I met a guy the other night. Several Jamesons-on-ice later, things started to look very good and we ended up snogging the remainder of the night and exchanging telephone numbers.

I got the first sms before bed time.  Then the second, third and forth before work the next morning. By lunchtime my stomach turned every time the message alert tone rang.  Three days and 32 sms’s later I’m totally fed-up.  Is this actually happening?  Can a man be this needy?

Of course, being female, I’m usually the one that falls in love, decide “he’s the man of my dreams” and continues to fantasize about our babies’ names… But I’ve never went on to stalker status.

The things is I’ve never been on the receiving end of the stick.  Interesting how claustrophobic I feel.  If he only played it cool, I might’ve still be interested, but he has made sure in the past few days that I never want to see him again!  Is this how men feel as well? Probably.

I would never again be the first one to open up communications.  If he is interested, he’ll call. That is blatantly obvious. A lesson I had to learn, I guess.  The hard way.

It is quite sad to say that in my life, I’ve only had one boyfriend.  I’m almost 30 and only one boyfriend.  Ever.  Thankfully he’s been the ex-boyfriend for a couple of years.  And every single day, since the day I left him, I have not once thought that I’ll be willing to give up my life that I have had since then, just to have him back. Which I take as a good sign.

That doesn’t mean that I can help myself from reminiscing.  I sometimes look back at the good times we had, and yes, I  miss him sometimes.  He was an integral part of my life for almost eleven years. I met him in the regional choir back in school.  It was great. Being wooed. Falling in love. I’ve always been a huge romantic.  He was my first kiss.  I shared more with him than anybody else in my life up to now.  Sounds like a crappy Hollywood film, but a lot of my current life experiences I try draw lessons from the past and, somehow, he keeps on popping up.

I believe he did love me, in his way.  We were typical on-again-off-again.  Drama queens, both of us.  At one stage near the end, we actually thought of getting married.  We would look at engagement rings, trying on sizes, think of dates and venues.  All of this didn’t dissuade him from trying to shack up with my sister when things went the other way.  One tiny little detail I don’t really want to get into.  Me and my sister’s relationship has never been the same after that.

Tonight I’m wondering why we do things like this to ourselves.  Why do we persue relationships that has become toxic?  Even now, two years after the fact, I sometimes try to make contact.  “For old times sake…”. Just to be violently disappointed again.  No, he hasn’t grown up. And he never will.

If I say something, and there’s nobody to hear it, does it still make a sound?

Life has taken a few turns in the past month and I feel the need to express my sorrow.  I want to shout, cry and violently loose my temper all while I try keep my composure in Pick’nPay.  Life seems meaningless.  I am grieving for the loss of a beautiful person I have had the privilege to meet.  Someone who came into my life, and for those few precious days I knew her, changed my life forever.  The problem here is that she was someone very dear to my brother and while I wallow in my own sorrow, he is actually the one to worry about.  But currently I’m found in an abyss of self pity.  Is that very selfish?  Should I matyrly deny myself the luxury of grief and depression?

I’m trying to find some solace in the fact that I have shared.  I’m not sure if I’m expecting absolution from guilt.

But here I am.