But I Feel Rejection

Impractical perceptions invade and cloud what should be fact-based realities. 
Reluctant to acknowledge that those who I attract and those who I am drawn to are as unsound in mind as I am.
Unwilling to believe that those who have come before could have been as unhealthy as me.
Failing to see that these are women battling demons of their own, most of which do not have a single thing to do with me.

All can be great.
All can be perfect. 
I can have all of the nauseating reassurances in the world.
And it is still not enough.
It is still not nearly enough. 

Sprawled out on the floor, feeling like I am gasping for air when a text message or a voicemail message goes unreturned. 
Oh, God. She’s done with me. She’s just thinking of the best way to end this. Will it be a text message? A phone call?
Will she tell me that she doesn’t think that she can be what I need or what I deserve? 
Or will she merely stop talking to me entirely as a way of her letting me know that we are through?

Others tell me that she’s not well, and that this has nothing to do with me, but that’s not how I feel.
I feel rejection…
I feel rejection and hurt…
I feel rejection, hurt, and the belief that I am undeserving…
I feel rejection, hurt, the belief that I am undeserving, and a misunderstanding that I don’t belong.

Rereading past messages, cards, and notes while inventing new meanings to her words.
Reliving past experiences in my mind; stamped memories of what once I deemed to be great so quickly turn sour.
Attempting to intrude on her innermost thoughts well past the point when it is healthy to do so.
Knowing quite well that my active imagination is about to take me down avenues I’m ill-prepared to travel.

Panicking when a response from a text isn’t quickly enough received.  
Imaging an endless list of unfathomable motives to why it is she might not have yet answered. 
Leaving me confused to the point of dread so that her eventual response is one that I am unprepared to receive.
Misinterpreting the perceived tone of a short note as having something negatively to do with me. 

All can be great.
All can be perfect. 
I can have all of the nauseating reassurances in the world.
And it is still not enough.
It is still not nearly enough. 

My mind instantly goes to places it can never safely return from each time I hear, “I think we need to talk.”
Wait, what? I did everything right. I put her needs ahead of my own. I’m not the one who should be discarded so easily.
Yet here I am, heartbroken and ready to fill every void I know with the most toxic form of self-hate imaginable?
These familiar feelings of abandonment are about to lead me down dangerous paths in their efforts to help me cope.

Others tell me that she’s not well, and that this has nothing to do with me, but that’s not how I feel.
I feel rejection…
I feel rejection and hurt…
I feel rejection, hurt, and the belief that I am undeserving…
I feel rejection, hurt, the belief that I am undeserving, and a misunderstanding that I don’t belong.

It’s when the hurt from past relationships manifests itself in ways that must seem unimaginable to most other humans. 
It’s when my hobbies and prepared distractions let me down; my fail-safes disappear when I need them the most.
It’s when the people who I rely on to pick me up when I am down suddenly vanish, and I’m left to counter this all alone.
It’s a feeling of knowing what the terror is about to bring and feeling helpless in any ability to prevent it. 

This is the ultimate waiting for the other shoe to drop poem. It's about being hurt before. It's about being blindsided in past relationships to the point where you no longer have the ability to feel secure in any current or future relationship

Written in 2018

Copyright, The Poetry of Bryan Buser