kate-upton_4There once was a lovely woman. Beautiful, charming, sexy, smart.

She gave me the gift of her body – photographically, only, alas – we were at a distance.

The way she was wired, though, was challenging – for me, sure, but for her, more so.

When she sent me a photo, she was in utter agony, anxiety, desperation, until I acknowledged it. If she pressed “send,” she experienced in every minute of my not responding as confirmation that I shared her deep-seated belief that she was ugly, repulsive, worse.

Suffice it to say, she was wrong. Her body, her face, her personality – all were charming, beautiful, sexy, lovely. And inevitably, I would respond, by telling her so.

But it turned out that the interim period, the period between when she pressed send and when I replied, was simply intolerable for her (even if it was just a matter of hours – it was rarely more than that). And what I responded with often was not reassuring enough, praising enough.

While she was waiting for my response, she would pepper me with messages – messages that were either self-abnegating or complaining about me. Or both. And, after a time, I got tired. Not of her pretty body, her pretty face, which I would never tire of. But of the constant reassurance she demanded, of the constant complaints to which she subjected me.

And I called things to a close. Politely, respectfully. “I can’t bear to hurt you any more,” I wrote. “I like you, and I like your pretty body. I don’t want to participate in these bad stories you’re telling yourself about yourself.” Or something like that.

But then this happened: as is true of all of us at different times, she was not able to see me as a nice, fun guy with whom she had shared good times, and/but who had moved on. In order to make sense of my departure, she had to make me all bad. She sent me a screed that attempted to undo, to deny, all of the good we had enjoyed together. And we had enjoyed good together.

It was a fake, she wrote. A fraud. She derided what I’d sent her as a “template.” (It wasn’t.) She told me I’d never respected her. (I had. I do.) She told me she was sure she would be replaced. (She won’t.)

I understand her perspective. Rejection sucks, and it’s far easier to be rejected by someone who, retroactively, you decide was no good.

But I’m sad. I liked her. And I hope she does well.

wicked wednesday

One comment

  1. It’s sad when things end like this. You tried to protect her from hurting herself and her answer to that is to hurt you. I hope one day she will see herself the way you saw her.

    Rebel xox

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