Here’s The Real Tea, Part 1 <– Read this first.

So Apparently, That’s Not Where It Ends.

After my last post, I sent Kenny a very long, detailed, and painfully explicit message explaining everything that made us incompatible from my point of view.

It was brutal. I’ll admit that.

But I was tired of him mistaking my kindness and compassion for lingering romantic feelings. I was tired of explaining myself, only to have him hear what he wanted to hear. So I laid it all out. Every reason. No room for interpretation.

The message went unread.

We eventually reconnected briefly because he had offered to sell me a phone for one of my adult kids, and he still had an outfit of mine that I needed to pick up.

So I went to his place.

Almost immediately, he started talking about the possibility of me coming back. He informed me that he had already decided that if I asked him to take me back, his answer would be no.

Okay? Good? Because I wasn’t asking.

He also made a point of telling me he’d been back on dating sites, gone on a date, and talked to a couple of women. I had absolutely no problem with any of that. In fact, good for him! I genuinely wanted him to move on and find someone more compatible.

I made it perfectly clear that I wasn’t there to rekindle anything and that I still believed breaking up was the right decision.

I also told him that I’d gone out of state to meet the other man I’d connected with, just as I’d planned. Things went well, but ultimately, we decided to remain friends.

Apparently, he interpreted that as me running back to him.

Again, I had to explain that NO, I WAS NOT THERE TO GET BACK TOGETHER.

We talked. We watched a movie. We ate supper. I spent a few hours with him because I was trying to be a decent human being. I didn’t want to just show up, get the phone, collect my things, and leave. I genuinely hoped we could maintain some kind of friendship.

I knew he was lonely. I knew he missed physical affection. So when I left, I gave him a hug and told him we could hang out occasionally if he wanted some company.

That was it. A friendly gesture. Not a romantic invitation. Not a secret signal. Not some elaborate scheme to win him back.

A couple of weeks passed.

Then he sent me this bizarre Facebook Messenger forward featuring a hypothetical conversation about a woman crawling back to a man after a breakup. It was cringeworthy, to say the least. I didn’t know what kind of response he expected, so I didn’t give him one.

Then yesterday, he sent me a message accompanied by screenshots of a couple of my recent Facebook posts about feeling like I’m never the person anyone chooses.

His message?

“You are full of shit. Since even before we got together. You were chosen. I couldn’t give you what you wanted, whatever that is.”

And then he blocked me. Because apparently, he wanted to throw an accusation at me without giving me the opportunity to respond. How mature.

At this point, it’s obvious he’d read that long, detailed message I sent explaining exactly why I didn’t want a relationship with him, because it was in Facebook Messenger, where he’d messaged me.

He KNOWS my reasons. I spelled them out in painstaking detail.

So why, exactly, does he think any of my recent posts are about him?

Not everything is about you, Kenny.

Those posts were about someone else. Someone I developed a genuine emotional and intellectual connection with. Someone who actually took the time to get to know me, just as I took the time to get to know him. Someone I had real feelings for, but who ultimately chose friendship instead of pursuing a relationship.

That hurt. I wasn’t chosen.

And beyond romantic relationships, those posts were also about the exhaustion of constantly being needed but rarely feeling wanted.

People have no problem asking me for rides, laundry, money, favors, or whatever else they need. But how often do those same people reach out just to spend time with me? To ask how I’m doing? To actually be part of my life when they don’t need something?

The past few weeks have been incredibly difficult for me, emotionally. But somehow, Kenny managed to take all of that and make it about himself.

And yes, Kenny, I saw your TikTok about me, too.

The one where you called me a liar, accused me of feeding you lines, and claimed I was blowing smoke up your ass.

Here’s the thing.

I HAVE THE RECEIPTS.

I was clear about my intentions. I was clear about my feelings. I was clear about why we weren’t compatible. I was clear that I didn’t want to be in a relationship with you.

I explained it gently at first. Then I explained it more directly. And when that still didn’t seem to register, I explained it in excruciating detail.

I even addressed some of those reasons, in a much kinder way, in my previous blog post about this situation, which I’ve linked at the top.

At what point does someone else’s refusal to accept what I’m saying stop being my responsibility?

Being kind to someone does not mean I’m romantically interested in them.

Offering friendship does not mean I’m secretly hoping for another chance.

And rejecting a relationship that isn’t right for me does not make me a liar, a manipulator, or a bad person.

I’m allowed to decide who I want in my life. I’m allowed to recognize incompatibility. I’m allowed to end a relationship without being subjected to some ridiculous public smear campaign because someone’s ego can’t handle rejection.

And I’m certainly allowed to express sadness about other relationships and experiences in my life without having someone assume every damn word is secretly about them.

Needless to say, Kenny is now permanently blocked on every platform. My social media is private, and that’s exactly how it’s staying.

I’m not interested in being monitored, harassed, insulted, or publicly attacked because I made the decision that was best for me.

I gave him honesty. I gave him explanations. I even offered him friendship when I had absolutely no obligation to do so.

Apparently, none of that was enough.

I’m done explaining myself to someone who has repeatedly demonstrated that he only hears what he wants to hear.

He can fuck right off.