So What IS Closure, Exactly? [Diary of the Undateable]
After the last three times he broke my heart, I solemnly vowed to myself that I wouldn’t write about, talk about or even think about Carlos, my on again/off again summer fling, ever again. I lied. When I was home for winter break, I thought about how I’m such an independent, grown, mature, sexy and sophisticated twentysomething single that I can hang out with my dependent, immature, lame ass dude who’d probably be ecstatic to be with me — the best thing that ever happened to him. I boosted myself up with this fake confidence so much that I ended up texting him the last week of December with a simple but to-the-point message that said “you should probablyyy ask me to hang out soon.” I thought that I was thinking like a man. But I was actually thinking like an idiot. Carlos promised that he’d hit me up within the next few days – and I haven’t heard from him since.
I’ve gotten several opinions from friends, classmates and random lurkers at the bar about this situation that’s plagued me for almost eight months now. And usually, I receive the same consensus – that he’s just not that into me. And I get it, I really do. It just sucks to realize that I care about someone far more than he cares about me.
Carlos and I have talked about us – what we are, what we’re doing – before. He explained that he had a lot of respect for me, that he cared about me and that he doesn’t know what will happen in the future. He doesn’t know what will happen in the future. I should’ve known then and there that Carlos and I didn’t – and doesn’t – have a future. But for some reason, I still think that things will work out. Shoot, they HAVE to. I’ve spent time, energy and even a little bit of money on this guy. It’s like the more I invest into him, he shrinks away.
My similarly delusional friends and I have convinced ourselves that Carlos doesn’t want to talk to me because he’s scared of falling for me. He’s not ready for a “real” relationship, so he runs. But realistically, he’s probably found a new challenge…someone who’s cute, convenient and closer to him to pass the time. And that’s fine. Whatever the reason is, I just want closure. I don’t think that it’s fair for someone to just disappear out of thin air, especially after eight months. EIGHT. MONTHS. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. And that’s when I decided Carlos would pay.
First, it was private phone calls…usually powered by a little bit of liquid courage. I’d *67 his number, wait until I got connected, and hung up at the first ring. I didn’t even know what I’d say if he picked up…”Hey, it’s the girl that you strung around for more than half a year. You pissed me off and I’m too scared to tell you myself once again, so here’s this lame private phone call for good measure. Live. Love. A$AP.” After two or three times, I stopped…what was I gaining from it? But even after a few weeks, I STILL felt some type of way. One night, as I set up a wakeup call for work, I got another ratchet revenge idea. Why not wake his ass up too? If I can’t sleep because I’m thinking about him, he shouldn’t sleep since he’s not thinking about me. So every day for about a week, I sent anonymous calls to him at various ungodly hours of the day. Sometimes I’d even switch it up and call him midday at work, just for variety. I was up to using three different websites when I realized how completely and utterly CRAZY I am.
Sending an asshole anonymous calls isn’t healthy or productive for either parties. Neither is melting off the face of the earth. My reasoning for my actions was that longing for closure. I needed some sign of finality to be finished with Carlos for good. Even though his actions (or nonactions) say “finished,” his words never did. I’m the kind of hardheaded person that needs verbal confirmation, not signs. It’s pretty obvious, but I still would like to hear, not guess, that it’s over between Carlos and me. For good.
CollegeCandy, how do you determine what closure is? And how can I get mine?
When she’s not watching for Blue Ivy sightings or doing some serious Facebook creeping, Khalea moonlights as a print journalism major at the REAL HU, Howard University. Follow her on Twitter at @letsbeKHAlear, or feel free to Twatch. Whatever works for you.