He used to see me anytime because of my troubled mind. I came to him after the advice of a friend, and at some point I felt so much relief after talking to him that he was that shoulder I could cry on. He became my therapist even when I always thought therapy was for fools.
Our appointments were always good. Nice and funny. Background family issues and drama aside, of course. He was always pretty charming, no pushing, holding a great smile and always had a nice thing to comment. It was like we knew each other from before, another life maybe. We bonded and it was awesome, until I realized I was falling deeply. And you’ve heard this story like a million times: boy meets boy, one of them falls in love, the other one doesn’t feel the same way until some time passes and that guy isn’t willing or available anymore.
There was always some flirtation in our sessions. Mostly over coffee and pizza. He loved pizza.
In betweens relationships I could always count on his compliments and sweet words. In rare occasions we kissed briefly, and by briefly I mean shortly and with lots of regrets, ’cause I knew for a fact that he was the ultimate fox.
Anyway that was the most of it for some years, but the day I finally moved on came and our world was not ready: the meetings weren’t only for themes surrounding myself and my issues. I could ask questions too, so obviously I did dig deep into this mysterious lifestyle. Of course the answers weren’t what I wanted to hear or even imagine. We were so different in so many levels. So the scenario of him being suddenly very much into me to the point of being in love was, honestly too much, a-little-too-late. I was out of mind.
We discussed that point in our last couple of encounters, mostly because he was very interested in my feelings towards him and I was fully committed in my own dreamed relationship (Note: not with him, obviously). When we got that clear, everything went downhill between us, even when we said we could still be friends. Cliché as hell, I know. But we both thought of it, so, whatever.
We’ve known each other for like five or six years at that point, so he asked when I stop feeling things about him. And then it hits you: sometimes you don’t stop feeling strong about a person, but start to enhance and feel your own love towards you. Boosted by selfies, of course. I told him he would always be deep in my heart. He said some nice stuff too after he understood I wasn’t going to be with him, not in this life.
Since we meet, he went through only one serious relationship. When I asked about this, on several occasions, he would avoid the question or answer with something like “it’s not my thing at the time” or “I’m waiting for something real”. Realer than real? And as with movies and life itself, time passed and we stop talking and meeting for therapy. A few weeks ago I found out he was/is/could be kind of in a relationship (fuck, I know for sure, ok?) and, surprisingly I was very happy for him, very-very happy. But the doubt hit me hard: was he waiting for me? Was he waiting for me to make some move so he could move on with his life and start anew? Is it all about me all the time?
There you have it. Men. A complex species. A complex mind divided by urges and hunger. I’m sure he would be very happy and I honestly hope he will be as happy as he wants to be. Maybe one day we could meet, hang out, and talk about our lives as married couples of something.
I’m so thrilled for you, doctor.
I’m sorry I had to make our professional falling into a blog entry.
I couldn’t help myself.
Now that I think about it, I’m sure I need another therapist.
Someone who won’t/can’t fall into me.
Some woman, this time.
You know what? Therapy is for fools.