Initiation, Reciprocation

By Devina Maurice, October 9, 2018

Read time: 3 Mins

Initiation, Reciprocation Image

Don’t initiate if you won’t reciprocate.

This is my mantra when it comes to relationships. Romantic or platonic.

But mostly romantic.

I had the honour of being strung along for the past few years by a guy who was not nearly as infatuated with me as I was with him.

And I say “was” because I believe I’m over it now. Key word, believe. Ask me again when it’s 3am and I’m lying in bed too busy feeling sorry for myself to realise that I don’t need a guy for validation.

Anyway, I spent a lot of time contemplating why I was so hung up on someone who was, to put it frankly, objectively treating me like shit. It wasn’t until my best friend went through a similar ordeal, and I could assess the situation from an outsider’s perspective, that I finally understood.

The universe seems to work in the wackiest ways. I was never much of a believer in fate until I met this guy, because while I was trying to forget about him, we kept bumping into each other in the strangest of places. For instance, at the same job orientation, for the same job. My heart dropped into my stomach.

For months, it felt like the universe had its clutch around each of us and was trying to mash us together in its palms. I gave up trying to fight it. And it goes without saying that I made a pretty stupid choice.

But the whole idea of initiation and reciprocation stems from this: every time I felt myself slipping from my infatuation and beginning to get past him, he’d panic, reach out his arms in desperation and snatch me back.

This is where the universe idea comes into play again. I’d agree to go on a date with another boy, and the next day I’d see his name glowing on my phone screen. How was it that whenever I remotely moved on, he would sense this and pop back into my life?

I’ve lost count of the nights we sat side-by-side and confessed our feelings for each other. He told me once that I was the kind of girl he wanted to marry, promptly after which I burst into tears.

But here’s the thing: he would reach out to me, telling me all the sweetest things until I was putty in his hands, and as soon as I let my guard down and opened up to him, he’d retreat faster than I could say wait, what?

It was like he just wanted to have me as a constant doting presence. Maybe it fed into his ego. But don’t drag me back into your shit if you’re not going to ride through the shit-storm with me.

It took me a long time to stop loving him, and it started with the realisation that he simply didn’t deserve it.

But I did. And I still do.

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