Turns out – I wasn’t ghosted! But I was dumped.
Sorry i’m being so shit. I think you’re great, but i’m in a weird place for dating right now, feel like I’m being really shit and don’t want to waste your time. I’m being very hopeless!!
Unfortunately, the Rugby Boy is the latest male to add to the list of men who don’t want to be with me. What went wrong?! Your guess is as good as mine, but this growing list is starting to make me feel pretty shit to be honest. The Train Driver, Trouble, No-name, the Rugby Boy have all rejected me in one way or another to some extent over the last wee while. Rejection is never nice, but a series of rejections all in a row really do start to get you down, question yourself and make you want to forget…
Cue: a bottle of wine with the bestie…
A bottle of wine turns in to two – I think – to be fair I don’t really remember the night. I remember an Australian rugby fan, who was also at the pub watching the game, taking a liking to me. I didn’t like him at all, but he liked me, and I liked that. I remember literally telling my bestie that I liked the attention I was getting, I liked that he liked me. How pathetic is that?
My bestie left the pub, I chose to stay – for the attention. Sickening I know. The only part of him walking me home that I remember is that all of a sudden I trip over my shoelace, I trip up the curb, hit my head on a tree on the side of the road and come crashing down on to the pavement. I remember putting my hand to my head to feel the egg growing on it and in that movement, realising I was missing an earring. Not just any earring, my favourite pair of earrings in the word, my favourite piece of jewellery I own. The pair Trouble gave me for the Christmas just been, the summer that represented the bitter-sweet end of us; our swan song. I scramble around trying to find it – no luck.
Without going in to too much detail, the next thing I remember isn’t pleasant. The Australian rugby fan is in my bed, and we’re…well, early in to the act. Realisation hits, I freak out and I yell at him to get off me, out of my bed and out of my house. Before I start to sound like I’m claiming something terrible, I have had a vague flashback where I think I told him he must use protection and where it was, so it must’ve been consensual – of sorts. I remember then pulling the sheets over my face while he scrambled to get dressed and yelled profanities at me. He left and I got up and quickly to lock the door behind him – while crying my eyes out.
I call Trouble. All I want is to hear his voice, feel safe, talk to someone familiar, someone comforting. I also feel ridden with guilt and heartache that I have lost such a sentimental gift from him. I know how upset he will be with me. Luckily, given it’s 2am – he doesn’t answer.
I cry myself to sleep and wake in the morning wondering why my body is killing me, why there’s blood on my sheets – I notice my knees, elbows and thumb are covered in cuts, grazes and bruises. I am then reminded of my fall. I am then reminded of my earring – I start to cry.
Then the worst memory of all hits; the incident. Tears stop abruptly as shock sets in. I feel physically ill, violated and dirty so instantly jump out of bed and in to a scolding hot shower to wash myself clean. The shower doesn’t work the wonders I hoped it would, I’m not sure if i’m going to be sick or faint, so I get out and lay on the cold bathroom floor ashamed and disgusted in myself. It’s not this guys fault, i’m not playing the non-consensual card at all – I genuinely can’t remember how we got to where we were when I came to. It’s my own fault for drinking myself into such a state that I wasn’t able to control the situation I ended up in while home alone for the week.
Have I become of those girls who gets so drunk she blacks out and has to blame alcohol for stupid decisions? A girl who so desperately needs attention she lets a guy she isn’t interested in walk her home and in to her home while she’s beyond intoxicated? I don’t even remember wanting to do it, I don’t remember him coming in to my flat let alone things actually getting started – I don’t even remember my clothes coming off or a single kiss even occurring! But apparently it happened and I came-to, too late.
It’s now Tuesday and I’m in a worse place than I was on Sunday. Flashbacks are hitting, my knees, elbows and hands are killing me and are barely healing. I’m exhausted and I’m beyond disgusted in myself. I still feel violated, partly by him partly by myself. I’m too ashamed to talk to anyone about it – not even my bestie knows the details to this extent, I was too embarrassed to explain what really happened on Sunday. I can’t even bring myself to tell my sister or America the details of the night – two people I tell everything to. I’m mortified and I hate myself for it.
I’m hoping writing about it under this alias will help me process what happened and why. I’m hoping it will help me begin to work through things and deal with the emotions, thoughts and feelings that I’ve been going through lately. I’m starting to think that perhaps blocking out my issues and pretending i’m fine is me just ignoring it – not me actually being ok or coping. Perhaps my typical process for dealing with things isn’t really working right now.
Not only did a string of rejections and a bottle or two of wine aid me in losing my dignity and all possible self-respect this weekend, it also sadly lost me a hugely sentimental gift, one that is irreplaceable. I’m absolutely gutted, but I deserve it.
The embarrassment, the flashbacks and the guilt are making me take a long, hard look at myself in the mirror. Rejection to reflection.
distanced hearts club ♥