Freaking out; heartbreak stories

This post from The Optimistic Pessimist got me thinking about my injured pride/broken heart behavior over the years. The few folks who actually know me AND read this blog (hi best friend and goodgrace) know that my "relationship" history hardly qualifies me to have a lot to say about breakups and broken hearts unless we did a series on unrequited affection and history of going to formal dances in college with gay men. My relationship history otherwise consists of nursing impossible "secret" crushes on guys who aren't interested in me and a delightful assortment of Mr. Coffee's, Stairmaster's and Batman's that serve primarily as blog fodder. It makes celibacy effortless. Really.

So my one prized memory of me completely freaking out publicly over one of these guys instead of doing the usual brooding, bad poetry, and endless banal discussions with my girlfriends was over David. We were all in Brussels on a school trip. I don't remember having any interaction with him at all--perhaps that was why I was so disappointed. What I recall is crying, crying, and crying some more on the bus, on the ferry, in the bathroom on the ferry, in the movie theater in the ferry (The Brave Little Toaster was playing, a movie I still hate). I was miserable because this boy was never going to like me the same as I liked him. I was sad over many guys but I recall only ever crying over him. Not sure why. I think I just felt alone and was sad that I didn't have him in the way I really wanted. It likely wasn't about him at all but when I saw him, it represented everything I wanted that I couldn't have. I kept hoping he would see how good I was and choose me. We were friends, but he just didn't like me in "that way."

"That way" was always the issue. My crushes may have been "secret" but I always had some kind of relationship with the guys I liked because I date in reverse (which is why I don't date). I meet a guy, we become friends, and then I decide I really like him more than that. And I had a terrible habit in high school of eventually confessing my crushes to my crush in a heartfelt artfully folded note. A girlfriend of mine recently did something like that to some guy she worked with and I plainly told her that my observations and experiences had led me to the conclusion that if you find yourself writing a letter to a guy who isn't in prison, confessing your love and affection and hoping your letter will lead to his uncovering of feelings he's never expressed to you, it is not likely to end well. Especially since we are in our 30's and not our teens. And our lives don't even remotely resemble a romantic comedy or sitcom.

I would have done well if I had grown up in the 1940's and 50's. I would have been a swell girl to know, guys would court me properly, and I'd be married by the time I was 21. My husband would likely cheat on me and I would probably be on some kind of medication for my "nerves." It would be picture perfect.