A Sad Story

There are times where you are just really sad about someone who didn't work out in your life. There are other times where things are different and you're glad (i.e., Cactus Man) and life gets richer and better.

But there are some lost souls, mentally-damaged people, that when it doesn't work out with them, you're not devastated, just very, very sad.

The Invisible Man finally contacted me. Outta respect for him, I'm not going to use our other nickname for him because while it's funny, it's not nice. Of course IM didn't TAlk TO me. But he left me a message that he wanted to get his stuff back because he'd be in town.

At first, my friends and I were just disgusted. "He just wants his shit back. What a shithead. You don't mean crap to him," said JJ. And many others.

I felt I should oblige. After all, YES, I did have an expensive first edition of a book that was his and other stuff. After all, I was of the understanding that we, over the summer, had become a "we." So we exchanged lots of stuff--as couples often do. In his voicemail, he said if I didn't want to see him, that was fine and that I should do "the right thing" and leave his stuff on my porch in a bag. So I did. And I called his landline and left him a message saying, we were adults here. We didn't need to pretend to be friends and have a conversation that was all fake, wishing each other well wishes like teenaged campers at summer camp. So I left his books on my porch with a note. Not a "Bette Davis-ripping-your-head-off" style note, just a very honest SHORT one.

Then the axe fell on my heart.

He'd left me a lovely Christmas card asking to be friends and if I could meet him in the future, a short letter, a gorgeous piece of artwork and four antique casters for my Victorian chair. As I pretended to not be home, I watched him out my curtain, his shoulders sagged. Each step of his feet looked like someone dejected.

I felt, in short, like a fucking asshole.

So I called his landline and thanked him for the gifts. Then said I hoped he would have a good holiday.

It was, in short, the toughest thing I have had to do.

There's a difference between giant raging assholes like Cactus Man, and someone with mental illness and fears where a r healthy relationship/friendship just wasn't possible.

Regrets. Man, I have 'em. Don't you?