Flea Market Guy (FMG) and I have broken up. Again and likely for good this time. It’s been almost a year of ups and downs for us. Mostly me trying to stay up while I watch him slide down in the bottom of a bottle.
Being the “fixer,” I kept trying to give him suggestions on how to help. Supplements. Meditation. Therapy. Self-love. But when you hate yourself as much as he does, nothing works.
It’s not that he is a bad guy. It wasn’t even that he treated me badly. He just didn’t treat me good. He would make promises that he couldn’t keep. And when he was drinking, which turned into an almost all day, almost every day thing, he would get on his phone and text and flirt with other women. Mostly ex girlfriends and trashy pill heads from the bar he plays pool at. I felt like I deserved better.
The last straw was when he decided that I didn’t exist for days on end. I went to his place because if I wasn’t trying to see him, then he didn’t recognize my existence. Out of sight, out of mind. But that was only true when it came to me. He still remembered to go get his daily dose of fireball. He still remembered to text his ex girlfriends back. He still remembered to send flirty texts to the girl at the bar and the girl at the liquor store. He just didn’t remember to do any of those things with me. And it pissed me off.
So a couple nights ago, I went over, knowing that he had probably been drinking all day. And I usually gauge the seriousness of his words by his texts or lack of texts to other women. When I go to his place, his phone is usually the first thing I check out. Sure it’s an invasion of privacy, but he always said I was welcome to look at his phone whenever because he wasn’t doing anything wrong. So when I saw text messages to two of his most recent exes, it pretty much put me through the roof.
I was taking a drink of water as he was laughing (drunk of course) and telling me that they both just happened to reach out to him on the same exact day. A crazy coincidence. Without even thinking, my hand immediately went to the bottom of my glass and I slung 32 ounces of cold water on him while he laid in bed.
He quickly got up and just started taking the sheets off the bed. No yelling. No anger. No emotion at all. I guess I’m lucky he’s not an angry drunk. I’ve dealt with those before. I went into the living room to sleep on the couch while he stripped the bed and laid back down. There was no conversation. Finally, I went back in his phone one last time. Not to read the messages that had pissed me off, but to delete the messages between me and him and to delete his call history and then to finally delete my number.
I wanted to disappear from his life the same way he kept disappearing from mine. I was so mad. Mad at myself for allowing this to go on for so long. There was a time not so long ago where I would have never allowed someone to walk all over me the way he has this last year. But I love him. And I had faith in him that he would do what he said. And I saw a future with him. A future that he kept the idea of us alive with his lies and/or good intentions. He just had no follow through. And I’ve had at least one of those relationships before.
I guess I finally got tired of waiting for him to do what he said. I finally got tired of being mad at myself for putting up with it. I finally got tired of making excuses for him to be shitty to me.
I know I sound super empowered and strong right now, but I’m actually breaking. And it’s like when one thing falls apart they all do… work, relationships, my mind. It’s like everything around me is a crumbling crystal bowl and my hands are bleeding trying to hold it all together with a smile on my face.
Trying to be strong sucks when you just want to curl up in a ball and cry. I took the whole next day to mourn and to feel my heartbreak. I imagined all these scenarios where he comes knocking on my door and says he can’t live without me and he’s going to be better and he proves it and we live happily ever after, but I know it’s just one of my very creative scenarios and what actually happens is that he moves in with his ex. And very slowly dies of alcoholism. Because she would never tell him to go fuck himself even if that was what was best for him. But I guess it’s better for it to be her problem than mine.
So I’m basically heartbroken. I have been for most of the week. Actually, I’ve probably been heartbroken for most of this year. I just keep faking it and acting like things are getting better because sometimes they are and because I was raised with alcohol being a normal part of life.
I think reality finally set in this morning. The reality that he’s not changing. The reality that he’s not going to quit drinking and come knocking on my door offering me a happily ever after. The reality that he won’t be my husband one day. The reality that we won’t grow old together. The reality that he probably won’t get much older before he dies anyway. The reality that I don’t want to watch it anymore. The reality that I need to pick me because nobody else is going to. The reality that I deserve better. The reality that I’m not crazy or psycho despite how he made me feel and react. The reality that I’ve been alone for so long, I can easily go back there. The reality that drinking is not an excuse to be a shitty person. The reality that he had every opportunity to pick me and didn’t. The reality that it literally has nothing to do with me. The reality that I really walked away this time. The reality that it is going to take time to get over him. The reality that maybe I loved him too much. The reality that maybe I didn’t love myself enough. The reality that I need to choose me. The reality that it hurts. The reality that it’s ok to admit that it hurts. The reality that I hate all of it.
I know it’s going to take me a while to process my pain. I will try to do it constructively. And creatively. I know it will get easier. I’ve lost loves and best friends before. I know after the elephant gets off my chest and I can breathe again, that I will. I know that eventually, I will be able to think of him and not feel anything, no pain, no anger, nothing.
I just have to get there. Writing will help. Nature will help. Crying will help. Screaming will help. Punching him in the face would probably help, but I will opt out of that one because it would be like hitting a child. At this point he is pathetic. And seeing him makes me want to help him, but it’s true that you can’t help those who don’t want to help themselves. And right now, he is hell bent on self destruction and all I can do is choose to watch or choose to walk. And I pick option B.
I wish him peace. I hope he finds what he is looking for. I hope he gets help. I hope one day he finds someone who will love him like I did or better. Like the poet Atticus says, “sometimes you can both do better.” (Thank you for reminding me).
Maybe we can, one day. But today, I heal.
RouletteWeekend 