I had other ideas for this post. Happier ideas, about going back to review my Obligatory end of year/Beginning of year post. But I don’t think I’ll write one for 2016, because I’m lazy. I will say, though, that reviewing that post I realized I did pretty well on sticking to the commitment of making 2015 one of growth (patting myself on the back now). So, I’ll do the same for 2016.
HOWEVER, New Year’s Eve brought some interesting things with it, some very interesting things worth posting about. I thought it was the end of the Russian (see my previous post), but the deep, nasty, suppurating wound in my heart that is dedicated to him was reopened on that day and salt has been poured on it daily since then. I think the Russian is becoming a non-healing ulcer.
And that’s because…the Russian made a reappearance.
A quick one. But a reappearance nonetheless. Enough to cause little old me to cry herself to sleep last night.
So, what happened? New Year’s Eve was going just as planned. It was 1pm in the afternoon and I was readying myself up all pretty and hot, a treat to myself after realizing a few days previously that the Russian has a girlfriend now. I was in the process of texting my med school girlfriend something, and as I was typing I saw it appear at the top of my phone’s screen:
From an unknown number, mind you. I’d deleted his contact information from my phone, but I knew it was him because I’m really good at memorizing numbers. In addition to texting me, he messaged me via facebook with “hey dana” at the same time.
I decided to have fun with it, and reveled in the orgasmic pleasure of texting the following words:
“Who is this?”
I said: “Oh”
And he said….nothing.
That’s right. NOTHING. For an hour and 45 minutes I tried to distract myself doing my hair and listening to music while my armpits were sweating profusely due to nerves. I was trying to be a proud girl. I was pretty successful, and it felt great figuratively having him at my feet, wanting my attention. But after an hour and 45 I said ‘fuck it’ and decided to text back again because I wasn’t going to let him spoil the rest of the day.
So, I said “Yes?”
Abso-fucking-lutely NOTHING! I partied with my family, got drunk for the first time in my life, and NOTHING, you guys. Not a single little word from him the whole night.
And then I went and fucked things up a bit because in my drunken state I replied his “hey dana” message on facebook chat with “hey hey russiann”. I’m pretty sure he could tell I was drunk. (But at least he didn’t catch the worst part of my drunk texting wrath, which involved texting my two best med school friends about everything from the Russian, to C, to videos of me giggling like an idiot, to confessing about the abuse….yeah, I’m not planning on getting drunk again. EVER.)
The night came to an end. I went to sleep. I woke up, non-hungover (I purged on purpose before going to sleep so I wouldn’t wake up miserable). And my first thought was Why did he text me?!
So, I texted him again at 11:30am: “Why did you text me yesterday?” thinking it might have been that he just wanted my address to send me the earrings. I mean, I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity if he was actually planning on finally hauling his ass to the post office to send them to me.
So later in the day I got pissed because I didn’t know if he was just making me look like an idiot and playing jokes for shits and giggles. And the final message I texted was the following:
And that was it. Still nothing. With just two words the Russian managed to make me cry myself to sleep. Yeesh. (A part of me actually regrets writing that last message because I’m still hopeful. But I know I’ve gotta demand some respect too.)
I want to know why he texted. I mean, it’s been 1.5 months since I last heard of him. I know I shouldn’t give this much thought, but humor me for a bit ok?
I thought: Well, maybe he wanted to ship the earrings. But heck, if it was that, then why did he suddenly back down and chicken out? It’s something completely impersonal. All it takes is a text that says: “I’m sending you your earrings. What’s your address?” So, I’m not quite convinced it was that.
And then I thought: Well, maybe he got the wrong Dana on his phone. Honest mistake. Could happen to anyone, right? Wrong. He messaged me on facebook too, which means he purposefully searched my name and clearly saw my picture and messaged “hey dana”.
And finally, I thought: It was New Year’s Eve, maybe it was a drunken tirade. Yes, could be. But it was 1pm you guys. And honestly, as much as I want to say bad things about the Russian, getting drunk at 1pm is so very not him. I mean, I never once saw him drinking when we dated, nor was he ever insistent on drinking alcohol.
And then I texted my med school girlfriend: But hey, he still has my number then. To which she responded: “Sometimes iphones keep contact info even after you delete it.” But I insisted: “Yeah, but it still means he thought of me for whatever reason and dug my number up.”
So, I still don’t know why the hell he texted me. I’m dying to know. But I know I’ll probably die before knowing. Maybe it was something as meaningless and impersonal as the earrings. Or, better yet, maybe he actually missed me. But I’ll never fucking know.
And now, because of that, the Russian is back at the forefront of my mind. To the point where even C is annoying me. Every time C texts me I wish it was the Russian.
But no luck. He has a girlfriend now. Slightly younger than me, his same ethnicity, a good student, and a Christian (which is surprising, since we once had great sex after discussing our atheist ways in detail). Unlike me, he’s probably not ashamed of presenting her to his mother. And unlike me, he’s willing to change his profile pic for her.
And after all this, I’m left with the question: Was what we shared genuine? I know it was for me. We have so much stuff in common. I mean, the coincidences were uncanny, people. And in spite of personality clashes at times and my asking him on various occasions, he always insisted he was in it for the long haul, looking for a “partner in crime” and that we were on the same page: number 72.
Why? Just….why? I’m embarrassed to admit that I still, to this day, want what we had. I know I shouldn’t. But I do. And I constantly compare C to him (more on that later….if I feel like it).
That non-healing ulcer is giving me severe pain again, you guys.