Little Mistakes
At first I thought it was a sign of weakness on my part - reaching out to the dead. It wasn't because I missed him. It wasn't because I truly needed something. It was because a stranger told me that I made a mistake; that it was my fault that we weren't stil together because I wasn't willing to fix him. They told me he just made a "little mistake" and credited his actions to the so-called "gay life", which I guess operates under a different set of policies when it comes to fidelity. I suppose I owed him some sort of free pass since we dated for almost 3 years, which everyone knows is somewhere around 20 in gay years. He was probably just "bored" with me, they said.
It felt like someone took all the progress I made toward healing and caring for myself and my animals on my own, and handed it all back to him on a platter - rewound the clocks and brought me back to the nights after it first happened, when I couldn't sleep all night because I didn't know how to do it alone. Forget who cast the first stone. Forget who was first confronted with the decision of what to do with the time we'd invested in each other: savor it or toss it aside. Apparently, I was the one who was wrong all this time.
I tried to counsel myself out of contacting him, but in the end I knew I couldn't stop myself. It was the only thing I could think to do for some reason. It was the only thing I could do to stop myself from shaking, to keep myself from throwing up, from preventing my fist from entering the wall. And I'm so glad that I did, because it validated for me how much of a waste of flesh he is. Maybe my understanding of the situation is my fault, too, for not knowing for certain what I was expecting. Perhaps I just wanted something other than nothing. I read his journal. Where were these great lessons he learned in the first two days of our breakup? He already demonstrated the one where he sexts me after cheating on me to show he understands the severity of the situation, but that was four months ago. So what else has he learned? And two days? Wow! I knew he was a fast learner, but that's pretty incredible. How are those therapy sessions going? Is that where they taught him to take his vapid, grainy webcam selfies? Is that where he got his awful taste in curtains?
I didn't need any more reasons to hate him. What he did was reason enough. Him telling me that curiosity got the better of him, and that ideally he wished the four of us could have all had sex together, which he tried to twist into some sort of an alibi, was enough. Him begging me not to break up with him, not because he loved me, but because I was his only friend and he didn't want to be alone, was enough. Jesus telling me that he tried to cuddle with him when Hector was asleep just days before was enough. But I guess a few more reasons don't hurt. It's more dirt to help bury you; to suffocate the memory of who I thought you were. Good luck? I don't need luck. I just need you to keep being you.
It's funny. There was a brief period where I practically defended him to people. All these people came to me threatening to send him nasty messages or physically harm him, and I told them not to. I told them he's not worth it. That he's a child who doesn't know how to control his own actions. A human tantrum. And whatever happened between us, whether it hurt or not, was already in the past. Let it go. But it's been four months of paying for his empty space, mentally and physically. One semester lost that I couldn't afford to take classes. Vet bills. Lugging food and litter home on foot for "our" cats. All while he lives for free in Mommy's house, driving Mommy's car. In hindsight, when those people were feeling motivated to enact some sort of vengeance upon him in my good name, I probably should have let them.
It felt like someone took all the progress I made toward healing and caring for myself and my animals on my own, and handed it all back to him on a platter - rewound the clocks and brought me back to the nights after it first happened, when I couldn't sleep all night because I didn't know how to do it alone. Forget who cast the first stone. Forget who was first confronted with the decision of what to do with the time we'd invested in each other: savor it or toss it aside. Apparently, I was the one who was wrong all this time.
I tried to counsel myself out of contacting him, but in the end I knew I couldn't stop myself. It was the only thing I could think to do for some reason. It was the only thing I could do to stop myself from shaking, to keep myself from throwing up, from preventing my fist from entering the wall. And I'm so glad that I did, because it validated for me how much of a waste of flesh he is. Maybe my understanding of the situation is my fault, too, for not knowing for certain what I was expecting. Perhaps I just wanted something other than nothing. I read his journal. Where were these great lessons he learned in the first two days of our breakup? He already demonstrated the one where he sexts me after cheating on me to show he understands the severity of the situation, but that was four months ago. So what else has he learned? And two days? Wow! I knew he was a fast learner, but that's pretty incredible. How are those therapy sessions going? Is that where they taught him to take his vapid, grainy webcam selfies? Is that where he got his awful taste in curtains?
I didn't need any more reasons to hate him. What he did was reason enough. Him telling me that curiosity got the better of him, and that ideally he wished the four of us could have all had sex together, which he tried to twist into some sort of an alibi, was enough. Him begging me not to break up with him, not because he loved me, but because I was his only friend and he didn't want to be alone, was enough. Jesus telling me that he tried to cuddle with him when Hector was asleep just days before was enough. But I guess a few more reasons don't hurt. It's more dirt to help bury you; to suffocate the memory of who I thought you were. Good luck? I don't need luck. I just need you to keep being you.
It's funny. There was a brief period where I practically defended him to people. All these people came to me threatening to send him nasty messages or physically harm him, and I told them not to. I told them he's not worth it. That he's a child who doesn't know how to control his own actions. A human tantrum. And whatever happened between us, whether it hurt or not, was already in the past. Let it go. But it's been four months of paying for his empty space, mentally and physically. One semester lost that I couldn't afford to take classes. Vet bills. Lugging food and litter home on foot for "our" cats. All while he lives for free in Mommy's house, driving Mommy's car. In hindsight, when those people were feeling motivated to enact some sort of vengeance upon him in my good name, I probably should have let them.