Curvy Jones on: The Dear Jane Letter

The other day I found something I thought I had destroyed a long time ago.

Actually. Back up. That is a lie. I went looking for it. I knew all along I still had a copy and where I could find it. I didn’t destroy it, when I found it again, either.

I hardly ever watched Sex& The City because I didn’t have HBO, but then TBS started running it and I would watch it if my remote found it during my constant quest for weird stuff  to watch (documentary whore, I tell you). Recall the episode in which Carrie is dumped via Post It Note: “I’m sorry. I can’t.” I totally, totally have been there. Except it wasn’t a post it. He at least had the courtesy to type and send an email.

All of this past rehash is stirring up old memories. As I take myself on a journey from my past to my present, sometimes I feel a longing to see old things again. I was typing up the previous chapter and thinking about the chapter ahead and remembering beginnings and endings. The letter popped up in my mind. I actually dug for it, found it, and read it.

And then I read it again. I was angry again. I didn’t understand again. And five years later, I still don’t know that I could have done anything to avoid getting that breakup email. The Dear Jane letter.

I keep trying to tell this story in words that are succinct and make sense, but it’s long and convoluted, full of good and bad times and maybe I’m being lazy but I just don’t feel like telling it.  Not the whole thing, anyway. I’m sure parts will come out here and there, through time, but I can’t relive that relationship right now.

This is the hard part of my journey;  the part where I look back and think about the life I have led and the love I (thought I) had and imagine where I could be if only I had done this or said that, or if I was this way or that way or thought differently or acted differently. What if I had been willing to be in a non-exclusive relationship, what if I had lowered my standards or raised my standards or done away with standards, dot dot dot. I try not to live with regrets, to go through each day and not wish I’d done something differently, but it doesn’t always work out that way. I think your average person has a handful of regrets, at least. That’s my grasp at one thin straw to call myself average.

My biggest regret ever is opening my mouth to tell him I loved him. That isn’t to say that we should never say it, or that we should never say it first, but for us in our relationship, it was too early.  After going out on some lame dates, talking to a lot of lame men– some married, some ‘separated but dating’ (wtf? If you’re married, you’re married. Get divorced, wait a year, then call me.)– I met someone that I thought was an incredible human being. He was the most wonderful thing I’d ever experienced and it wasn’t perfect, but it was perfect to me. All my friends were all excited and ooh’d and aah’d at every story, looking for clues and hints, as they do. Taking everything he said and translating it into something I could grab onto and stick under my pillow and wish on.

Looking back, it was actually kind of lame, but whatever.

When we first started dating, we had all the important conversations. The sex conversation (he admired that and was okay with waiting. YAY. I thought I had found my Chocolate Nerd!). The ‘what do you want out of life’ conversation (marriage, family, maybe some kids, happiness, success—he wanted to go back to school and get a degree. More yayness. I am all about ambition.). The family upbringing, the small talk stuff (favorite color, TV show, etc). We matched. In every way, he fit me like a glove. I knew it was serious when I was considering taking that step with him. Yep. That one.

And because I was considering taking that step, I must have loved him. He passed all my tests. He said the things I wanted to hear, some without asking or prompting. I really wanted my experience with him to be different than the ones I’d had before. I didn’t want to regret not showing him all of me, so I threw open the shutters and I let go. I relaxed, and let myself have feelings I’d never felt before and think and dream about things I’d been afraid to dream about before.  I wanted my future to include him. He said all the right things and led me to believe that I’d have that. I told my parents about him. I wanted them to come down to Atlanta over Christmas to meet him—the inspection, haha. And then I had to go and open my big mouth.

It was a Saturday morning. We were lounging around, talking. He’d spent the night, the night before. We stayed up late watching movies and late night TV. Woke up in my favorite way, slowly, without an alarm, the quiet brightness of the morning streaming in through the window. While we were talking, I was struck with an irresistible urge to tell him. My heart was just about beating out of my chest as I said him that I had something to tell him.

Why didn’t I recognize the panic in his eyes? Why didn’t I stop, when he tried to stop me from saying it? Why did I just barrel right on through and say it because I felt like I needed to say it? Why did I? Because  I listened to other people who said that I should own my feelings and it didn’t matter if I heard it back, as long as I said it and he was happy to hear it. I wanted to hear it, though. I don’t know why I expected to hear it back, or for him to even be open to it.

Once the words were out, I knew right away that he didn’t feel the same. It was in the look on his face and the way he said, ‘well, how do you know that?’ Not really a romantic response to I Love You, dude.  It was a mistake. A terrible one, and right then, I wanted to grab those words and shove them back into my mouth and then go back in time to the second right before I said, I love you, and never say it. Let it hang in the air and let him think that’s what I was going to say and then let him come to terms with that and let him say it first.

Five years later, I wonder if I screwed it up, right then. I wonder, if I would have just let things evolve and not try to push things and not been so open, would things have turned out differently? Would we be married? Or… even… know each other?

The email came the weekend after I had been on vacation to see GreenEyes and Tex. We took a trip out to Galveston, rented a house on the beach. It was effing BLISS, people. It was so nice and peaceful to be put to sleep and awakened by and lulled through the day by ocean waves. I talked to FK once a day while I was in Texas. He seemed to be having a grand old time. FK never went anywhere unless he was coming to my house. He was the very definition of a homebody and I could never talk him into going to the sports bar down the street from his apartment to watch a game, or calling someone up from work to watch football with. If I was shy, FK was even more shy. And yet the second I leave town, he’s all over the place. I thought it was odd, but took it as a good sign. Maybe he was growing and changing and whatever.

I returned to town on a Monday. We had a date that Wednesday. Riverdance. Yeah, I love me some Celtic stomping around. Everything seemed fine. That Thursday, it was Dr. FK and Mr. Asshole. He sent me an email asking me about cruises, my opinion. Where to go, what to do, what price range is good?  What cruise lines are reputable? I ask him why he was asking– were we going somewhere?

He said, “I’m gonna take myself on a cruise.”

What most people don’t know is that I watch Royal Caribbean commercials and cry. I want to go on a cruise SO BADLY. He knew this. I’m instantly offended, bristle, and hang up the call.  I opened an IM to GreenEyes and told her what had just happened, and was I wrong to be offended and she said something like uh, what the fuck? He emailed you to ask your opinion on cruises, knowing good and well you would kill somebody to get on a Royal Caribbean boat?

There were tens of other examples, exactly like that. He added details like ‘well, just for me’ and ‘I was just thinking for myself’. For example, he brought up buying a house later in the year, investing in the future. And then in the next breath made a comment about living in it alone.  I remember us having a deep, serious heart to heart and him asking me what I wanted from life, what was my dream? And me opening up and telling him– I wanted to get married. I wasn’t sure about children, but we’d see. I wanted a home and a life outside of my job and I wanted to enjoy that life and have someone to share it with.  And then he asked me ‘what if you never get that? What if that never comes true?’  I made up some answer about doing the best I could with what life handed me, but inside I crumbled. I wanted to punch him in his fucking neck.

This was in severe contrast to months of us hanging out and saying ‘we’ and ‘us’ and ‘our’, getting loose in our language with each other, involving each other in conversations and decisions and plans. I guess I was dumb in thinking we were going somewhere and even letting myself  think that we were going somewhere. The little jabs here and there to let me know he was X-ing me out hurt me immensely.

There is this theory that men don’t like to be the bad guy. They will treat a woman like utter crap so that she’ll get sick of him and dump him. Then he doesn’t have to do the dumping.  I’m pretty sure that this is what was going on with FK. He was being an asshole so I would break it off.  He was being a coward, because he couldn’t do it himself.

I tried to hold on. I tried hard, to hold on. I hit a wall, though and I asked him WTF was up with all of his comments and he was so very nonchalant about it. I asked him what he wanted from us and he couldn’t give me an answer.  I asked him if he even cared that I was pretty much ready to walk away, and he said I should do what I felt I needed to do. >insert me breathing fire, here<

So, with all of those things coming at me and adding up, break it off I did. And then relented, because I thought  well… maybe he was just trying to tell me he needed some alone time. And, well relationships are hard work and why would I run as soon as soon it got hard, and if he didn’t want to be with me, he’d just say so, right?

I called and tried to talk to him. He was cold and didn’t really talk. I asked if we could meet up after the weekend to talk about stuff. He said okay.

Sunday night, I got the email.

It wasn’t even full of contrite it’s not you, it’s me bullshit. It was plain and simple and direct—he said he was selfish and self centered and was really only concerned about himself. Having me out of town showed him that he really enjoyed his time to himself (this is laughable. He had NOTHING but time to himself. I was only seeing him about once a week, toward the end) and he was only interested in seeing me when he wanted to see me. Which was apparently never? He said that he didn’t like arranging his schedule around someone else and when you date, that’s what you have to do. You have to consider other people. He didn’t feel like doing that.

Thing started to make sense, like getting up on a Friday or Saturday morning and not knowing if I’d see my boyfriend that day. Left to sit around and wait for him to call and let me know that he would grace me with his presence, all late in the day, after he’s been out and about and enjoyed himself, I get the leftovers. He didn’t wake up in the morning wanting to see me or talk to me or hang out with me, do stuff together. Like couples do. I hated being with someone that didn’t seem to want to be with me.

More than anything, that hung over me like a dark cloud. He didn’t enjoy my company like I enjoyed his.  He didn’t prefer my company to being alone.

Sometimes, when I get all misty-eyed and dreamy and think about wanting to be with someone, and how awesome FK was, and how great our relationship was, I think about that email. I think about how we got to that email, and then I think about the last three or four weeks of our relationship and wonder how it went from sugar to shit. How it went from wonderful to weird and then WHAAATTT?

That’s why I save that email. That’s why I keep it in a place where I know I can find it, so that every few years, when forget the hurt feelings and the confusion and how my heart totally broke, I can remind myself. He was okay, but he was not what I needed. He was not what I wanted. He was counterfeit. FK was not ready for this jelly. He said in his letter that he wanted to be. He just wasn’t.

Those who don’t learn from the past are doomed to repeat it, right?  Let’s note the lessons, from FK:

Surely it wasn’t the part about being open and ready to love someone.

Surely it wasn’t the part about working hard at our relationship.

Surely it wasn’t the part where, before I jumped in with both feet, I made sure to have the important conversations. No sense wasting anyone’s time.

Surely it wasn’t the part where I just did the best I could, and used every resource I could find, to do better.

It definitely wasn’t the part where I tried, really hard, to hang on through what I thought was just a rough spot, that period of time when men get weird, and then get over it. Some men come out the other side totally fine. Some don’t make it.

A few weeks after FK and I split, I came up with a list of lessons I had learned:

1. I don’t have to be a size 2/110 to snag a handsome dude. FK liked every inch of my frame.

2. That nagging feeling– that’s my conscience. My intuition. It will not be ignored. Listen to it.

3. Obey my own rules. If I’ve decided I’m not going to chase, then, by golly, don’t chase! Toward the end I felt like I was bending a lot and chasing FK to get him to spend time with me when I should have just let go. If he was interested, there is no doubt that he would come find me.

4. Red Flags are red for a reason. I see them. Don’t ignore them.

5. I am not desperate. The man I am dating is not the last available man on the planet. If it’s not working, work it out. If it can’t be worked out, let it go. One minute in a relationship with issues that can’t be resolved is a waste of time for both of us.

6. Contrary to my own belief, I am capable of having and showing affection to men, and loving someone. And it’s a very nice feeling to have it returned to me. Remember that feeling and strive for it again.

7. Expanding horizons is a very good thing, but don’t compromise on my list of must haves/ deal breakers. My list of must haves needs refinement. I’m not longer against compromise– I just don’t want to be the only one compromising.

8. Get. A. Life. Don’t let my life revolve around who I’m dating, seeing, interested in. Men like women who’ve got it together. Get it together.

9. Maintain self confidence. Don’t get needy and clingy and overobsessive, trying to read every word or email as signs that he’s thinking about me and wanting to take it to another level. Be the Goddess of Fun and Light (© The Surrendered Single) and when he is ready to make the move, he will.

10. It’s not a bad thing for a man to be attracted to me. It is flattering and speaks to my shape, my confidence, and my personality.

These are ten lessons I am going to take into my future.

Curvy Jones is a northerner playing a southerner who is living, working, playing in metro Atlanta.

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Tags:  2010 · dating · FK · relationships · Series: All About Curvy