I have very good reason to believe that I have just single-handedly screwed up something that was potentially good, all because I was not aware of my lack of readiness to let someone in and trust in the person that he has shown to me - all because I am, apparently, not over how the string of losers that I dated last year have affected me.
First, I was wrong about Thomas ghosting me. Then I went on to be wrong about his lack of interest in me. At the first sign of possible trouble - the very minute that something didn't go according to the script in my head - I jammed on the brakes and called it off. In my mind, of course there was no other reason for his failure to reply to my message last night about meeting tonight other than his lack of interest; of course it was not at all plausible that he was working, or busy with something. In my mind, if a man isn't red-hot after me, then he isn't interested. There is no space for anything other than these extremes in the black-and-white bifurcation between the Worthy and the Unworthy that seems to have taken up permanent residency in my mind. As a pretend-philosopher, I should know that this is fallacious; have I not heard of the black-and-white fallacy?
Raffael held me back from calling it off for two days, but at noon today, when I still hadn't heard back, I sent him a long message saying that I wasn't interested anymore; that I am intense when I like someone and I need someone who can match it; that I wasn't interested in indifference and apathy; that he should have just said so if he had lost interest; and that I was sorry but thank you for a good time anyway.
Minutes later, he replied saying essentially the following. He was at work and didn't have his phone with him and so he wasn't indifferent or apathetic; he had the feeling that I wasn't particularly attracted to him; that I had merely been 'nice' to him and that I was using this as an 'out'; that he was a caring and passionate person, and he'd like that reciprocated in some way; that I didn't seem to want any physical contact when we were together except a quick kiss at the end of the evening; and, essentially, he thought that I'm simply not particularly attracted or interested.
It's one thing to have completely misunderstood each other. That, in itself, is not even a problem...if it had been forced to the surface with a decidedly less antagonistic and definitive and quitter-mentality message sent from one party to say that it was over. What does it say about me that I wasn't even willing to talk to him about this before cutting it off? What would he think that it says about me, about my conflict resolution methods, about my emotional maturity - about whether I am actually ready for an adult, grown-up relationship? And what is he thinking that my action says about, yes, my degree of interest? Surely, he would be forgiven for thinking, I am not that interested after all if I was so quick to call it off.
He is, of course, all wrong about my lack of interest. It is no doubt problematic that he'd thought I wasn't attracted to him; my entries in here about him say the exact opposite. I even said that I was a bit smitten after our first date. I even kissed him after our first date. But I was on to something, wasn't I, when I briefly mentioned my stinginess with compliments and my terrible, non-existent, flirtation skills? Above all else, though, it's become clear to me that I'm not ready to let someone in, to trust another with the vulnerability that is immanent in liking someone. I look zealously for signs of disinterest, a knee-jerk reaction as a result of the screaming indifference that I faced from the likes of Gareth and Matt - and of course, of course, the prophecy fulfils itself, and I end up making a mistake.
What I can say for myself, however, is that I am ready to admit that I am in the wrong when I clearly am. I have since apologised, explained, corrected his misunderstanding of my interest, and asked if we could meet to talk. I, of course, would tell myself to fuck off if I were in his shoes, and so I expect nothing from him; but like I told him, I'm just hopeful that he's a nicer and more forgiving person than I am. Regardless of all that, I am prepared to lie in the puddle of milk that I have just spilled and accept the consequences of my action. It is just too bad that I was completely wrong this time.
As for accusatory fingers - honestly, I can't be bothered. We all know the drill. The narrative has long since been played out. It is no longer interesting. Counterfactuals, on the other hand, were never interesting; but would it be likely to say that I wouldn't be this guarded and paranoid if I had never dated Matt? The answer is largely yes; I ignored the signs, hoped for the best, didn't bail when I should have - and so now I stare hard for the signs, expect the worst, and bail at the slightest sign of trouble.
It wasn't just that, though. It's also my paranoia and insecurity when a man communicates his physical interest in me. I don't know why I'm so paranoid that someone that I like only wants to sleep with me, which then makes me extra guarded when he seems to want to move things along - invite me to his place, for instance. This happened with Will, who said that I had physically recoiled from him when he suggested going back to his for tea as we stood outside Hotel du Vin. Perhaps this insecurity was inadvertently manifest in my body language when I was with Thomas. I don't even know. And his perception couldn't be further from the truth, as I'd spent some moments at night, pulling my duvet tightly around myself to keep out the bloody cold, thinking about how nice it'd be if I'd had his strong arms around me at those very moments.
I assume that Thomas is going to tell me to fuck off, so: I'm going to take a break from dating. I hadn't realised how scrambled my brain has become ever since the lethal combination of glaring indifference in the form of Gareth-then-Matt. It is a massive waste; Thomas was right in so many ways.
Maybe Raffie is right that I have a false sense of entitlement. Or rather, this is probably glaringly obvious, and I am the only one blind to it. Oh, fucking hell. What is wrong with me?