Putting it on the line

I did something this morning I didn’t want to do, but felt that I must. It leaves me feeling very uncomfortable.

I’ve been erratically charting the spasmodic and conflicted interactions with the girl here at work. It’s been up and down and generally confusing. More often than not I don’t know how to act or what to say. I don’t mean to make it more complex than it should be, but when you don’t know which way is up you’re just as likely to do the wrong thing as you are the right. It’s now got to the point that something needs to be done because it can’t go on like it has been.

Last week I got into work and for the first couple of days she was bright and forthcoming to me. I responded in kind, but didn’t try anything myself. For the rest of the week it reverted to type. It became awkward again, and whether that’s because I didn’t respond adequately I don’t know – I never do know. All I can say is that on drinks Friday night we ended up sitting opposite each other, but not interacting. She left early which, rightly or wrongly, I think was because of me. If I knew that was true I would feel guilty, if not distressed. I’d rather be discomforted myself than cause it in others. As it stands I feel some of that guilt and distress regardless.

It seemed to haunt my sleep on Friday night. Saturday morning I lay in bed wondering what I could do. Originally I thought I’ll just be nice every day regardless of her reaction, hoping that persistence would break through the crusty reserve between us. I’m sure she feels no more hostile to me than I do to her. It’s just this mutual pickle we’ve landed in without knowing how to get out of it.

The more I thought about it the more I thought I must be more decisive. The time for ploys is past. I had to take a risk to clear the air, one way or another.

It’s impossible to speak to her at work, so the only option seemed email – not my favourite channel for a conversations like this. I composed in my mind an email explaining what’s been happening with me, going back to Christmas when I became depressed, and the weeks since when I’ve struggled to reform myself. I’m pretty candid, more so than I’m comfortable with – but isn’t that the point?

I explain how I’m trying to open myself up, but how that makes me feel vulnerable and uncertain. I tell her I don’t know how I’m meant to act sometimes. I say that I’ve been self-absorbed, and how it has made some people confused and uncomfortable.

Though the words are raw I’m expressing myself with dignity. This is something I must do, something that will make me a better man – but yes, I’m sorry if it has caused discomfort, that’s not my intention.

Basically I lay it out in my head, exposing my soft underbelly. And though I’m full of trepidation I come into work this morning and first thing I do is write it out properly and – after hesitating a few moments – sending it to her. It’s out there.

Gosh I felt depressed afterwards. I felt as if I’m always getting in these situations where I must do something hard to extricate myself from. I felt weary of it. That only lasted a while though. It was done, fate would take its course.

She came in late, but must have read it by now. I don’t know if I expect a written response. If so I expect it will come later after she has reasoned it out. There may also be no response, which I’d be fine with too. End of day I’ve done my bit, and though it brings no relief I don’t know if I can do more.

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