and doctors, may I thank you for your concern, but I ask you in advance please put a fucking sock in it. Doctors have been medicalizing symptoms of women’s oppression since medicine was invented, and therapy from insufficiently feminist counselors is little more than a patronizing exercise in thought control.
I am tempted to turn off the comments. I won’t, but please think twice before posting any helpful advice along the lines of “get over it”. If I could do that, I would have done it already.