Pain in Omission
Perhaps it’s my own fault for spilling my guts to people I trust – I tell them everything. I believe in being on the same page with people close in my life; it’s rooted in my belief that the root of all conflict is a build-up of misunderstanding and one way to avoid that is to be on the same page as often as possible. Also, sometimes it is only in hindsight that you realize the extravagance of a story is best conveyed when the audience is living along the same timeline as you.
But what I’ve noticed is few things sting harder than when you find out way after that the person you’ve confided in has been omitting the fact that they’ve been hooking up with someone else. It feels like a violent act of betrayal. I don’t feel safe in a lot of people and I invest a lot of time and emotional energy in people that I do feel safe in, by telling them about my life, asking about and listening to theirs. So learning about this feels like suddenly the safety has been stripped and you’re left free-falling.
I’m not enough of a drama queen to say that it feels like everything I’ve known is a lie… but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t, for a hot minute, feel that way.
Taking a step back, I was going to write this post anyway. I’d been mulling it over.
What I didn’t expect was for it to happen again just as my WordPress page had loaded.
Here’s a shortened version of yesterday:
Queer park hang out went well. The weather wasn’t perfect so many didn’t show, but I was thoroughly impressed that about 15 or 20 queers powered through. It was a good time, I met some new queers and primarily hung out with familiar faces.
It was lovely hanging out in person with Birthday girl, S. She’s a fantastic conversationalist and I feel fairly comfortable with her. We’ve already established that we function and think along the same frequency. I’ve been burned several times by falling for the idea of people (as a result of the better half of our interactions being online) so I’ve developed a strong aversion to committing to the idea of someone if we don’t see each other in person. She remembered to bring a book, as did I. She gave me The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck, acknowledging that neither of us were fiction readers but “this was so good I read it in 3 days”. She rolled her eyes at the story, set in pre-revolutionary China, being written by a white woman – which I found charming. She’s at least a lil woke.
She did have to leave early for a birthday dinner, but I’m somewhat glad. This, without a doubt, comes from insecurity, but I’m secretly glad she didn’t meet other gays – or, other gays didn’t meet her. Insecurity tells me others will go after her. Not that I don’t like a little competition, but definitely not when it comes to girls. We all just want someone we can be safe in, don’t we? I digress af.
But back to the (real) story.
Towards the end of the hang, she left quite abruptly, to go for a “talk”. It seemed like the two people around her knew exactly what it was about,and I was taken aback as she hadn’t told me. When I got home later that night, I messaged her “you had to go for a serious talk?”
And it came out. She’d been hooking up with one of my friends.
Why was this never mentioned, while I had been busy confiding in her? I always ask how her day is. Why was this deliberately omitted?
Perhaps it was a mix of being exhausted and still being slightly drunk, but I had to let her know I was hurt. Not by the fact that she had been hooking up with my friend, but the fact that she lied by omission.
We went back and forth.
Then I said “okay. Let’s be open. Do you still have feelings for me?”
“We’ve had this conversation before.
I’d be lying if I said no.”
My heart sank.
I didn’t know what to say or do.
Dread. Disappointment. Why hasn’t she moved on??? Does this mean we can’t be friends???
She asked if my feelings for her were gone. “They’re not completely gone. But knowing who you are dating or seeing helps to mitigate them.” The latter I’m sure she knows.
After much back and forth, we’ve agreed to be more open with each other.
It’s one thing to agree to do something, but quite another to actually do it. I don’t really want to see how this goes. I don’t want to talk to her. She’s not good for me.
I need to fucking move on.
Now, whenever I think about her, our conversation comes to mind and immediately, a feel dread clenching my chest, pulling downwards.
We’re fucking tragic.
Even before pressing Publish, I know this was a poorly written post. But there’s way too much emotion. Not to mention I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in over three weeks.