This post is going to be a little different than previous ones. Less sarcasm-leaning and more soul-baring. I’m not sure if it will be as well received as my earlier posts. But here goes. And do let me know . . .

How do you get over a guy who’s over you? Yeah, time heals all wounds. But in the meantime how do you deal with the hurt and confusion? And anger?FB_IMG_1468415870328-1-1

Recently I got dumped–at least I think I got dumped. I really don’t know for certain because the f**cker hasn’t had the balls to say so. Ergo, no closure, answers or the satisfaction of telling him to go to hell. (Am I ringing any bells, ladies?)

Yes, I’m angry. At myself. For letting down the walls and allowing this hurt to happen. Not that I didn’t have help lowering my defenses! He said the right things and gave the right hints–subtle and not so subtle–indications it was going somewhere. He told me I wasn’t like the others and I shouldn’t be afraid. He wanted me to meet his daughter. We talked about travel together–Italy and Mexico, Phoenix to maybe meet my sons. So I wasn’t crazy, was I? To think we were mutually involved? When I told him he was important to me, he said I was to him, too. (Any of this sound familiar?)

So how does that just end? Texts become cold and impersonal. Phone calls cease altogether. Excuses abound. He’s too busy at work. He’s got sh*t going on. Blah, blah, blah. But the writing’s on the wall. He’s drawn the picture. He doesn’t need to color it in, too.

But I want answers. Why? What happened? Of course, as a woman, my first reaction is to think I did something. But I know I didn’t. Yet the desire to not come across as pathetic keeps me silent and restrained from demanding an explanation. (Though he f**cking owes me one!) Still, it really doesn’t matter in the end. When a man is done, he is done. It’s women who want “closure.” And rarely do men give it. And so I act all casual. Like I’ve just gone on with my life as he obviously has with his.

But I cry at night and I hash and rehash it ad nauseam with sympathetic girlfriends. He’s an asshole. You were too good for him. He’s not worth it. You’re better off. I’ve heard them all–and then some. They don’t help. I’m still hurt. I’m still confused. And I’m still angry. Not because I was dumped, ditched and discarded, but angry because he made me feel the 3 things I hate most:  vulnerable, weak and stupid. Vulnerable–because I opened myself up to it, when I f**cking knew better! (I mean, who lets down the drawbridge when the enemy you know from before is right there?); weak–because I can’t get past it now; and stupid–because I was.attachment

Truly, it’s been a very long time since I’ve cried over a man. But it’s natural–and inevitable–to cry when there’s pain. And loss. Because it is a loss–of fun, travel, companionship, sex . . . and hope. Because frankly I don’t have much hope right now. I’m picky and particular. And a realist above all else. I’m going to be 61 in less than 2 months. So the chances of there being another man out there for me are about as thin as my eyebrows. (Which are non-existent, save for Wunderbrow–a fabulous product, BTW!)

When my father died at 58, my mother became a widow at 62. Until she died at 84 there was not another man in her life. I don’t think she wanted one. But I do. The thought of never again sleeping with a man’s arms around me makes me sad. And wonder why.

I guess I must have missed the “life-long companion” line, too . . .

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