Be someone who makes hearts happy.

Yesterday my daughter said to me, “Mommy…I love you because your heart makes people happy.”

This was completely unprovoked.  We were snuggling on the couch close to bedtime.  Isabel was eating a snack.  I kissed her cheek and she wiped it off.  She kissed my cheek so I wiped it off too! She laughed and said, “We should wipe our kisses together!” She kissed my cheek again, and I kissed hers.  And then we rubbed our cheeks together like a couple of weirdos.

We both laughed and then she told me that she loves me…because my heart makes people happy.

I’m not even exaggerating when I say that this is the most wonderful thing that anyone has ever said to me.  Not only is it an amazing compliment, but it’s reaffirming.  In my daily life I really do try to make other people happy.  Every person that I encounter in a day, I try to make smile.  I try to have a positive impact on every person in my life.

But the biggest reason that I loved this compliment from Isabel is that it reflects so much on HER.  It shows empathy, compassion, kindness, and love.  She loves me and she wanted me to know.  I make her happy and she wanted me to know.  She sees how I treat other people and she wanted me to know.

Maybe there’s hope for her after all!

I rag on her a lot.  Not to her face, obviously.  That would be bad parenting.  But behind her back…man, can I trash that kid.

*Before you judge me and call CAS and have my uterus ripped away from me, do you know Isabel? Do you? Have you spent extended periods of time with her? She is a wonderful, strong, smart little girl.  But yeah.  She can be a raging c…omplicated child.*

At home we talk about kindness a lot.  I give Isabel reminders to use kind words.  We talk about “filling buckets” by doing good things for other people.  We talk about the importance of words and compassion and consent.  It is so, so important for me that my girls grow up kind.  I love that Isabel is so fierce – no one will mess with her.  I know that she will not take shit from anyone when she’s older.  She is going to be an amazingly strong, confident woman.  And I know that one day I will be so grateful for that.  But today is not that day.

Today I want Isabel to learn that she can stand up for herself but still be kind.  She can protect her sister but still have compassion.  I want her to grow up and to have someone tell her that her heart makes people happy.  Her heart makes me happy every day.  I mean, sometimes her heart makes me want to stab myself in the eye, but mostly it makes me happy.

I can tell that she’s really “getting it” lately.  She has said some amazingly insightful things lately.  We were talking about blessings one day and she said, “I’m blessed with the most beautiful face in the world and it’s yours, Mommy.”  She could have said “I’m blessed with lots of toys!”, or “I’m blessed with this doll but I could really have more Shopkins.”  But she chose to express her love for me instead.

Walking home from school one afternoon, I told her that I am the luckiest mom in the whole world.  She said, “God made the perfect girls for you, didn’t he?”

So what’s the difference? What is so different lately that she’s all of a sudden GETTING IT? Don’t get me wrong, we still have eye-stabbing moments.  But we get past them quickly and go back to our love-fest.  So what is it?

I like myself.

This is a new thing.  I’ve had an epiphany.  If I met myself in the street, you know what? I’d like myself.  I would want to be my friend.  Up until very recently, I would have found myself annoying and needy and clingy.  Until recently, I didn’t understand why anyone was my friend.  I felt like my friends were only there because they were too nice to tell me to go fuck myself.  They were too nice to tell me that they didn’t actually want to be my friend.

But…my heart makes people happy.  My words make people laugh.  My actions make people smile.  And I like myself.

A lot of my difficulties with Isabel stem from the fact that I see so much of myself in her.  When she has a tantrum, I can remember exactly how that feels.  And I get frustrated with myself that I can’t control her behavior.  My frustration frustrates Isabel.  Which agitates me.  Which agitates her.  And it goes back and forth, feeding off of each other’s anxieties.

But you know what? I do see SO MUCH of myself in her.  But…that’s not a bad thing.  Look at me.  I’m smart.  I’m funny.  I’m kind.  I’m trying to be strong, even though I’ve been beaten down again and again.  These are traits that I WANT my daughters to have.  So why am I so upset when her behavior reflects my own? When I see myself in her, why am I getting mad? It’s because I’m getting mad at my OWN thoughts, my OWN feelings, my OWN behaviors.  I’m trying to stop her from being me.  But I’m starting to see that being me…isn’t such a bad thing.

I’m sorry, Isabel.  I’m sorry that I haven’t been the mom you deserve.  You ARE smart.  You ARE funny.  You ARE kind.  And I am so grateful every single day that you are my daughter.  You’re right, kid.  God DID make the perfect girls for me.

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A very important list

I love lists.

I do. I write lists constantly.  It helps with my anxiety to see things on paper in front of me.  To-do lists are everywhere in my world.  Organization is beauty for me; it’s one of the reasons I love my job.

I also apparently love choosing the wrong guy. I am really good at it.  I find someone that seems so good for me, and then…they aren’t.  I need to break out of the patterns I have created for myself.  I need to be specific.  I need to be picky.

So, in true Brianne fashion, I have created a list of qualities that a potential partner must have. No settling.  Not anymore.  I’m too old to settle and I have two amazing little girls that don’t deserve to have someone in their life that isn’t going to be there long term, or isn’t going to be a positive role model.

There are some incredibly random items on this list, but trust me: they are all there for a specific reason. I am an open book – if any items need clarification or explanation, I’d love to provide it.

  • Tall (5’10 or above)
  • Well groomed
  • Smells good
  • Has post-secondary education
    • Doesn’t matter what type of PSE
    • Doesn’t matter if they graduated or with what degree/diploma/certificate
  • Has a stable job
  • Owns a car
  • Lives on his own (not with parents, roommate, etc.)
  • Owns at least one suit
  • Good grammar/spelling
  • Smart
  • Good sense of humour
    • Is funny
    • Thinks I’m funny
  • Can participate in witty banter
    • Sarcastic
    • Appreciates my sarcasm
  • Good relationship with parents, but not overbearing
  • First date must be an actual date
  • Friendly with wait staff, store clerks, etc.
  • If he has kids, must see them on a very regular basis
  • Likes at least one sport
  • Can recognize at least one Matthew Good song
  • Punctual
  • Swears, but not every other word
  • Doesn’t vape
  • Drinks but not every night, and not to excess
  • Does not speak negatively of any exes
  • Self-sufficient
  • Smiles in photos
  • No earrings
  • Treats me with respect
  • Trusts and is trustworthy
  • Not sexist/racist/homophobic/anything douchey

It’s my fault for being happy for 30 seconds

When you’ve been a victim of abuse, you build a pretty strong wall to protect yourself.  You learn quickly that expressing emotion can get you punished, so you hold it in.  If you’re lucky enough to get out of the abusive situation, that wall stays there.

When you meet new people, the wall strengthens.  Or at least it does for me.  I could meet the nicest person in the world and it will go one of two ways:

Scenario 1: There is no way this person can be this nice.  It must be an act.  They’re going to charm me and disarm me.  I better run before I see their true colours.

Scenario 2: There is no way I deserve someone this nice.  I’m not worth it.  It’s only a matter of time before they realize that I’m not good enough for them and they leave.  I better run before they see my true colours.

 

Unfortunately, I succumbed to a new scenario.  One that I didn’t know existed, and instead of ending with me running it ended with some serious heartache.

Yep: I’m talking about you, Coffee.

The self-proclaimed “nice guy with asshole tendencies.”  I tried to keep my wall up and I did a good job at first.  You didn’t pry, which was so wonderful.  I felt safe with you, and special.  You kissed my forehead and you tucked my hair behind my ears.  You told me that you hoped that eventually I would let my guard down with you.

The first time I relaxed a little around you, you said how nice it was.  You would text me all day, telling me that you really liked me and if we hadn’t seen each other in awhile you would say you missed me.  I actually felt this going somewhere.  I’m an idiot, I guess.

Last weekend you invited me to stay with you.  This was a huge deal for me.  Since leaving my husband, I’ve been with people but I’ve rarely slept with them.  There are very few people with whom I have actually spent a night.  Of course my first reaction was to run.  Alert, alert, too nice.  Scenario 1.  Get the fuck out.

But you know what? I really fucking liked you.  With an exclamation point.  And I thought you liked me too.  So I agreed.  You sounded excited to have me stay over.  You bought mugs, and a kettle, and coffee.  You made me breakfast.  I was with you…maybe 20 hours? 22? I had such an amazing time with you.  I loved the way you made me feel.  I fucking opened up to you.

I guess that was my mistake.  I talked about my ex.  I talked about my dad.  I’m not going to lie: I verbal diarrhea-ed all over you.  It’s a lot to take and I get that.  My life is not perfect or wonderful; it’s been shattered and poorly glued back together.  But it’s my life and it’s part of me and I thought that you liked me.

When I left your house, I was happy.  I was fucking happy.  This should have set off warning bells, but it didn’t.  I went home and I talked to my friends about you and I smiled like an idiot and gushed like a teenager.

It wasn’t until the next evening that it came crashing down.  An innocent text to you asking if I would get to see you this week.  An innocent enough non-committal answer from you.  A jokey response from me, poorly disguising my disappointment.  A sinking feeling that the end had come.

It’s been a few days.  Communication has slowed right down to nothing.  I wish you would at least tell me that you don’t want to see me anymore.  I know it’s hard to hurt someone but saying nothing hurts a lot more.  It would take you twenty seconds to pick up your phone and say something like, “I’m sorry but I don’t see this going anywhere.”  Or, “I had fun but I think we should stop seeing other.”  Anything, really.  Just something to provide some sort of closure and to make yourself a little less of an asshole.

I was talking to my friend about ghosting yesterday.  When someone ghosts us we should know that they are the ones with the problem.  They are the ones who are too cowardly to send a simple text.  It really takes no time out of their day to be a decent human being.  But instead we blame ourselves.  We wonder what we did wrong.  We wonder if we aren’t pretty enough, or funny enough, or smart enough.  We wonder what part of us isn’t enough for them.

I hate this feeling.  I hate sitting on my couch crying.  I hate feeling bruised and broken and alone.  I hate that you made me feel like you were worth it.  I feel like I was a game to you.  I was closed off and it was a challenge.  You got in and therefore you won.  Game over.  I’m left in pieces behind you but you won.  Congratulations, I guess.  I’m not sure how many times I can glue myself back together, but I’ll try.

Late night revelation

I take Zoloft.  I’ve been on medication for ten years, but have just started Zoloft recently.  I’m still on an increasing dose, although where I am now seems pretty good most days.  I’m trying to determine if I like where I am right now or if I should continue the increase.

Some days I feel like the medication is not working very well.  It’s so difficult to describe, but I feel un-medicated.  I am used to having a medication that masks all of my emotions, rendering me robotic.   I switched medications because I wanted to try having a wider range of emotions: I was getting tired of having only numb and number.  Although I am coping better since starting this medication, I don’t have that overly medicated zombie-esque façade to which I become accustomed.  Quite often it would go through my mind that perhaps this medication was not working.

Today, I forgot to take my pill.  I have an alarm set on my phone that goes off at 8:00am during the week and 9:00am on weekends to remind me to take my pill.  Every morning I try to remember to take the pill before my alarm goes off; it’s some kind of game I play against myself.  Last night I was up late and today I had to start working an event at noon, so instead of setting myself an extra alarm to wake me, I decided to just use the pill reminder alarm.  I forgot to take my pill and there was no second alarm to remind me.

Halfway through my event today I realized that I had forgotten to take my medication.  I was working so I knew I wouldn’t be able to take it until tonight.  I made a mental note in my head and reminded myself that these pills didn’t seem to be doing much so it likely didn’t matter that I’d forgotten today’s dosage.  My day went on and I took the pill when I got home.

On an unrelated note, I’ve spent the day stressing over a personal situation.  I like someone, I think they like me back, I don’t know how much…I’m pretty much a teenager.  I’ve gone full “girl crazy” as I obsess over it.

And then I feel stupid for overthinking the situation.  I always do this: I overanalyze everything.  I tell myself over and over again that I need to stop stressing myself out.  At the same time, however, I tell myself that I’m probably right: he probably doesn’t like me.

I think, you are so stupid.  Why do I keep doing this? Why do I let myself get hurt? Why do I overthink and overanalyze and why do I care? Why can’t I just shut off and let no one in? Why did I think it was okay to let someone in?

I should just kill myself.

That’s when I stopped.  I completely froze.  I was walking from my bedroom to the living room and I stopped dead in my tracks.  A whoosh of breath took the word “whoa” out of my lungs and into the silent room.

I started talking to my brain as if it were two separate people: an intimidated nerd against the unapologetic bully.  I couldn’t let this bully speak to me like that.  I gave myself a pep talk.  It’s not okay to say those things.  I need to have respect for myself.  I am worthy of respect.  Why on Earth was I saying these things?

Ah.  Right.  The medication.

The medication IS working.  See what happens when I don’t take the medication? I become even more self-deprecating; suicidal, even.  Although maybe with the medication I am still somewhat crazy as evidenced by the fact that there seem to be two people in my brain.  Three, really, if you take into account this third party referee.

But it is really nice to see that the medication is working.  It is not masking my symptoms by creating a new mask.  It is allowing me to feel…I have a new range of emotions.  Some of them suck, but they’re there.  The medication allows me those emotions, but keeps away the really dark thoughts and feelings.  It’s like a dreamcatcher: it catches the bad thoughts and washes them away with the light.

So, I’m going to take some deep breaths.  I’m going to try to not freak out.  I am worth it.  Maybe you see that I’m worth it.  I hope that you see, but maybe you don’t.  And that would hurt, because I do feel.  I am human.  But I will heal and I will be okay.  You can bend me and you can bruise me but you can’t break me.

I can’t tell you the future.  You can’t tell me.  But I have today.  I know how I felt with you.  And if by some chance you don’t feel the same way, that’s okay.  I’m okay…or at least, I will be.

Tell me the future

I am not good with surprises.

If someone said to me, “I’m taking you on a vacation; let’s go,” it would stress me the fuck out.  What do I pack? Are we going somewhere warm or somewhere cold? Do I pack casual clothes or something fancy? Will we be doing a lot of walking? Do I need my running shoes? Where are we staying? Should I bring my hair dryer, or will we be at a hotel that has one? Or maybe we’re camping! Do I need my pillow?

I always look up spoilers for movies and TV shows.  When the IMDB message boards closed, I was upset because how would I know how movies ended? How would I binge watch shows on Netflix without knowing the plot of the finale?

Don’t worry: I still find a way.

I try to let myself be surprised but it doesn’t work.  When I read books I try so hard to stick to the proper order, but I only ever get a few chapters in before I read the ending.  I always know who ends up together or who is the murderer.  It relieves me of the suspense and I can enjoy the ride.

Life has no spoilers, and it is causing me a lot of fucking anxiety.

I just want someone to sit down and tell me what my life will be like in a few years.  I’m not picky! One year, two years, five.  Whatever you want! Just sit me down and say, “This will be your life…you will live *here*, you will be working *here*, you will be in *this* relationship with *this* person,” etc.  Just let me know what I need to be working towards here.

I want to be happy.  I want my kids to be happy.  I don’t want to hurt anyone.  I can’t do all of these things.  I need to pick one.  Which one do I pick? Is it selfish to want to be happy? Is it selfish to believe that choosing my happiness will lead to my kids’ happiness? That seeing their mom happy and alone beats seeing her with their dad and miserable? Life has gotten very difficult and complicated and I’m not a fan.

So please, someone, sit me down and give me the spoilers.

I’m Going to Die Alone and That’s Okay: The Story of The Psycho

No great love story ever started with, “We met on Tinder.”

Case in point. I met a guy on Tinder. We talked on the app for a few days, and then exchanged phone numbers. Texted back and forth. Tried to make plans for a weekend, but I had my kids and the only window of time I had didn’t work for him. So we texted for another week or so, and then made plans for a Friday night that I didn’t have my kids.

I went to his house. He made me dinner and we had a fire in his backyard. He has a big, lovely property. Grows fruits and vegetables and sells them. He grows grapes for wine in a lovely little mini vineyard setup, with lights strung through them. It’s quite beautiful, actually. And he has a really sweet dog.

We had a great night, actually. He was funny; I spent a lot of time laughing. I will be honest and say that I wasn’t expecting him to be very smart, based on the limited information I had about him, but was pleasantly surprised that he could actually hold a conversation and use two syllable words. We talked a lot. I got to know quite a bit about him, and shared some things about myself.

Once it got too cold to stay outside, we went inside to watch a movie.

When it was time to leave, he was very sweet. Walked me to my car, said he wanted to see me again, and asked me to text him when I got home safely. If you know me, this is a big deal to me. I’ve told friends that all I want is for a guy to ask me to text him when I got home. So, this gained him some major points.

We made plans to see each other again a few days later. I went back to his house. He ordered a pizza and we watched Family Guy on Netflix and then some baseball. It was a much more casual night but I enjoyed it more. I started to have a couple feelings for this guy.

Again, when I left, he asked me to text him when I got home.

A few days later we tried to make plans. He asked when he could see me again and I said whenever. I told him that I had my kids for the next several days, but I could get a babysitter or he could come over after they were in bed. He said okay, but we didn’t pick a date.

I work part time for a caterer. The opportunity came up to work an event on Saturday, so I took it. I hadn’t heard from The Psycho about a date, so I didn’t think anything of taking the job.

Thursday night The Psycho texted me and asked the general area of where I live. I jokingly said why, are you coming over? And he said “not tonight.” That was that.

Friday he texted me again. Friday I was really sick. I told him that he could come over, but I may or may not just fall asleep on him. He said that he was actually planning on coming Saturday night. I told him oh, I am working this event. He got mad because I had said that he could come “whenever he wanted” and now I was contradicting myself and had lied. Red flag? Well, maybe not. I had said that he could see me whenever. I should have been more specific. My bad.

So I told him that I wasn’t sure when the event would be over, but maybe I could come over after. He seemed okay with that response, and even talked me through a schedule of how he thought my event would go and when he felt I should be done. Seemed weird, but okay.

Saturday morning he texted me to ask if I still wanted to see him. I responded that I really did, but I wasn’t sure what time I would be done and I didn’t want him to waste his time waiting around for me. I told him that I could text him throughout the night and he could let me know if he still wanted me to come.

He called me, really upset with me. He would not let me get a word in, and then got mad that I didn’t have anything to say for myself. When I did try to talk, he interrupted me constantly, saying that I was lying to him, contradicting myself, playing games, creating drama. He told me that I was being selfish and inconsiderate and rude. I told him that I was actually trying to be the opposite, by being honest in that I didn’t know when I would be done. And I was trying to be considerate by not making him wait around.

I had to leave for the event, so I was talking to him while I drove to pick up my friend. She got in the car and he was still yelling at me. By this point I was getting pretty sick of defending myself. I would like to add in here that Saturday was 8 days after I had met him for the first time. 8 days. If this is how he acts on Day 8, what would day 80 be like? Day 800?

I told him I didn’t like how he was treating me and that I didn’t need to sit there and be yelled at. He called me a bitch. I hung up on him. My friend looked at me with understanding her eyes and said, “Your ex?” I said, “No, it was a guy that I just started dating EIGHT DAYS AGO.” Her understanding eyes almost popped out of her head.

He called back, and I handed the phone to my friend because I was driving and not interested in this bullshit. She answered and told him that I was driving and we were on our way to the job site. He called her a bitch.

He blew up my phone with texts for the rest of the afternoon. Basically saying how I was so rude and inconsiderate. I am a liar. I play games. But he would see me at 9 to talk about it. That I would be there by 9. That I better be there by 9.

At this point, I did not want to go to his house. I mean, can you blame me? I told him that, and he said that we needed to talk in person. He said that if he never saw me again after tonight he would be fine with that, but that we needed to end it in person. End what? I’d seen him twice.

I told him that I would meet him at a bar in my town for a drink and we could talk there. I didn’t want to drive half an hour to get yelled at. Also, public place. He told me that the plan was for me to go there, and so I would go there. He said that he would not be coming to me, and that he would see me at 9. He told me that if I didn’t come I would regret it. He said that I needed to keep my word and if I didn’t, he would get revenge on me.

We actually got done at the event fairly early. I dropped my friend off. And I’m a fucking idiot and I went to his house. I didn’t know what kind of revenge he meant, but I didn’t want to risk it. I wanted to tell him in person that I was not okay with how he was treating me and I wasn’t going to see him anymore. Because I’m an idiot.

So I went there and we talked. He was rude and not very kind, calling me names and yelling at me, but yet shifted all the blame to me because I had said “whenever”. Once we were done talking, I wasn’t as mad at him anymore but I definitely did not want to keep seeing him. He kissed me. I told him I wasn’t going to have sex with him tonight. He told me that I owed him a blow job instead. I asked how he figured that? He said that I came to his house and I came inside, so that means that I owed him sex. And that if I wasn’t going to have sex with him, I better give him the blow job he deserved.

I laughed. He must be kidding. Over the past eight days he had shown me a sense of humour. He had to be kidding…right?

He started yelling at me more. Shouting at me that I needed to give him his blow job before I could leave. I told him I had to pee and I grabbed my purse and left.

As I was driving home he called me about how rude I was, and that I could have left things on good terms (after I gave him his blow job). I said that trying to coerce me into sexual acts was not okay with me. That I had said I wasn’t interested and he had a tantrum.

Then he said that he had wanted to talk to me about a couple other things but I had left, and now I would have to find out later. I would find out, but not from him. I was confused. What? He said, you’ll find out. And when you do, don’t call me about it because it will be too late.

He said that when people fuck him over, he gets “the last and most significant revenge.” He told me that he knows a lot about me, and that if I didn’t come back to his house and finish the conversation, I would regret it. Not today and not tomorrow, but soon. I’d find out what he could do and I’d regret this.

Um. Fucking weird. What?! What kind of fucked up threat is that?

He kept texting me that night. I tried to diffuse the situation and tell him that I wished him the best. That it was nice meeting him, and that we were too different to work but that I wished him the best of luck.

He said, yes, the stories and videos were fun.

What videos?????????

Yes, that’s right. He told me that he has videos of me. I thought back over our time together and I tried to think of what personal information he had about me. He knew the general area in which I live. He knew that I have children. He knew where I work. So I freaked out.

I changed my privacy settings on Facebook. I blocked him on every social media site I have. I googled him and found a story someone else had written about him, that I very much wish I had read beforehand.

My friends convinced me to call the police. I felt like an idiot doing so, but I have children. I can’t put them at risk. So I called, and an officer visited me at home. He looked up The Psycho and told me that he has a long list of complaints filed against him. Apparently he has a history of meeting women online and then going crazy.

My take on that? I almost didn’t call the police. I only called because I have wonderful friends who have my back and convinced me to call. I only called because I have two young girls. But if I didn’t have my children, I would not have called.

If he has a long list of women who HAVE reported him, how many haven’t? That’s terrifying to me. I reported him to Tinder and they told me they won’t remove him from the site. So he is free to keep meeting women online. He’s free to keep doing what he’s doing.

So yeah. I’m going to die alone. And I’m okay with that. Because no great love story ever started with Tinder.
Regret Scoring: 10/10

Does this even need an explanation? All the regrets.

Ghosting: The Story of The Nice Guy

This one’s on me.

I am absolutely the villain in this story.  The character you want to root for is The Nice Guy.

I went on three dates with The Nice Guy.  On the first date, we met for coffee.  We had easy conversation, he laughed at my jokes, and seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say.  When it was getting close to when I had to leave, he asked me when I was free again and if I’d like to go out again.  He walked me to my car and he didn’t kiss me.

For our second date we hung out and watched movies.  I went to his apartment.  When I got there, he came outside to meet me at my car.  We passed a few other residents and he was just so friendly to all of them.  In the elevator he struck up a conversation with an older woman.  Their rapport was so effortless I assumed they knew each other.  As the woman exited the elevator, she told The Nice Guy that it was nice to meet him.  Again before I left he asked to see me again.

On our third date we met at his apartment and he took me out to eat.  He wouldn’t let me pay for the food.  Again I was struck by how nice he was to everyone.  I guess basic human decency shouldn’t really shock me at the level that it does sometimes.  Clearly nice is not a quality to which I am accustomed.

The thing about The Nice Guy is that on paper he was amazing.  He’s attractive, he’s kind, he has a sense of humour.  He knew that I had two young children and it didn’t bother him at all.  He obviously liked me and he liked spending time with me.  And so of course, I felt absolutely nothing.

After three dates I still felt nothing.  We made out a few times and I really tried to like him.  He seemed like everything I wanted in a guy.  But you can’t force chemistry, I suppose.  And this is fine.  It’s okay to not be attracted to someone.  Just because your parts can fit together doesn’t mean that they should.  This is life.

The problem is how I dealt with the fact that I felt nothing.  I ghosted The Nice Guy.  One day I just stopped texting back.  I gave him no warning, no explanation, nothing.  I just ceased contact. He texted me every few days for the next couple of weeks, and I ignored them all.  At some point I did have some humanity and felt badly about it, but I figured that it was too late to do anything about it and so I just kept ignoring him.

The thing about ghosting is that it is so easy.  It’s hard to have a break up conversation with someone, even if you aren’t really dating.  It’s hard to tell someone that you don’t want to see them anymore.  It’s hard to hurt someone.  But it’s fucking necessary.

I learned this a few months later when I myself was ghosted.  It sucked.  It was someone that I really liked and they just stopped texting me.  It would have been so much easier to get over them if they had just sent me a simple text saying that they weren’t feeling it.  It sucked and it hurt but I totally got the irony.  I absolutely deserved being ghosted after what I did to The Nice Guy.

To The Nice Guy…I’m sorry, man.  I was a complete asshole.  I hate what I did.  I know it was only three dates but everyone deserves a conversation.  It would have taken thirty seconds out of my day to send you a text saying that I didn’t want to see you anymore.  It would have hurt you, yes, which is something that I did not want to do.  But it would have hurt a hell of a lot less than what I did.  So…I’m sorry.

 

 

Regret Scoring: 10/10

To all of you reading, don’t be twats.  If you’re not feeling it, you’re not feeling it.  That’s okay! Don’t try to force something that isn’t there.  But grow up and be an adult about it, please.  Hurting someone is hard but it’s life.  People get hurt.  But people move on, too.  And they move on a lot faster if you’re not such an asshole about it.  I 100% regret what I did to The Nice Guy.  If I could take it back, I would in a heartbeat.  But as with all experiences in life, there is a lesson to be learned and I have learned it.  No matter how much I hate hurting someone, it is so much better to rip off the band-aid than to keep salting the wound.  Treat others how you would want to be treated.  Put yourself in their shoes.  Whatever overplayed cliché you want to use.  Just don’t be a fucking idiot.