I've already returned to the same old patterns.
I've been back 24 hours and I'm bugging Marc already.
I could really go for an internet disconnection right now.
Well, we talked things over and finally got our stories straight.
To recap :
1. Marc and I met some time in the spring of my junior year of high school.
2. After I returned from summer camp that august, we had a terrible fight. I was upset because I did not get invited to be a staff member the following summer and was forever severed from the locale of my fondest childhood memories. He had had a fight with his best friend. He dumped me.
3. That fall I fell in love with a sophomore (Alex) and Marc and I had much to talk about again. I eventually clued into the fact that Alex would much rather prefer I didn't exist, and moved on.
4. My freshman year at WPI, Marc and I attempted to rekindle our relationship. It lasted a weekend. I told him too much about myself, and he decided it would be better if we were just friends. That April, he attended the Alumni Glee Club concert and we were able to hang out some.
5. Since then, he and I have talked from time to time (whenever he's online), and I had become increasingly hopeful that we could start anew. We just finished telling each other how we *really* feel, and I have finally realized what the problem has been all along.
6. For three and a half years, he has been trying to subtly tell me he wasn't interested. Note the word subtle. I picked up on it only occasionally, and only minutes before I said something that set him off so badly that I always thought that he had been bothered by what I said, and not who I was.
7. Here is the last bit :
(about August 1998)
You paged sabu: You tossed it away. You were the one who accused me of not caring. And as always when you hurt me, the more I tried to tell you how I felt, the more you hurt me. So I let it go. I thought that you were just upset at other things, and that we could talk about it. But you never want to talk about anything except how unsensitive I am. And for four years, I have been beating myself up trying to show you how sorry I am for letting you slip through my fingers, and enlisting your help at every opportuni
You paged sabu: ty.
sabu pages: Ah. I tossed it away.
8. All this time I had been blaming myself. I felt that surely he misunderstood me and that if we could only get around this miscommunication, all would be okay. But he has misunderstood me. And he doesn't intend to change that. In certain ways, I have no memory. I know that the other kids were quite mean to me in gradeschool, but I really can't think of any instances of the truly stupefyingly painful variety.
So I just need to figure out where to tattoo "Marc doesn't love me."