He won’t talk to me, M that is. He won’t talk to me because apparently I block him periodically.
I don’t. I didn’t have any 3G on my phone for the weekend because I’d run out of data, I wasn’t on WiFi because out and about with my friend who I haven’t seen in five years. I explained that, but it wasn’t good enough.
That’s how it all started … just because I didn’t have any 3G or WiFi last weekend.
When M reached out to me back in January, I was happy. I’ll never forget how happy I was in that moment when we had our phone call. But I was also very sceptical. Why had he gotten back in contact? If he could stop contacting me so easily before, then of course it could do the same again. He expected to pick up everything exactly where we left it, and he got defensive when I asked him why he contacted me. “Fine, just contact me when you move then. That’s completely fine.” (It’s funny how he’s always the one who has to decide if it’s completely fine without considering me).
I let him back in. Even though he didn’t apologise last time or this time, and even though he told me he couldn’t remember why he contacted me. Complete BS, all of it. We were getting on well, and I knew that things wouldn’t be as normal as it had been even though that’s all I wanted. I sat there on tenterhooks, wary of his past behaviour, waiting for his next dick move.
I thought about him a lot last weekend. He didn’t reply to my messages that Friday and with my friend’s arrival on the Saturday, I left it. I hadn’t seen her in five years, now was the time to put my phone down. Letting her have all my attention was a given, even if my mind did drift to him often.
I remember checking my phone on Saturday night, feeling disappointed that another weekend was passing when M was elusive and absent (I suppose my friend’s own popularity wasn’t helping my insecurity, and neither was watching Valentine’s Day).
The next day my friend and I woke up later than we had anticipated, chomped down our breakfast before heading into the town centre to have lunch with an old teacher. Two hours spent catching up on news and updates over avocado on toast, I took my friend to see the exterior of my new house. I thought about M when we got there as he said he’d visit when I moved, and I wondered what he’d think. My friend and I detoured through to the town I work in, stopping for cappuccinos to awaken our souls. When we got back home, we chilled on the sofa together for the rest of the evening until bed time – chatting about old school friends, teenage crushes, and definite no nos when it came to dating, only stopping to eat dinner and dessert. It was all kinds of wonderful.
Little did I know that M had sent me a message in the morning asking how my weekend was going. I hadn’t seen it. I hadn’t even replied to my sister or colleague from yesterday. I turned on my phone when I got into bed, and the message popped up. A smile crept up on my face. It was late, after midnight in fact, so I decided to wait until the morning to reply. He wouldn’t have read it then anyway.
I told him my school friend came to stay and returned the courtesy of asking how his weekend was. “How come you block me periodically?” he asked. I was quite startled by his response, and I reassured him I didn’t, that I had no internet and I wasn’t exactly sure why he cared given the fact he could never tell me he liked me. Why did he care about what I did?
I called him later that evening, at a time when we used to talk. He didn’t pick up and asked him to call me back. I know by now when he’s not happy with me, and this was one of those moments. For all his sins, he was always good at answering his phone or calling back if he missed the call … except when he was mad at me. When I saw him online on WhatsApp and called him again, he didn’t answer. I was losing patience.
“Why are you so annoyed about something I didn’t even do? It’s not like you just found out I have a girlfriend or slept with a colleague’s best friend“. Two things I had had to find out about him, and two things I think are much worse than taking too long to reply to a text. At least that’s what he seemed mad about, he wouldn’t tell me even when I asked. I couldn’t understand why he couldn’t be more forgiving after everything he had put me through. Plus, he hadn’t even bothered to respond to my texts on Friday, talk about pot kettle black.
He told me he didn’t want to talk about why he was annoyed at me, and so I left it, telling him we should play nice from now on. He was distant with me all week, and I could tell I wasn’t in his good books. Still. I mean, this is the man who told me he’d be fine with it if I suddenly told him I had a boyfriend, yet he was getting mad at me because I hadn’t replied to his message. I was seething – it was proof that there was clearly one rule for him and another for me.
By Friday, it was it for me.
I know there’s more to him than he ever lets on, and I always tried to understand that. I alluded to that on Friday in my text to him … that I would listen if he needed someone to talk to. The text he hasn’t bothered to reply to, because he’s still mad at me. Because his message stayed on one grey tick too long, and for not replying to his message quickly. Melanie and I spoke about it a lot last weekend. M is an only child, so life at home has most probably always revolved around him. He hasn’t had to fight for attention or compromise on which toys he wanted to play with, and I think a lot of his childhood experiences do well to explain his actions now.
I don’t think he knows the hurt and damage he has caused, he’s blind to it. He completely lacks empathy for others, barely shows any remorse, and fails to apologise. Ever. Is he a psychopath? Because honestly, who gets so mad about something so damn irrelevant?
Other than the seven lettered expletive that comes to mind, I’ve said everything else I needed to say to him. He can’t see the good in the person who stands there in front of him after everything? That’s certainly not my problem. And you know what, there’s only so many times you can tell someone how you feel before you realise they were never listening.