A Delayed Reaction

If you had seen me on the street yesterday, you wouldn't have had any idea what I was going through.

I was re-evaluating all that had transpired since 2002, and finally beginning to deal with it.

Here's the backstory: Around the time of my father's death I was heavily infatuated with a man that I'll call M. In fact, it would be safe to say that M was the first person outside of my family who I could open up to. He seemed to seek it out, taking a very strong interest in how I viewed the world and what my views were on a myriad of topics, basically interested in knowing my emotional side. This was made all the more interesting because as a horny 22 year old at the time, I was initially more interested in having sex with him than talking about feelings. (Note: we never did have sex.)

Nonetheless, walls broke down and he got in. When my father died, the first person I called after receiving the news was M, who was eerily calm and collected about it. (Granted, I was as well.) No call while I was back in Wisconsin, nor email to see how I'm doing. In fact, M--who lives a bicoastal existence--absented himself for several months. Reappearing on a rainy Spring night to invite me for a post-dinner drink. I gladly went. The conversation was rather unremarkable and we went our separate ways afterwards. Again, no contact for several months until that Summer, when he responded to my email that I would be out in California for a weekend in August.

We attended a classmate's play and afterwards, he shook my hand (6 months ago we were kissing in public, something completely out of character for me) and disappeared again. This time he disappeared for 2 years. Although I wrote a play partially about him and his hot-and-cold stance, I thought I had exorcised the pain that had had wrought. Then in the summer of 2004, he reappeared in of all places the 79th street station on the 1 line. We talked, partly caught up, and the whole time he gave me this look that said "why haven't we spoken in such a long time?" He wanted to see if we could have dinner again and to get in contact with him to arrange a time. I sent an email with my availability and...nothing.

Well, M reappeared again this past Monday. I was making my way from Newark Airport back to Manhattan and he was right next to me on the platform and on the train. We talked, we share a brief laugh, and there was yet another invitation for me to have dinner with him. While I was sitting down at the computer to ostensibly give him my availability, I started wondering.

Why did this man haunt me?

I kept thinking and thinking, and finally it dawned upon me. He was the first person I had ever opened up to on a deeper level. When he disappeared, I interpreted it as a rejection of who I am as a person inside. While M did not cause my previous relationship to fail, I do understand why my ex mentioned that I could be unbelievably cold on occasion. It was self-protection.

M once told me that he had mentioned to a friend of his that "[I] could be great person, if [I] could ever get out of [my] head." At the time, I remember being flattered that at least I was getting mentioned by M. What I've come to realise now, is that in the greater scheme of things, he was saying that I had not opened up to him or to the world at large.

Which is how I found myself wandering around yesterday analysing how that fear of being hurt again had affected my life. It had, in more areas than just in my lovelife. I had never sought to promote my work the way that my colleagues do. I avoided any challenges or opportunities that I didn't have full or at least majority control over.

M had, in my opinion, sought me out as someone to get emotionally intimate with and then disappear as if I was another notch on his bedpost. Had we just slept together after that one chance meeting back in December 2001, then maybe I would've been spared this. Yet, I don't mind it now. Without a doubt, someone with a higher EQ than mine would've come to this conclusion much earlier. Nonetheless, I remember one thing that I have always said when asked to console someone: "Everything that has transpired has lead us to this point, and this is where we are supposed to be."

So a wounded optimistic I will be.