I was stalking exes on Facebook the other night – something I rarely do. I especially make it a point to not look at one particular ex’s profile, because I know it generally amounts to no good. But I was feeling masochistic and was waxing blue anyway, so I went for it.
And there it was. The guy, the one, the one who broke my heart, Peter… is now married with dogs. To Priscilla.
He had told me he didn’t want to get married. And neither did I, so it was perfect. We both had already been married and didn’t see the point. In fact, we met about a year after both of our marriages ended. For me, it was enough time. For him, it turned out, it wasn’t.
We only dated four months. I know it sounds crazy to be so hung up on a guy I knew for such a short amount of time, but we adored each other, we were a perfect union, we were in love.
He was the most authentic person I had ever met, and in a good way. He was passionate, loved animals, intelligent, sexy, grounded and confident, but not the least bit arrogant.
He told me I was the best thing that ever happened to him. He told me I deserved to never be unhappy again in my life. He brought flowers. He would call just to tell me he was crazy about me. We had an amazing time together. We agreed on politics. His family and friends — who lived in other countries — e-mailed to tell me they couldn’t wait to meet me.
I couldn’t believe my luck. I thought, finally, I found the man I’m supposed to be with!
The Sucky Ass Shit
One sunny day in August, he told me he realized he just wasn’t ready for a serious relationship and wanted to slow it down. I told him I didn’t want to be with someone who wasn’t into me. He said he wanted to be friends; I said it would be too hard. We broke up.
My friends assured me he’d come back. I thought he’d come back. But he didn’t.
I missed him so much. A few months after we broke up, I sent him an e-mail saying I wanted to be friends, but he didn’t respond.
It’s now been more than three years and we haven’t spoken. I thought I’d seen him once at a local bar – I panicked and immediately ran out.
I would look at his MySpace page now and then, and every time I did I’d promise myself to never look again. I’d keep my promise a few months, then I’d think I was feeling strong and look again, just to see what he was up to.
About a year and a half ago I saw a photo he’d posted of him and Priscilla. She was cute, but not stunning. Not as pretty as me, I thought. Petty, I’m aware, but this is how we women think when we’re jealous.
I had a breakdown and vowed to never look at his MySpace or Facebook pages again. And I didn’t — until the other day.
He looks really happy. I suppose a bigger person would be happy for him. But I’m not. I’m crushed. And I suppose a bigger person would end this note claiming they’ve learned something from all of this. But I haven’t. At least not yet.
I often wonder why it wasn’t me — what did he see in me that drove him away? I may have in fact just been a victim of bad timing, but the insecure monster inside of me beats down any glass-is-half-full attitude and tells me I’m not good enough. Even though I know I really am.
There is one bright spot I discovered, however, as a result of my Facebook stalking. One itty bitty nugget that gives me the tiniest bit of comfort and alleviates my pain, even if ever so slightly.
He’s going bald.