In one of those mood swings that swing upward, I looked out the window as we drove, thinking of how good God is and the ways that I’ve been blessed. I’d rub it in his face. Why was I thinking about my ex? Must have to do with talking around the fire earlier, when we shared stories about instances where we’d been on drugs and done stupid stuff. (We excludes me, I’ve always had a resentment towards substance abuse.) I had no personal story to share, but I identified my ex as a druggie. I guess that led my thoughts to where I was now and where I could have been if I stayed with him. I wished he could see how much happier I was without him, and that the reality of it would hurt him enough to let me go and never again enter my life or thoughts.
Why was I thinking about my ex?
The real reason: I have a radar that goes off when he’s about to do something stupid like try to contact me. That night as I was feeding Guinevere I checked my Facebook, which is my ritual to stay awake despite the onslaught of sleep-inducing hormones. Yay, I have messages! Wait, who’s this…
Hey im with damien, i heard from e that your having problems. Just wanted to make sure everything is ok please reply and let me know your alright.
…not that Damien, is it? I looked at the name of the messenger again. Yeah, I think that’s Damien’s best friend. I looked at his pictures to make sure. Crap. My ex is Facebook stalking me through his friend’s account! I asked who E was, I couldn’t remember any faces but I knew a few Es. I got the response that she was a coworker of mine where I used to work. What else had she said? I told my husband that Damien was still stalking me, and read to him the message, wondering whether it would be most effective to say nothing in response or to brag about how much my life has changed for the better. He recommended the latter.
I haven’t worked there for 5 months.
I’m doing very well, even had a baby.
I had a baby. I moved on. Burn. But it didn’t feel like enough- Damien had called for months after we broke up, weeping and begging me to marry him. I needed to make sure this ended. It’s been two years. Our relationship only lasted for two years. This should be over. I had a sick desire to send a link to my chronicle in a message and then block him on Facebook. Here’s your magic mirror into my life. Watch me be happy without you, growing further and further away from you. Here’s my last letter to you:
I don’t hate you. I don’t necessarily regret being with you. But I don’t need you anymore. I imagine that you needed someone to be there for you like I was at the time that I was. By now I imagine you have embellished your memory of me. I think I gave you the nurturing you needed to see that there is something worth being sober for, and a clear path through the smoke showing you that a better direction was available. You could have taken it. I hope by now you did.
You don’t need me anymore, either.
Remember how you could never understand me? I do. You could see in my eyes that there was something I needed to say that I wouldn’t put in words, and you didn’t know what. Now I have complete conversations where Ed does all the talking, and Bailey looks back and forth between us wondering how he could discern so much from looking at my eyes.
You didn’t buy me a journal for my trip to Europe or write me letters like you said you would. You’d forget all your promises or change your mind about it completely, indifferent to the hope I’d harbored. You were also indifferent to my dislike of drugs, and abused yourself, drinking so much you threw up blood in front of my house (you don’t remember that, do you?). You stood me up for Mary Jane and her friends, many many times. Indifference is the opposite of love.
You didn’t love me.
I kept the fire going. I called and called to wake up your hung over @$$. And then I walked to your friend’s place where you were staying to wake up your hung over @$$, glaring at your car sitting pretty in the driveway. I gave you flowers and wrote you letters. I struggled to make you want me. I burned and burned until I burned out.
Don’t forget that Edward was the one who picked up your sorry, drunk @$$ off the side of the road when I called him at 3 in the morning. You couldn’t keep a job, you couldn’t keep a place, you couldn’t keep a car, and I’m surprised you’ve kept your life. That said, there’s no way in hell you could have kept me. Since I’ve let you go, I’ve flown. I have a job, a career, a home and a family. My husband is the caliber of man that can support and please three women and raise many kids.
Oh yeah, and you cheated on me.
I don’t hate you. I don’t need you. I don’t want you. And I forgive you.