Hell hath no fury...
I think it's just about conclusive, the man I fell head over heels for six months ago, who returned my passion back then, has officially cut me loose. No explanation, no apology, no nothing. He has wiped me clean out of his life, as simply as one would wipe shit from their shoe - possibly because he feels it's the only way he can move forward. Quel salaud enfantin...
Every-so-often, I'm finding myself simmering into a inconsolable internal rage. If he had simply offered a simple explanation and goodbye, I may have understood. But I don't understand. How can I possibly understand? How can I know if his motives are honourable when he hasn't even responded to my pleas for an explanation for his conduct?
And so it is that I find myself, scorned, disillusioned, really quite angry, fucked off, tossed aside, undermined, and yet still with enough dignity not even to use his name on my blog, or advertise snippets of screen-capped transcripts of previous conversations with him, some of which also alluding to phonecalls I had with him, to everyone and anyone whom they may concern. Which I could do, but that would make me question my own character; and I know I am no angel, but I did at one point say to him straight out that I would not use blackmail or be indiscreet, and I won't go back on that kind of statement.
Instead I will give you anonymous snippets of some sensitive things he sent over the months, censored enough that his identity will never be beyond doubt, but little enough for my readers to understand why, to borrow an expression from my friend Ruth, who went through a similar experience with a man last year, I think that this man should be shot in the face. For cutting me loose so simply, and continuing, it would seem, to take advantage of the discretion and respect that I continue to use with him that he does not fucking deserve.
As a prelude, the richest, bittersweet kind of bollocks that I can hardly bear to read right now:
What was that, darling? Would you care to contact me to retract any of those lovely words officially, or to claim that you never meant a word of it?
Well, while you consider that, I'd like to advise you never to come anywhere near where I live for at least six months without an apology for me on the tip of your tongue, if you wouldn't like to see a couple of tears grace my face while you enjoy a good quick kick in the bollocks.
How about having him speak explicitly about his feelings? (Only his name is blacked out.)
Gosh, anyone would think that it was something intense. But no matter, I'm instantly forgettable and regrettable and he'll have disposed of me completely within a few months.
To top it off, I give you - poetry:
He even filmed himself reading that, in his best Scottish accent. Isn't that really sweet?
Girls would kill to have that kind of verse written for them, wouldn't they?
Most importantly, he said some bollocks about me being a "special person" whose friendship he didn't want to lose, when telling me about his girlfriend; and that he never "wanted or expected to hurt me, or even to be in a position where he could hurt me..."
Aye, right. I'm afraid I can't appreciate his schmaltzy emails, or soothing words of consolance anymore. As Alanis would have it, I have honoured his requests for silence, and he's washed his hands clean of this. As far as I'm concerned he's just another prick in the wall. And I won't be the bearer of his comeuppance, but I daresay I hope it finds him.
But I'm getting tired, so I really have to go. Night folks
Every-so-often, I'm finding myself simmering into a inconsolable internal rage. If he had simply offered a simple explanation and goodbye, I may have understood. But I don't understand. How can I possibly understand? How can I know if his motives are honourable when he hasn't even responded to my pleas for an explanation for his conduct?
And so it is that I find myself, scorned, disillusioned, really quite angry, fucked off, tossed aside, undermined, and yet still with enough dignity not even to use his name on my blog, or advertise snippets of screen-capped transcripts of previous conversations with him, some of which also alluding to phonecalls I had with him, to everyone and anyone whom they may concern. Which I could do, but that would make me question my own character; and I know I am no angel, but I did at one point say to him straight out that I would not use blackmail or be indiscreet, and I won't go back on that kind of statement.
Instead I will give you anonymous snippets of some sensitive things he sent over the months, censored enough that his identity will never be beyond doubt, but little enough for my readers to understand why, to borrow an expression from my friend Ruth, who went through a similar experience with a man last year, I think that this man should be shot in the face. For cutting me loose so simply, and continuing, it would seem, to take advantage of the discretion and respect that I continue to use with him that he does not fucking deserve.
As a prelude, the richest, bittersweet kind of bollocks that I can hardly bear to read right now:
What was that, darling? Would you care to contact me to retract any of those lovely words officially, or to claim that you never meant a word of it?
Well, while you consider that, I'd like to advise you never to come anywhere near where I live for at least six months without an apology for me on the tip of your tongue, if you wouldn't like to see a couple of tears grace my face while you enjoy a good quick kick in the bollocks.
How about having him speak explicitly about his feelings? (Only his name is blacked out.)
Gosh, anyone would think that it was something intense. But no matter, I'm instantly forgettable and regrettable and he'll have disposed of me completely within a few months.
To top it off, I give you - poetry:
He even filmed himself reading that, in his best Scottish accent. Isn't that really sweet?
Girls would kill to have that kind of verse written for them, wouldn't they?
Most importantly, he said some bollocks about me being a "special person" whose friendship he didn't want to lose, when telling me about his girlfriend; and that he never "wanted or expected to hurt me, or even to be in a position where he could hurt me..."
Aye, right. I'm afraid I can't appreciate his schmaltzy emails, or soothing words of consolance anymore. As Alanis would have it, I have honoured his requests for silence, and he's washed his hands clean of this. As far as I'm concerned he's just another prick in the wall. And I won't be the bearer of his comeuppance, but I daresay I hope it finds him.
But I'm getting tired, so I really have to go. Night folks