​​The Loss of Almost: Coping with What Never Was

It was January 5th when the fight happened. Little did I know it would be the fight that ended everything—the past year and a half of friendship, mixed with a little bit of hooking up… or a lot of hooking up. And then, just like that, it was over.

It probably should have ended sooner. Maybe when I tried to block him the first time. But then I contracted an STD, and suddenly, I was back in contact with him. It was supposed to be a simple heads-up, a quick message to be responsible. But somehow, that turned into me breaking no contact entirely.

He didn’t understand why I was angry. He didn’t understand why I blocked him in the first place. But tell me, isn’t it a pretty normal reaction to cut someone off after admitting your feelings for them—only for them to turn around and tell you about all the other girls they were sleeping with at the same time? At least, anger seemed like a pretty valid response to me.

I had just confessed my feelings to this guy I’d been sleeping with regularly, and in return, he gave me an in-depth rundown of the other girls he was fucking. That should have been the end. And I knew it.

At least, that time, I had the power.

But this time, he took it. He blocked me. He deleted me. He got to be in control—when he was the one who caused the fight in the first place.

Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.

What even is a situationship?

A situationship is that awkward “what are we?” limbo—not quite dating, but not just friends either. It’s confusing, messy, and honestly, the worst.

We started hooking up after my breakup in 2023. He liked me, and I knew it. But somewhere along the way, those feelings faded—or maybe they were never that real to begin with. He told me later he was trying not to “think with his dick” when he liked me in the beginning. I still don’t fully understand what he meant by that in our specific context. He was never great at communicating. I probably should have considered that more before developing feelings for him.

Because words are my superpower.

The way I understand the world is through language. My art is in the words I put on a page. I’ve never been great at anything else—except writing. I can’t draw. I can’t sing. Reading music feels tedious and dull. Painting doesn’t interest me. And while I’m decent at crocheting and cross-stitching, those things never felt like true expressions of who I am.

But words? That’s where I come alive.

We were polar opposites in that way. I write; he builds. I construct with words; he constructs with his hands.

The first time I admitted my feelings for him, he didn’t get it. It went over his head when I tried to explain how complicated it felt to be his friend while knowing he was with other girls. We came to an unspoken agreement to just… not talk about it. Not because he cared about me, but because he didn’t want to deal with my jealousy.

He was protecting himself.

Because if he truly cared, he wouldn’t have led me on. He would have considered my feelings when he did things. But that’s the difference between a boyfriend and a situationship, isn’t it? A boyfriend cares. A situationship just takes.

And yet, somehow, he still gets to walk away as the good guy in everyone else’s eyes—while I’m the bitch.

If only they knew my side of the story.

The first time we stopped hooking up, he said his feelings had faded. He told me, at some point, he didn’t want to do it anymore… that he just felt like he had to.

What an awful position to put me in.

I felt guilty, like I had done something wrong. I even apologized. He reassured me it was fine, that I didn’t do anything wrong, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling.

After that, we decided to just be friends.

My life was a mess anyway—I had lost all my friends, been fired from my job, kicked out of my club. My mind was dark. Around that time, I applied to the Disney College Program, got accepted, and moved to Florida. I was gone for five months.

But he and I stayed friends. And when I came back, we picked up where we left off.

Except something about him had changed.

He had started hitting the gym. His muscles got bigger. His confidence grew.

And that’s when my feelings really started.

Was it a little superficial for me to like him more once his arms got bigger? Maybe.

What can I say? I’m a woman who appreciates big biceps.

But it wasn’t just his appearance. It was the way he made me reflect on myself, the way he challenged me. Looking back now, I wonder—was I changing for him or for me? I like to think those changes benefited me, but I’d be lying if I said they didn’t start because of him. It was my way of trying to get him to like me back.

It didn’t work.

It was never going to.

He had made up his mind. We were never going to happen.

And he told me that on January 5th—the day that ended it all.

It all really started again in the summer. I was in Korea, and we were texting, sending video snaps, talking about my trip. At some point, I made a joke about hooking up again. And he went along with it.

The day I came back, he picked me up from the airport.

That night, we had sex.

For the first time since October 2023.

And from there, it became the longest hookup of my life.

For some context, he was only the second guy I had ever slept with. Between the first time we hooked up and now, I had gained more sexual experience, but I had never been with someone long enough to get past the awkward phase.

But with him? We knew each other’s bodies. Sex wasn’t just something we did—it was good.

Really fucking good.

And let me tell you—it’s hard to hate the guy you like when the sex is that good.

I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss it when he crosses my mind.

Which is a lot.

I’m trying not to let him be so much to me. I’m trying to play it cool.

But when a breakup—of a relationship that technically wasn’t even a relationship—sends you into a month-long manic episode…

You start to realize it’s affecting you more than you’d like to admit.

It was January 5th when everything ended, and January 6th when I spiraled into a month-long breakdown. That spiral eventually landed me at the emergency psychiatric facility at 9:00 p.m. on a Friday night because I needed my medication adjusted. I had been undermedicated for a while, but it wasn’t until the end of this… whatever we were, that it really started to show. I guess you could technically say this man sent me to the mental hospital—it sounds like a tragic, almost funny way to put it. But what’s worse is that I let someone I didn’t even date affect me this much. A true tragic ending to an almost-love story.

So, what happened that day, January 5th? How did everything fall apart? Well, imagine this: the guy you’re sleeping with tries to set you up with his coworker—the same man you had sex with less than two weeks ago. Anger, confusion, and annoyance bubbled up instantly. But then, finally, he expressed his true feelings about me, which, as it turns out, were nothing short of awful. I was the rudest person he’d ever met, he “just responds to me,” and he felt bad whenever he was around me. All because I didn’t want to go out with his coworker.

I was shattered. But it wasn’t until the next morning that the full weight of his words hit me. The accusation of being rude stung the most, especially since the last thing I would ever describe myself as is rude. Sure, I can be a bitch sometimes, but I’m never disrespectful. I always show up for the people I care about. I was appalled.

A few weeks later, I reached out, hoping to understand why he’d said such hurtful things. That’s when I realized I was blocked. That alone pushed me into a string of random, impulsive hookups in a single week. That was when I knew something was seriously off—I’d never behaved like that before. So, I sought help. And help is exactly what I got.

Now, I’m still mourning the loss of what wasn’t, but it’s a more manageable process. I’ve found a way to think about him without wanting to throw a rock at his house. I’ve chosen to focus inward and work on my “revenge body.” I don’t wish him harm, though a part of me hopes he gets fat and bald. But nothing too terrible. I’m channeling my energy into things that make me happy—no more random sex, no more empty connections.

This is my chance to take control of my life, to stop giving so much of myself to him. To “almost” and to everything that never was.