I went to see Neil Hilborn tonight. He is a poet. If you have been on Facebook in the last two years, you’ve probably seen his poem “OCD” If you haven’t, go ahead and click back there and take a peek. It was a great distraction from the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on all day.
It’s funny when you make the choice to say goodbye to someone. Especially someone you actually gave a fuck about. And really someone who wasn’t a completely shitty person. Just a partially shitty person with their own set of issues. All day, I just wanted to call Flea Market Guy. Or text him because I missed him. But I didn’t. But then I thought about some of our conversations and I would toggle between missing him and being pissed off or hurt.
I don’t know what it’s like to be bipolar. But I would say I came as close emotionally as one could today. I broke a shit ton more plates. It just makes me feel better. I started a poem that maybe I’ll finish. I started a book that was going to be a romance, but now it may turn into a story where the girl burns the guy’s house to the ground because he’s a liar even though he pretended to be a good guy. Because doing that on paper is way less frowned upon than doing it in real life. Plus, I can’t find my gas can. (That was mostly a joke).
Then I blocked him on my phone. I already had him blocked from everything else from the first time he was a dick and I didn’t take the hint very well. But then I just kept checking my phone obsessive compulsively to see if he had text me back and, of course, he didn’t, because he doesn’t actually give a fuck. So then I got mad again and wanted to rapid-fire text him some more ridiculous and mean stuff. But my better judgment kicked in and I gently reminded myself that I am not an asshole no matter how bad I am hurting. It is not my job to make people feel bad about themselves. They can do that on their own.
So I calmly and quietly deleted his number. That way, I won’t be tempted to drunk text him or angry text him and if I am, I won’t be able to because I don’t know his number anymore. And I’m sure he won’t text or call me, so I guess that problem is solved.
And in the midst of all those emotions, all I really wanted was for him to text and call me and tell me he was sorry. And I would have forgiven him and just kept right on loving him because even though he had that lying, asshole-ish side to him, there was so much more to love.
And there’s probably a million other women going through this today with their own Flea Market Guy.
I know I shouldn’t be consoled by other people’s grief or anger, and yet, I do find a little consolation in the knowledge that I don’t always pick assholes, there are just a lot of assholes out there and lots of us stumble upon them.
And then I accepted that fact and enjoyed the rest of my day by listening to poems about love and suicide. Which actually seemed really appropriate for the day I was having.
Then I ended my day having a really nice and encouraging talk with my eldest son, who is just a great human being and although some of it is probably innate, I will take credit for most of it. He had to learn it somewhere. And since I am pretty much the only person he was ever around growing up, it had to be me, right? There is light in the world. Three lights actually and they were all lit by me. And that makes the last 24 hours completely worth all the other bullshit.
I apologize for this blog being all over the place, but it is a clear and true representation of my mood today (well, yesterday by the time you read this). I’m sure today (real today) will be much better.
I was 25% better when I woke up Tuesday. If I continue on that path, I’ll be 100% over it and have it deeply, deeply buried by Friday.
Yes, I realize that’s not the answer, but it’s the one that works best for me. So I’m just going with what I know.
RouletteWeekend 