The rational mind knows that it is not about the person, and to an extent, it had never been about the person. Rather, it is about the trappings that came along with the person: the privileges, the attention, the very idea of him and I that fuelled the imagination and painted a highly idealised and romanticised story of an 'us', this 'us' that had never managed to come into fruition and remained mostly in the shadows of my mind, afraid of the light of reality that would have exposed all its ugly flaws, fatal imperfections. The truth is, he was never really here. He was half-hearted at best. He tried for reasons unbeknownst to us both, and so are ultimately irrelevant. The truth is, too, that I was caught up in the romance and allowed the ideal, the idea, to blind me to the striking deficiencies of the relationship (insofar as it could be called as such), the startling lack of fit, and simply all the many ways in which, in some regard, we were both never good enough for each other.
And yet, the rational mind can do nothing to help a troubled heart in pain. None of this ex post facto rationalisation is remotely capable of taking away the hurt that immediately surfaces when I think about the last couple of weeks of us being 'together'. His lukewarm attitude towards me, the half-hearted messages he sent when I was in the US which eventually died off into a complete lack of effort, his absolute disinterest in spending time with me before I left for my trip; and perhaps worse still, my intuition picking up on all this but which the eternally hopeful and/or damagingly masochistic and/or pathetically self-effacing part(s) of me somehow managed to talk myself into believing that I was imagining things. I wasn't imagining things when I thought that he was distant. He had already more or less decided that it wasn't working, that we weren't right for each other, that he'd wanted out, that he didn't like me as much as I'd (ostensibly) liked him.
Which part of me hurts more - the heart or the pride? Does it even matter?
Of all the ways in which I'd imagined how this would end, his breaking up with me was never one of them. Does this not speak volumes of all the ways in which I'd grossly over-estimated not only how much he'd liked me, but (and perhaps more importantly), my worth viz. his valuation of it? But does this not presuppose that he should value my worth, which in turn presupposes that I have some worth 1) to him; and 2) that he should objectively grasp? But why should that be the case? Just as I railed angrily to Mag a couple of days ago - 'Who the hell does he think he is?' - just who the hell do I think I am?
As much as I was glad to hear that I'd never made him feel as if he wasn't good enough for me, I cannot help but feel rather stupefied and staggered that my self-esteem, or least my sense of it, has been torn down by someone who was never good enough for me. Here, I am not talking about the superficial differences: education, socio-economic background, whatever. I am talking about his lack of effort from the very beginning, his lukewarm attitude, his inability and/or unwillingness to open up, the way he was never able to fulfil my needs. He was capable of making me happy only fleetingly; for the rest of the time, he was a burden upon my shoulders, a source of dissatisfaction in my life on top of everything else. So why should I be sad? Why should I feel this immense dip in self-confidence, sense of self worth, simply because a guy who wasn't good enough ended the relationship before I could? Would I feel better or differently if I had ended it on the day that I'd intended to end it, if I hadn't changed my mind?
I know that I deserve better - or rather, to be more precise, I want better, I need better, not someone like him who was never right for me, with whom I was never truly comfortable, with whom I had nothing - absolutely fucking nothing - in common. And yet, being treated in that blase, lukewarm manner of his, and perhaps worse still, fully recognising it but somehow telling myself that it was just who he was and it had nothing to do with me - all these hurt, a lot, in a manner in which I hadn't been hurt before. Being with somebody who simply wasn't that interested is the worst feeling, more terrible than being with somebody who couldn't grapple with his overwhelming feelings for you.
A part of me really regrets going out with Matt. I didn't lose just him as a boyfriend (though he was never really one); I've also lost a thing that made me happy in the past. He should have remained the near-stranger who made me smile, whom I would never get to know; because the illusion has been completely shattered and I hate the way it makes me feel, staring at the broken glass.
I am so tired of all these negative feelings. I want to leave so badly that it feels like torture, waiting for my flight on Sunday. Everything feels like a mess. I am a mess.
On a brighter note, responses from friends:
1. 'You were too good for him.' - Jay
2. 'He seemed like an all right guy when we met him that day. I mean, he wasn't evil...' - Raffael
Raffie's assessment of Matt will never cease to make me smile.