It's amazing how one little thing can affect you so greatly without you even noticing that it was the cause of subsequent events.
I think my ex hit my blog yesterday and when I saw it, I didn't really care, but within about ten minutes of seeing it, my mood turned to foul. There are still so many things I am angry about.
Sometimes, as I drive around for frivolous errands, I picture what would happen if I ran into him. Without a doubt, he'd see my ring and fake smile about it, but what angers me when I think about it is if I know him at all, whether I bump into him or he reads the blog, he'll wonder what could have been had I not been "the one that got away," but it's bullshit. It's all fucking bullshit. I didn't "get away". He didn't "let me go". I left. I left with ample warning. I told him over and over what had to be done to fix things because I wasn't happy and he wouldn't budge (and he didn't care) and so I left. I gave him at least six months' notice. There is no lamenting and no regret allowed when you have such ample opportunity to figure your shit out and to wake the fuck up.
So fuck you. I'm not the one who got away. You never had me to begin with because you never loved me. You never bothered to know me. And isn't that what it's all about? How can you miss somebody you never knew? And not only that, but how is lamenting the past now any different than lamenting it when I was around? Either way, the present never was or is good enough.
All of them, you know? Whether it's the guy in England who secretly wishes me misery in my marriage or the guy out east who hopes I wake up and realize I'm miserable before marrying this guy or the guy we refer to as evil who goes about his life pretending I never existed or the aforementioned one who somehow paints me as a martyr he can't move on from, all of them have regrets, but their regrets are from inaction. They regret not stepping up when they had the chance. Whether it was to want me or to get rid of me, in the end, I was the one who had to man up and get shit done after the expense of me was too great. Well, in the case of the guy in England (he's not actually in England, but that's just a way of keeping it vague without being so vague I don't remember who he is later on) and the guy out east, I didn't really have to do anything there. Shit just faded away and I only found out about their feelings after the fact, when it was too late.
That's what bothers me, I think. The too lateness. All I wanted was a guy who knew before it was too late. And I got my guy. I got one who realizes what's going on before it even becomes a thing. I have my guy and I do love him and I am happy with him. And then these remnants pop up and make me angry.
You know what it's like? You're at the theatre and they're in the middle of a soft, quiet scene wrought with emotion and somebody comes storming in slurping a coke and crackling a bag of chips.
Hey, you're too late. You missed the point and you will never know how beautiful the story really is. You missed it. And your lack of respect, lack of self-awareness and lack of common decency is repugnant and overwhelming.
What I really need is a bouncer at the door who confronts these slurpers and tells them they can't go in because the play's already started.
I hate that they knew my dogs. Well, the two in particular, not the ones that never happened. I hate that I let my dogs know them. I hate that my dogs wasted affection on them. I hate that I wasted affection on them. I hate that even now, even if it's anger, I'm still wasting emotion on them.
I suppose being that I jumped from one to the other without a break in between, I never did digest what had happened in the six years prior. Especially since I didn't really talk about it with anybody. And now, it seems like I have it all, so I shouldn't look back, but I can't help it because of nights like tonight.
You know what tonight was? I saw the hit and then I just wanted to yell at somebody for all the things it stirred up. I wanted to yell at somebody for not being there for me when I needed them, for not caring about me, for not taking care of me, for not being reliable, for not being dependable, for not being responsible, for not being accountable and for making me feel alone for so long. And for making me feel worthless and useless and lazy and unappreciated. I wanted to yell at somebody for all the things that I'm still angry about. I wanted to yell at somebody for how I got yelled at all the time for things that weren't even my fault. I wanted to yell at somebody for damaging me so much that I yell about these things to this guy who doesn't deserve any of it. I want to yell at somebody because I just want to be left alone. I want to not remember any of it. I want to forget it. I don't want to wonder what it would be like to bump into anybody because I don't want to know anybody exists. I don't want any remnants of it anymore. I want to be free of them. I want to forget it ever happened. And I don't want to feel bad about feeling this way and saying these things because they might not be able to handle it.
Well, who ever protected me? Who ever looked after me and made sure I never got hurt? And I'm not even doing it to be malicious or controlling either. (They don't have to read my blog, do they? They can fuck off, can't they?)
And I am not a better person for any of it. I'm a weaker person with less confidence and more baggage. I'm a hurt person with a shit ton of anger I can't even deal with properly.
I got treated like shit for six years and then another year and a half after that.
I look back and try to find the good memories, but none of them were together ones. None. They were always things either one of them did to try to be funny, but I could have been any audience. It wasn't about me. You know what I mean?
With this guy, the good memories are us. Exhilarating memories. Kissing him on the median in the middle of René-Lévesque as cars whizzed by on either side of us. Hiking in North Carolina with the dogs. Wherever we are, grabbing him suddenly by the hips for a hug with momentum that feels like this except with less balance, more giggling and far less gracefulness. It's all togethery. Every memory I have with him is togethery. The nights where I have felt alone are the nights where I forget how he is. I forget who he is. I forget he's with me.
You see why I'm so angry? These are the things I forget and the rest haunts me constantly. I forget that he loves me but I don't forget how many times they told me they didn't. I forget that he's there whenever I need him, but I never forget the times I found myself alone.
I want to have one day where I don't ask him eight thousand times if he still loves me. I want one day where I can be with him and just him and be in the present without worrying about things turning into what I'm used to. I want to be comfortable in this without feeling like I'm going to lose it at any moment. I want to be able to love him freely and passionately and vulnerably without hesitating and without panicking and without cynicism.
I want to be less angry. It doesn't benefit me in any way to be so angry.
I want to be able to post a video of two random people doing a spin on figure skates in a really, really cheesy context and not think twice about it because it's the truth, even if it is really, really cheesy.
We got matching wedding rings. We're going to be a couple who has the same wedding ring. It'll be like when you're away from somebody and you look up at the moon and wonder if they're looking at it too, except on our hand in the form of a ring hammered in such a way so as to create a cascading waterfall effect as the light hits it....
I just realized that we're even inadvertently cheesy in that he proposed way up above a waterfall and now our wedding rings will be hammered with a waterfall effect. That's pretty funny. I didn't even make the connection till now. We're fricken adorable. Even by accident!
Ok, I'm going to sleep. I'm behind in my work, but so far, I've gone to bed before three every day this week, even if by going to bed early, somehow my wake up time is still the same. But hey, long sleep hours means no hyperthyroidism, right? *high five*
Also, don't tell my guy, but I may or may not have bought these pants. In black. Because they were on sale. And they're corduroy. Corduroy. Like, it had to be done. Had to.
[Mainly because the only time I feel sexy is when I wear corduroy.]
[And every girl should feel sexy. Fuck yeah!]
I'm very sweary tonight. Well, sweary on the blog. I'm always this sweary in person.
*Rage against the Machine, Guerrilla Radio. It's a rage week.