Sometimes I think about Van, my ex boyfriend. He came out to me about half a year after he broke up with me. He had told me that it was because of his bad moods and his need for anti-depressants that made our long distance relationship so hard. He said that he loved me and would go on loving me. He had said many things. He had been fooling himself and thus fooling me in the bargain. I have forgiven him this. I had forgiven his misleading me, his disregard for how I might have felt to be dragged on his quest for sexual self discovery while being told I was involved in a possible long term relationship. I have forgiven the lack of communication between us after we broke up and I have forgiven him for keeping our friendship journal that we had mailed back and forth, even though he had promised me he would mail it back.

I have not forgiven, however, the lack of communication I recieved from him after he came out to me. I sent the last e-mail. I told him that I was confused but happy for him. I told him about Brent. I told him that if he had never broke up with me, I wouldn't have gone to Brent for a re-bound. I wouldn't have given him a chance, I wouldn't have fallen in love and I wouldn't have become so happy. I also very spitefully wanted to show him that I hadn't let his rejection of me keep me down. I felt as though I had something to prove I suppose.

He was gay. I was not an option for him and in his heart, I never was. I never knew. I was hurt. I had already been rejected and then to find out that I was never loved the way I thought I was loved was in a sense being rejected again. My memories were called into question. He never truly felt more for me then he would for a close friend while I had wanted him, craved him and was developing feelings for him he could never feel for me.

I knew Van didn't like Brent and I wanted to hurt him back, subtly. I was willing to bet he still had feelings for me. Vaugue feelings, non-sexual in nature, but reminiscent and possibly affectionate of the girl he once thought he could love. I wanted to hurt those feelings as he had hurt me. He had invaded my memories. I thought I was in a relationship that could have gone somewhere, the kiss at the train staion, that sweet kiss goodbye. He was testing himself, was testing his straightness while I was totally unaware that the sweet kiss that had passed between us had not been romantic to him, but a test. Had it passed his test? Maybe for a while. Or maybe it gave him evidence that he truly could not love a woman. Meanwhile I had not a clue of his true feelings Perhaps he didn't either. Maybe I'll never know.

That memory is not of an ex boyfriend that had loved me and bid me farewell it is now of a young man who was using me. How could I not want to hurt him back for that?

I never recieved another e-mail or message from him.

I had tried to be supportive. I was happy for him that he had come out. I was glad that he could be true to himself and find love. I suppose what hurt was that I was left even more in the dust that I was before. I knew he had not found anyone yet. I knew he was still new to his new life. Selfishly I thought, he has moved on past me, so far past me.

So I showed him I had moved on too.

And then it comes to me that my situation is a rarely understood one. The hurt and the anger can be so easily disregarded. Knowing that while I giving myself to him, I was never what he needed, what he wanted. Knowing it was doomed from the start, that I was used and tossed aside when he realized it couldn't work.

There is a comfort. It was not my fault, nor my failure. And I have Brent. Yes, I truly owe him to Van. And another thought occurs to me. A memory of Van's reaction to Brent. Sexual frustration can vent itself in many ways. Perhaps I have a peice of what Van might of wanted.

And the vindictive part of me rejoices.

But I think about the talks, the fun, the antisipation of seeing each other, the connection, the friendship within the relationship that never truly was; the Van I had grown to care about so much. That part of him didn't leave. I just didn't recall those things in my hurt and anger. And now I do.

And the forgiving part of me that has decided to leave it at that wants to see Van again. As friends. I am willing to be the person in Van's life that I really am. The girl he thought he could love. There is something special in that, definitely.

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