Fuck you very much

Swimming today, and I'm confronted with thoughts of heartbreak boy. I get to thinking I need to do something, say something, write something somewhere to say 'what the fuck?'

He was in town and asked if he could take me out for dinner on my birthday. He named the restaurant, he said we'd have wine, he said we should erase that last time we had dinner. He said all the right things, so I said yes to dinner.

Sunday night he doesn't come to the housewarming, after asking for an invite and saying 'see you there'. I was disappointed, but not too much. It was easier without him.

Monday midday he sends a 'happy birthday' text. I reply and ask if we're still on for dinner. He waits about 3 hours before replying to say 'Could well do, gotta pack tho' and asks if I'm having drinks that night or if that was the previous night. I say it was the previous night. No response. I worry and get angry and workshop it with friends before sending another text saying 'Don't worry about dinner'. I felt fucked around. It seemed he wasn't keen. I didn't want to feel fucked around. I wanted to say so much more, but didn't.

His reply: 'oh alright, enjoy ur day and cya next time x'. Time passed before i wrote 'Yeah, not sure if there'll be a next time. I'm disappointed by your lack of commitment to plans made. Guess i'm being too sensitive, but i find it hard to be otherwise'.

The next morning: 'Dear Sydney friends, sorry to disappoint but you know how it is when you've got family shit to do and only one weekend. thank you for understanding, cya in June, and know that i love ALL of you, [name with cutesy y on the end] x'.

No, you don't love me. And no, I don't understand. And no, I don't want your stupid bulk message apology. Nor do I want your meaningless x. No doubt you see me as demanding, but it was my fucking birthday. I kept that time free for you. I was stupid to do that. I could well have organised dinner with friends. As in, people who do love me, respect me enough to be there when they say they will, and aren't emotionally crippled and evasive fuckheads who crave attention, but no real intimacy. Fuck you. No really, fuck you.

And now I'm thinking about deleting you from fuckbook, but don't want to play stupid high school friendship games. So for now you're just muted. But I don't ever want to see you. For it kills me to know that if I do I'll be putty in your fucking hands. For some reason I can't not want you. Despite the hatred I feel for you right now.

I guess I believe that you're damaged. You told me once that you were licking your wounds, and this is the image of you that stays with me. You're scared of everything. You want me to want you but you won't let yourself want me back. You give me enough to keep me there. And when I get too close you bite. A wounded animal. And I think this is what draws me to you. I can see that you need help. I feel bad walking away. I want to fix you.

But you're too fucked up and I've got a paper to write. Adios.