coping mechanisms other than coffee and cigarettes…

I wrote this post originally in a tiny notebook on Friday afternoon…. just like my other post, a lot has gone on since I originally wrote this…
Anyway… this could really be called “Boy Drama: Part One”…..

First, I want to apologize to my mom.  I know you don’t read this blog, but I hate thinking I’ve disappointed you.

Getting the news from the boy about his indecision was hard.  Harder than I thought.  It was actually surprising how much it hurt given that we’ve only had 3 dates.

Of course I went through the crazy thoughts — the “I’ll show you” thoughts.  The boy hurt me, and a very small part of me want to do something, anything, so that he wouldn’t feel that great either.  So that he’d regret hurting me.  But all of those thoughts last for all of 2 seconds before I realize how stupid that is.  I won’t be the crazy girl.  And moreover, it seems that I can’t be the crazy girl.

Sometimes I hate that I can’t be that girl.  That I can’t just go off on an illogical verbal rampage. That I can’t go to his house and yell at him.  That I can’t even really write a spiteful tweet or facebook status — just a small jab at him.  I just can’t be that girl.  I’m just not that breed of crazy.

So what do I do?  How do I deal with the fact that this person that I’ve just invested so much of myself into might not choose me.  That he might go back to the girl he seemed to want to escape, the girl he’s declared crazy on more than one occasion.  Mostly, I end up being mature about it.  Even if I’d rather not be.  I have to give him the space he needs to realize that “either getting back with her or getting a restraining order on her” isn’t really healthy logic.  That I’m concerned about him.  If any one of my friends would have told me such a thing, I’d be just as concerned.  But I’m coming from this as more than a friend.  I want to be with him, to see where this is going.  I haven’t been this happy with someone for a long time.  I was really hopeful for this.  So it really hurt to learn that, yet again, I might face rejection.

All I wanted was attention.  For someone to make me feel wanted again.  I needed something primitive.  I wanted sex.  Simple, easy, thought-free sex.  It’s really not something I do — sex for sex’s sake.  Nor is it something I do with someone I’ve never met in person.  (He wasn’t a complete stranger. I’d been talking to him since late January.)  No, this is an activity better left for others with more hardened emotions.  But, that’s what I wanted.  So I got online and IMed a guy I felt would be easily willing — a neighbor, a mere 7 minute walk away.  It didn’t take much convincing before he agreed to come over.

I made one last attempt to talk to the boy.  It went to voicemail.  I was hoping he’d return my call, so I could express my concern for the situation and him.  So I could tell him to figure things out.  But no such luck.

So with perfect timing, my guest arrived right after another great session of Mario Kart.  We didn’t waste time with small talk.  As soon as the door was closed it was lips on lips.  His pants were off before we got to the bedroom.  Afterward, as we were laying side by side, catching our breath, he turned to me and smiled, “Hi.”  … We actually did have a nice chat that night.

I can’t regret what I did that Thursday night.  Still wanting to be with the boy, but throwing myself at a willing body.  I don’t really plan on telling the boy directly, but I won’t hide it.  The truth is we are not in a committed relationship.  I’m not his girlfriend.  And he did just tell me that he might be getting back together with his ex.

As much as I do want to be with him, how much of myself do I risk in this?  If I’m being honest with myself, I know it’s not fair for me to wait around.  The boy could lose me.  He’s got a choice to make.  He’s got to figure things out.  Just as I’ve got to keep going on, figuring out my own damn life.  I’d like him to be a part of it, even if it’s just a small part.  But really — the mature part that I almost loath — I know I’ll be okay.  I know I’ll adjust, I’ll keep going on.  And whether or not I decide to use sex as a coping method again is still up in the air.