“Um, yeah. You’re right. Thanks. Um, that’s so nice of you. Ok, see you around.” Picture me with my jaw smack on the floor. What??!!! How can that be?
I am devastated and begin mourning the loss of a relationship that was two dates long (with one casual group hang out in between, so let’s say three dates!).
And it’s back to the drawing board for me…
About two months later, I ran into him at a party. I knew he would be there and I made sure to look amazing. And it worked. We flirted heavily all night and somehow he ended up back at my apartment. We talked for hours and hours and maybe did some other things. I’m no dummy, even through my haze of lust and emotions and my need for validation, I could recognize what was in front of me: a damage case.
The more Kevin told me about himself, the more I realized that he was exactly the type of guy I always seem to fall for. He was charming, charismatic, confident, fun, and I couldn’t have him because no one could. He’s the kind of guy that will always remain just beyond your reach, and that’s the way he likes it. He also had some deep-rooted emotional problems to deal with and some major commitment issues.
He is the type of guy I refer to as a “damage case,” a guy who has a lot of potential hidden under a pile of issues. The “bad boy” who needs to be saved. And like many women, I wanted to be his healer, to be the woman who inspired him to break through his walls and finally commit.
Damage cases are like a pair of super sexy shoes that are brutally uncomfortable. When you look at them they are amazing—they’re beautiful and sexy, and you have to have them. But when you wear them you’re in agony. Then you take them off and experience euphoric relief, the most incredible feeling. But this feeling doesn’t come from gaining something positive, it comes from removing something negative—pain. This experience is the same as dating damage cases.
They seem to be everything you want, so enticing you can’t resist them. But when you have them, you just feel pain and discomfort. Your stomach is in knots as you wait for the next text, or for a sign that he truly cares. Then he gives you some sort of indication that he does, and you’re ecstatic; you feel a rush of euphoria. But then he pulls back again and you’re back in those unbearable shoes. Then he comes back, and relief. And on and on it goes.
I knew it at the time, but I just liked him so much and I allowed my feelings to drown out my common sense.
We spent the morning together drinking coffee, laughing, and just acting like a couple. I tried to hold on to it tight because I knew when it ended, he’d be gone. But again, I didn’t want to admit it.
I was going out of the country in another few weeks and I thought for sure he’d try to meet up before then. Or at the very least send a text to wish me bon voyage. But no, I didn’t hear a peep. And while I knew I had no right to feel sad about this because he didn’t owe me anything, I felt incredibly sad, that gut twisting, nausea-inducing kind of sad that just makes everything seem black and hopeless.
Two months go by and while he’s still in the recesses of my mind, I try to move on and get myself together. And just as I kind of start getting there … he drunkenly shows up at my apartment one night at a small party I’m having. It wasn’t an official party. I had a bottle of vodka and some leftover birthday cake and invited some friends over after a night out to polish it off … and then somehow 20 people ended up at my house. And just as things were starting to die down, he staggered in totally off his face. And I wasn’t annoyed. I was elated.
Ugh, when will I learn?