Is it normal to feel this way on finding out my flirtatious ex-boss wasn't single?
I wrote this 'fake' PM to him after I had accidentally 'liked' something of his on Facebook while stalking him. I don't know if he's aware of it yet... or if he cares. Are the feelings in this message normal? Has anyone felt this way? Can anyone relate? I don't want to feel alone.
And... should I send him the message????
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That awkward moment when you’re Facebook stalking someone and you accidentally ‘like’ something on their page…
Thanks for friending rather than blocking. I appreciate it.
I did rather like you when you were managing me, and I felt that there was a connection of sorts between us (maybe I was wrong there – or equally, maybe I was right, and all your expertise in mindfulness had failed you on that point?).
You never said or implied whether you were single, although the vibes you were giving off told me you were. Still, I liked you, and as there was a mutual sort of chemistry, I figured that if you weren’t single, you’d have maybe mentioned your other half in passing to signal to me to give up, or kept a conservative-looking family photo somewhere prominent on your desk, if you’re the kind of manager who likes to keep his private life out of the lunchroom gossip. Well, courtesy of Facebook I’ve done my research now, and there does appear to be a lovely lady in your life, as well as two gorgeous children, and so I will allow you to enjoy your family in peace and take my twenty-nine-year-old randiness elsewhere. But goodness, I wish you’d somehow let me know you were taken so that I wouldn’t have wasted all those emotions on hoping. Am I disposable, or something? (That being said, are you? I shouldn’t be hypocritical.) One of these days when you are brimming with pride, choking back tears as you walk your daughter down the aisle, my heart is going to have become so calloused and shrivelled by crushed hopes that it will have forgotten what love even feels like.
Over the next 6 months I will hate you. It’ll be a meaningless sort of hate; an outward-turned disappointment with myself and life that finds its scapegoat in you. Then I’ll heal and realise you were a decent guy really. It’s like clockwork – the pattern of mental states just cycles through almost identically, disappointment after disappointment, like common cold symptoms; the hormonal peaks, troughs and wobbles countouring every month of my post-pubescent life to the point that I can forecast my emotions like weather; the turning of the tides, the rising and setting of the sun, and the passing of the seasons; life, death, decomposition, fertilisation, and if no fertilisation, gobs of blood and slow, mounting spasms of pain, tearing you apart inside almost exactly the same way every time it cycles round. Biomechanics. Neurochemistry. One more fruitless cycle ending in fruitless pain before starting over again in the hope of bearing fruit one day. Hating you is just a stage. Please don't take it personally.
Still, thanks for reminding me that beautiful men exist, and that I’m made of flesh and blood. You were like a breath of fresh air and I was like a bird in a cage, luxuriating in the sensation of it ruffling through her feathers and remembering, slowly, where she came from, and what she was made for, and feeling a new song growing in her… it never saw the light of day, but at least it was conceived at all.
You made me feel real. Thank you. I hate you.
In the words of Adele, “Nevermind…”
Wishing you all the best.