11:35 PM, Milan.
It’s been 8 hours and 50 minutes since I texted the American girl again, the girl I was crazy about.
Two months and 27 days since her last message.
Two months and 24 days since my last attempt to talk to her.
Little? A lot? Time is fleeting or eternal, dense or sparse, depending on how intensely you live it.
For me, these two months and 24 days felt like serving a full sentence for a minor crime.
Two months and 24 days in which I suffered a lot, like never before in my life.
Two months and 24 days in which I fought with all my strength against the urge to hear from her, to look for her, to write to her. Partly to respect her wishes and not come across as a stalker.
But mostly to avoid making a mess.
Why mess?
It’s understandable to fall in love, lose your mind, even get obsessed.
But let’s say the other person isn’t (anymore) interested.
Let’s say they realize they’re not a good match with you.
Let’s say in the end you’re looking for different things, that for her you were just a momentary distraction, while for you she was the dream of a different life.
If you realize this and you’re still hung up… well, infatuation is turning into fixation.
Loving Means Knowing how to Let Go.
Easier said than done, but… for me, it was a nightmare to do it.
In the last 3 months, I’ve thought countless times about writing to her. I drafted a dozen different messages. I had the sense to set a rule for myself: before sending it, it must pass the scrutiny of my friends/coaches/advisors. In short, it must be read by an external and sane mind.
I wrote, they rejected everything and pointed out the issues I needed to work on. Namely: which unresolved situations were generating this attachment to someone who was objectively not interested in me.
I worked on it, for days and days. I rewrote the message, sent it for approval, meanwhile loaded the luggage in the car to go to the American girl sure she couldn’t do anything but welcome me with open arms and… they rejected it.
And unload the car, work on the block, rewrite, send for approval, reload the car, wait for the okay and… nothing, it’s not good. Unload those damn suitcases, work on the deep issue, rewrite that damn message, send for approval, throw the suitcases in the trunk and… guess what? All to be redone.
Basically, some people work out by lifting 160 kg barbells and others load and unload suitcases.
The Emotional Baggage
Of course, the suitcase is a metaphor for the emotional weight I carried and had to let go of, to be free to let go of the memory of her.
If you’re unable to let go, it’s not because you’re in love with the other person, but because the situation/person resonates with your deep blocks. It feeds and nourishes the monsters inside you. Or, as they say in Milan, “it triggers your Inner Game blocks” (yeah, that’s how they talk in Milan, dude!).
I lived 20 years without anything really touching me, behind the protections and defense systems I had built.
I could have lived another 20 years like that, without realizing it. Maybe my whole life.
Then she came along:
Contacting her again before resolving this issue would have only led to disasters.
Something Changed
Well, let’s get to today.
This morning I wrote the message.
I did it as an exercise, without feeling the need to contact her anymore.
I wrote this.
Hi [X],
in these three months I’ve missed you so much. Not a day went by without thinking of you and wanting to talk to you, kiss you, have you with me.
The truth is, I slowly realized something, while we talked late into the night along the Zadar waterfront, while I kept my hand on your thighs trying to secretly kill cyclists, while we ran from Dubrovnik to the hotel because we couldn’t hold back from having sex.
I realized I had fallen in love with you.
When you stroked my hair while I drove, or when I photographed you climbing like a little monkey, in my heart I said: “I love her, damn it!”
This thing scared me a lot: it hadn’t happened in 20 years, I felt helpless and out of control, terrified of putting in someone else’s hands the power to make me suffer.
In my past, I had associated relationships with suffering and lack of freedom. You can imagine what it meant for me to discover I had fallen in love with a girl to whom I had promised no commitment, freedom, a light relationship. A girl who chose me because she didn’t want to feel tied down.
I wasn’t able to handle such strong emotions. I’m not even sure I can do it now.
Why didn’t I tell you?
Because I was afraid of losing you. I was afraid you would disappear from my life, depriving me of this new drug I needed.
I often tried to return to my image/mask of a strong, determined, self-controlled person — even being a jerk sometimes… — today I reread those messages and think: “Too bad I didn’t show myself completely.”
I don’t judge myself. It was a difficult, beautiful, and painful moment. I felt like a blind man who finally saw the light, after a life spent in darkness.
But I miss you. I miss the funny faces you made, I miss your smile, I miss waking up to your naughty photos, seeing you do handstands everywhere, the savory taste of your pussy, I miss spanking you while looking at you with all the love in the world and I miss talking to you.
Think that sometimes I even talk like you: “Vaccamao” “[X]”.
I still miss you, American girl.
I showed myself vulnerable, authentic, without judgment, without even a request.
Well, it got approved (those bastards!).
In fact, for the first time in history, the Coach (Filippo) even complimented me:
Well done. I’m proud of you. It was tough, but you did it. Great job.
You had that emotional energy of love trapped inside you, and you could only let it out as judgment and hate. Now we’ve managed to let it flow the right way. It’s out and that’s okay.
Maybe she’ll never reply, but in the end, it’s a nice message, it’s consistent, it makes sense, it’s in Frame LTR… you couldn’t have done more. And you also spent 4 months in the trenches to write that message. You cared about her. You gave her everything. Never giving up and fighting to the end, trying to overcome every pain, every insecurity… every obstacle that prevented you from being happy. Despite excruciating pain. You trusted and waited for the right moment, knowing it might never come. Holding the pain with you, for months.
Whatever happens, I repeat: I’m proud of you, you did a great job, you were really good. Very few are willing to go through such a journey. Reaching this level of trust in the process, even when the suffering was about to overwhelm you.
Whether she replies or not: it doesn’t matter. In any case, I consider it a great victory.
And if she doesn’t get it… well. Too bad for her. she’s just a stupid idiot.
Well, I got emotional reading this message.
But then I asked myself:
“And now what do I do? Do I send it? But do I still want the American girl?”.
I didn’t think about it much. I did something else.
After a few hours, I told myself: “Yeah, come on, sending it is still liberating”.
Here it is. It’s 12:38 AM, 9 hours and 53 minutes after sending the message.
She saw it, in the afternoon.
She hasn’t replied.
I don’t know if she ever will, nor if I’ll like what she’ll say.
But I don’t care.
My state of mind is calm.
I feel light. Open heart, quiet mind.
I’ve “freed myself” from the unsaid things, the judgment towards her, the humiliation and rejection.
It’s clear I’d be happy to hear from her again, I’d like her to come back… if it made sense.
The secret is all here: “if it made sense“.
With a message like this, with this level of awareness of reality, with resolved blocks… all scenarios are acceptable. Either you come back or you don’t.
And, most importantly, I’m not stuck in my life, or waiting.
Now I’m going to bed and expecting a deep, peaceful, and restorative sleep.
PLOT TWIST!
I’m editing this post five years later… well, the American girl got in touch! Read here!
