My Exquisite Pain

Since when did an oxy-moron like this make so much sense?

I have decided that I am one of those people that like pain. No, enjoys pain; THIRIVES on pain, because seriously, any sane person who does not enjoy pain would not torture herself the way I do. Let me explain. As I have said before; communication is key, a powerful key that can either make or break a relationship. In most cases communication is a great thing, except when it is used to the advantage of one person over the other. I mean, there is one thing with using or withholding communication to keep me interested in you; it is another thing completely to use it to keep me hanging. Paris does this to me, although I don’t think he means to, and if he does then my god… how I hate it and love it.

We’ve always been on the boarder line of friendship-and more, and in the half hour we had together he managed to send me a barrage of mixed signals, ones that say “we’re just friends” to “I want to be more”… a casual “we wouldn’t be a good pair” is counteracted with a literal pick-me-up-hug, face in my neck and hair, and a pause with each other, distanced but close… I don’t know. He says one thing and does another… and I don’t know what to believe.

The problem is this: I didn’t do anything about it and I still don’t do anything about it. It’s not that I am not woman enough to tell a guy how I feel; I already did. And I got burned… well, not burned, but I didn’t get the answer I was hoping for or better yet expecting based on the signals we were sending each other since… well since we met each other. Once I’m rejected, with guys or with anyone in general, it doesn’t matter if it was done as nicely as possible and with good and valid reasons. The fact remains that I am twice as shy when it comes to exposing myself again in such a vulnerable fashion, especially for someone as independent as I am.

Half of the time we are fabulous friends; we get along swimmingly, have great casual conversations, and overall friendly fun. The other half… let’s just say I do NOT talk with any other guy like that unless I was interested in more; learning more, being more, getting more… you catch my drift. The topics are deeper, the conversations longer, thoughts provoked, ideas exchanged… not to mention the fact that he’d do me good, just based on how well he can stimulate my mind.

I hadn’t seen him in a long time and according to a platonic guy friend of mine, there isn’t a guy in the world who would meet anyone for half a hour unless they liked me. Fair enough; I know he likes me. Liking someone is crucial for any relationship above a casual acquaintance. But the touching, hugging, hair-playing, pausing, overall closeness mixed into the friend-only bits of conversation? I don’t know.

And not knowing is driving me insane.

Paris has it easy; he KNOWS how I feel; I was woman enough to put it out there, and yet here I am, at the mercy of a man, wondering how the hell he feels about me, about this, about us… and it is literally making me mad. Bloody hell!

I think… I think, he is giving me enough to keep me close, to keep me wanting, to keep me interested in him. But he is not about to give me exactly what I want, and would prefer to keep me on the line until… until what? Guy friends and girl friends tell me Paris likes me; so what is the hold up?

Greg Behrendt of “He’s Just Not That Into You” fame, wrote that if a guy was truly interested but couldn’t do a relationship for actual reasons, that he would let you know immediately instead of keeping you hanging. Paris let me know immediately when we had the conversation-of-ultimate-awkwardness that his issue was his alone; and that if that issue was not present then there would be no problem. SO is that what Greg is talking about? And if so, then why continue the mind games when clearly he knows what I want from him?

Or does he?

It’s not like I have been sitting around waiting for him to pull his head out of his ass. I was semi-seeing The Medic a few months after our conversation-of-ultimate-awkwardness occurred, and I even have another date with an Officer McDreamy. I just wish I could stop thinking about Paris when I’m trying to move away. Maybe he’s like me in the sense that we don’t want what we can’t or won’t have in front of our faces, but that doesn’t me that we don’t want them within eyesight. So then why is it that neither of us can truly hang on to the other but at the same time can’t truly let go?