Why are you tormenting me?
This article should be read whilst listening to the song "Shot For Me" by Drake - https://open.spotify.com/track/6Z01gUquJsjJC67uNWm6P0?si=e6e571238e1c4f86
When I was in uni, I once fell in love with a girl who, for some reason, didn’t feel the same way about me. I couldn’t understand why. I felt like I was cheated out of potential bliss. I tried hard to win her affection and in my head, my actions were a testament to my endearing nature, but to her —as I would later find out— it was torment.
I was certain that if only she gave me a chance —even a chance of friendship— she’d no sooner fall for me than I had for her. Naive as I was, I saw life through my self-aggrandising eyes. I reckoned I was the near-perfect dude. I remember thinking, “Guy, Mifa, you’re a great guy. You have amazing friends. Many of your friends have commented that the woman you’ll end up with would be so lucky to have you. There’s no way, you’re not going to be the best thing since jollof rice for any woman.”
I carried those sentiments with pride so it hurt when the one person I wanted didn’t want me back. I remember the evening in one of our uni hallways when I approached her —as I was wont to do— and she saw me and her face went sour. I greeted her and her first words were a question that haunted me. “Why are you tormenting me?”
It shook me to my core. Me? A tormentor? Me who all my friends say they are lucky to have in their lives? Me who had never said a bad word to a woman or done anything to undermine her value? Me? Me? Me? I was shocked for the remainder of that day until I took a moment to reflect on my actions leading up to that question she asked. And boy, was that self-reflection haunting.
I saw all my attempts to make her like me in a new light. Like how I had gone behind her back to ask her course rep for her number when she didn’t give it to me. Or how I once texted her repeatedly throughout a semester break asking her why she didn’t want to be my friend. I remembered how I’d see her from afar and try to position myself where our paths would inevitably cross so I could glance at her (a glance that I thought was evocative of some romance movie slow-motion scene).
All these flooded back into my head. She was right. All my actions in a bid to get her to want [read: love] me as I needed were borderline tormenting. I was so lost in the idea of how perfect I’d be for her, I became a nightmare she had to live through for the length of time I sought to woo her. I remember losing sleep for days over this. The thought of how much of a tormenter I had been to this amazing woman whom I claimed to care about hit me hard. As much as I could chalk it up to being young, I knew I was wrong. Even worse, I also knew I didn't have the luxury of contacting her to apologise because doing so would mean dredging up old wounds for her about me.
Fast forward to a more adult me and that fear lingers. Whenever I try to be close to someone and they show an inkling of resistance or discomfort with my attempts, I pull away. In such moments, I am reminded of her and how I unwittingly became her worst nightmare in trying to be her saviour. Indeed, pulling away isn’t always ideal when confronted with such resistance. But I have come to make peace with it. I’d much rather lose out on the potential of love than face the possibility of becoming another person’s tormentor. And if this means I may lose out on something worthwhile then so be it.
On some quiet days, I remember her and it haunts me again. I hate that I, unintentionally, made her uncomfortable when I intended to make her swoon. And it might be a few years too late to offer up what might even seem like a sincere apology, but I sincerely apologise to her wherever she is.
I am sorry for tormenting you.
And I sincerely hope that wherever you are, you’re happier in more ways than I could have ever imagined I was ever capable of making you feel.
Cheers!