This nostalgia is bitter to taste

There’s something to be said for the past, isn’t there? I was speaking to a mate of mine today and I think she summed it up beautifully:

The past should stay in the past.

The people and the events that joined our existence for a period and then disappeared from it again are probably best off remaining there. Whether it be an old lover or an old friend, after years of separation it’s most likely that the two of you have grown apart so much that getting back any semblance of the relationship that you had is as easy as trying to hold fire. Which is my way of saying that it’s next to impossible - if you’re one of the freaks of this earth who can hold burning embers in the palm of their hand without being harmed, well, good for you.

What’s brought all this on, you ask?

A couple of things - I found an old video that my cousin made for me when I was 16, which had a few significant events from my life at that stage. I watched it and it made me think about just how young I was back then (okay, so it’s not like I’m an old chook now, but it *has* been almost 9 years since then) and just what has occurred in my life since I was that tender age. There have certainly been some outright shitstorms, but there have been plenty of good memories as well, and I wouldn’t change any of them if I could as they’ve helped create me as I am today, and this isn’t something that I’m unhappy with.

Ooh, a double negative. How naughty of me.

The second thing is the constant ‘popping back into my life’ that D does. Anyone who knows me knows the story of ‘D’ - my first love and first serious relationship, how he fucked me up seriously (when he broke up with me he said (almost verbatim) “I’m not in love with you anymore and I don’t want to be in a relationship with you, but we can still fuck if you’re cool with it”, classy guy hey?) and has made an appearance around once or twice a year every single year since then. And inevitably, one thing leads to another and he ends up with his mauling hands on my body (he never ever kisses me, he doesn’t want to get romantic but just wants to shag) and despite my best efforts to stay strong and refrain, I end up consenting and feeling like utter crap afterwards.

You think I’d learn my lesson after the first few times, huh? Apparently not.

He gave me a call on Saturday and asked if I wanted to go out for some nosh and a movie and I thought “why not” as I had no other plans to keep me occupied. Oy, I would’ve been better to stay home and crochet doilies, it would’ve been far less harmful to my psyche. We met for dinner (which was mediocre), watched Babel (which went for way too long and left me feeling tired and dissatisfied), and then we ended up going back to his house so I could use the bathroom and he could put in some eyedrops. He said he was tired so he lay down on the bed and I was wandering around his room whilst we kept chatting, till he got up and pulled me to the bed to make me sit next to him. After a bit more chatting my handbag was pulled of my shoulder and dumped on the other side of the bed.

After a bit more chatting I’d been pulled down so I was lying on the bed and he was cuddling me, and the next moment his hands were down my top. Riiiiiiiiiight.

D has always known how to push my buttons. He may not be the world’s greatest lover (we can discuss that another time) but he’s always known what’s gotten me going. Till now. Being single at the moment and having gone without for quite some time (I’ll make only a brief reference to A and his erectile dysfunction that I had to live with for the better part of year), I figured what could it hurt, right? Except I found myself wondering what the fuck I was doing, and unable to relax or enjoy any of D’s affections. After about half an hour of lying there like a dead fish, I jumped up and said that this couldn’t go any further and that I had to get home. So we got up and he drove me home, where I lay awake in my bed and staring at the ceiling for hours afterwards.

What was going on? What WAS I doing? Why the hell did D keep making appearances back in my life when HE wanted nookie? Who was I that he should treat me with such indifference? Did my feelings or opinions not matter? And last but not least - where was that little breath of love that had remained in my heart after we’d ended our relationship, but that I believed would always exist? I searched but couldn’t find even a trace of it, the only thing I could find to even hint that anything had ever been there was a slightly bitter sadness that now D was little more than a stranger to me. Sure, we had history, but I’d become detached from even those memories that had lingered after I’d begged my brain to be rid of them to calm my agitated heart.

So what now?

Well, he’s made his appearance for this year. If he tries to make another, I’ll tell him bluntly that I can’t have him in my life anymore and ask him to please try and forget about me and move on with his life and allow me to do the same.

And if he doesn’t get in touch again?

Hopefully the image of him and the memories I have will fade into nothing like the feelings that I once held for him.