[Got an anonymous confession or rant you just have to share with the world? Submit it to I, Anonymous HERE!—eds]
Names have been changed.
I’ll call him “Leo”.
Leo was the person I thought I could spend my life with. Turns out, I was dating someone who loved being loved more than the actual responsibilities of loving someone back.
When things weren’t going his way, Leo left. That part was his choice. I can respect someone deciding they don’t want to continue a relationship. What I cannot respect is wanting to leave the building while still keeping a key.
After the breakup, Leo wanted to be “friends.” Which apparently meant I should still be emotionally available and still provide the familiarity of someone who loved him without any of the inconvenient expectations that come with actually being a partner.
A pretty impressive arrangement, honestly. Almost like a subscription service where the customer cancels but still expects premium access.
Then, when I started pulling away, he suddenly became interested again. There were attempts at closeness. He wanted to kiss me. He wanted the connection back — but not the conversation that needed to happen before it. The married woman, texting me about the dates he went on.
But the part where we actually addressed what happened to us? Weirdly unavailable.
Eventually, I told him that the hot and cold was hurting me. I didn’t demand a relationship. I never asked him to fix everything. I asked him to acknowledge that his choices affected me.
Instead of an apology, I got a defense brief.
Suddenly, our problems were my fault. The failed communication was my fault. The distance was my fault. Somehow, the person who repeatedly avoided the hard conversations became the expert witness on why we couldn’t communicate.
Truly impressive. Olympic-level emotional gymnastics.
Then he ghosted.
And that was the final lesson: I learned that some people don’t want to lose you. They just want to know they still have access to you.
Thanks for the trauma, Leo. Great character arc. Tell the thai massage lady I say hi.—Anonymous