Sexeteria

An old boyfriend is calling me again.

We agreed when we split a few years back that regular communication would not be a good idea. It was one of those breakups that had to happen. We'd tried hard, but we knew in the end, despite some strong feelings, that on a practical level we'd never be able to be what the other one needed; not entirely, not completely. But we still held significant affection for each other when we ended it. It was not a bitter breakup so much as bittersweet. And this left some chords still vibrating when we did communicate that, in a more ideal situation, should have been stilled.

This sort of thing can lead to relapsing--never a good thing. As a result, I suggested that we shouldn't be in touch unless there was some significant news item to share--a move, a health issue...only the big stuff. And he agreed. We kept this agreement for a few months, and then...well, he started testing the waters every few months. I'd get emails, or late-night phone calls, some very light and jokey, some heavily intense with emotion. But always with some small or large needling item that he knew would move me to respond in some way. And then I would, and the same old patterns would assert themselves; which is just what he (and probably I) needed.

In short, he likes having someone to yearn for. And I like knowing there is someone out there who feels strongly for me.

And/or...

He likes having someone who cares enough about him to be concerned. And I am someone who can not help being concerned about someone I care about--and he is someone who often creates situations in his life which arouse concern.

Each time he gets in touch, and each time we talk, we build this false conceit of emotional connection yet again. But it's not fully real, and these days I only want real. And it's never able to boil down to just plain friendship--there's always some desire in there. Though, I think his desire and mine are of different types. He wants me, I think, in a very real way, though he knows he can't handle me. But I want...someone to want me. Not necessarily him. But he is the one who wants me, and it feels good to be wanted. It can be very addictive.

But addiction is not what I'm looking for. And I don't feel my feelings are fair to him. So I keep my distance. And he...well, he bides his time for a few months and then finds some new reason to get in touch.

He's been full on with it since my trip to San Francisco (he is from that area). Emailing and calling heavily; more so than usual. I sense a hint of extreme need, almost desperation for it, so I have been sparse in my responses. But it's getting hard to hold back. It's nice to feel wanted, even if it's not by who you want to want you.

Anyway, that was a long historical preface to a story that has been stuck in my head since I've started hearing from him again. I don't know why I keep thinking about it, why it won't let go of me, but here it is.

Sometime a little over a year or so ago, he began one of his calling bouts and I succumbed. I was feeling very lonely and it was nice to have someone showing me some affection and interest. We started talking regularly, and as usual, it developed an odd kind of intensity of need. He needed me to be responsive to him emotionally; I needed him to shower me with implications of lust and love. And we started in on filling each others' needs for a little bit, as we tend to do when we fall into the pattern.

He had told me in the midst of all this that he was casually seeing a girl who was very much in love with him, but whom he felt very ambivalent about (or at least that's what he told me). I didn't think much of it; I mostly felt sorry for her, and thought he shouldn't lead her on. But that was his life out there. It didn't affect me, and I wasn't much concerned about it, so long as I was getting what I wanted.

And then one night, something bad had happened--I can't even remember what anymore--and I needed him, they way you need a good friend/boyfriend. I called and asked him if he could talk, because I was really upset. And he told me he couldn't, because he had promised to go out and see a band with a bunch of friends at a local bar close to his house, and he was already on his way there. I knew this group included the woman he professed not to feel much obligation to; I knew she was desperately relying on his showing up there.

I was hurt when he told me he couldn't talk. But I told him it was fine, and intended to just hang up and sulk and feel done wrong by. Upon hanging up, though, I changed my mind and decided if nothing else, I wanted to be honest. I called him back. I told him I'd lied, and that he could do whatever he wanted to, but I at least wanted him to know the truth--that I wasn't feeling okay about it. I explained that I felt I'd been there when he needed me, put off other plans to be there to support him. And I felt hurt that when it was the reverse situation, which was far less often the case, he chose going out over being there for me when I really needed him. I told him this, and then said I would go, and he could do whatever he wanted to do, but I just wanted to be honest and share how I really felt.

And all of that was the truth. But I know that also, underneath all that, was a small amount of jealousy. I wanted to know I was most important to him, even though I knew I would never let him have that role in my own life.

We hung up. And apparently, he panicked. I later learned from him that he thought I wasn't going to ever talk to him again (I never said anything like that). He told me that after he hung up, he got visibly agitated and upset, insisted to the girl he had just met up with that he had to take her home that instant, despite her objections. He refused to give her explanations. All she knew was that he'd gotten a cell phone call, and then suddenly said they had to go, absolutely refused to tell her why, and then callously dumped her at her door. Understandably, she was very upset. He, on the other hand, seemed not to care at all; all he cared about was getting her home so he could get home and call me and make sure I would still be talking to him later.

Around this same time, I'd found out through him that this girl had a blog. Occasionally I had been checking it out, curious to see any mentions of my ex, and how she talked about him; and how he talked to her in comments. Being an outsider with an insider's view of my ex's opinion of her, it was an odd experience. It was a public blog, but still, it felt somehow sneaky reading it.

The day after the events of the evening described above, I looked at her her blog. And she'd written a heart-wrenching post on that evening, full of misery and confusion and disillusionment. The kind of post a girl writes when she loves a guy and she knows deep down the guy loves someone else--or just doesn't care that much about her. The kind of post I generally read and my heart instantly goes out to the girl. It was no different on this occasion. As I read it, I felt truly sorry for her.

But it was this very cold, dispassionate feeling of being sorry for her. More academic than emotional. And all I could think over and over was, "Huh. I did that."

It was the strangest feeling. I was a ghost in this girl's life...she didn't know who I was or how my presence was affecting her own life. She couldn't see how she affected me. But there I was, distantly and silently observing her. Passively viewing her misery. Knowing I was partially the cause of it.

Since then, this is the story that sticks in my head when my ex-boyfriend starts calling again. I still don't know what to feel about it.