I didn’t talk to Flea Market Guy all weekend. Not since I pulled up to his place Friday evening and saw his ex girlfriend in the passenger seat of his truck. She was “helping him move.” He had to put his stuff in storage because the alcohol had caused him to lose his motivation for life and to lose his apartment. For the last 3 months we had been talking about him moving in with me. Before he lost everything. When he still was able to make a choice to do so. But that’s all it was, just talk. I also didn’t sleep all weekend. I had a thousand scenarios playing out in my head about the way I hoped things would work out and about how things are actually working out. And quite frankly, they aren’t working out at all. At least not how I wanted them to.
His ex had text me on Thursday telling me that I needed to talk him into going into rehab as if I hadn’t been trying for the last six months. I had given him all the numbers. I had made all the preliminary phone calls to get information on programs. He wasn’t ready. And like Super Therapist said, I couldn’t want his sobriety more than he does. Apparently ex girlfriend can and does. I think she’s hoping he will get sober and they will get back together because she can’t manage to stay the fuck out of his life. She claims they are “just friends.” “He’s like my brother,” she says. Even though, I’ve met all his other friends. Hung out with them even. But I haven’t hung out with her. She’s not trying to invite us both to dinner with her and her so called boyfriend. But I’m the crazy one according to both of them because I told her to mind her own fucking business and not worry about our relationship. I’m not sure why she thought it was even OK to send me a text message about him. After all, she and I aren’t friends. She hasn’t tried to prove to me that they are just friends. And neither has he. They both just laugh at my suspicions which came true on Friday.
Needless to say, I spent all of Friday night at home crying and in the midst of a severe anxiety attack.
He had sent me a text saying that he needed me now more than ever because he needed to know that he was not going to be homeless when he got out of rehab. Apparently she had talked him into calling about getting into rehab. She had done what I could not. She had wanted it more than him. So I told him that since she wanted to be such a fucking hero, he could go sleep on her couch. It’s not like she was going to tell him no. Apparently they don’t use that word with each other. Because he won’t ever tell her no. He won’t refuse to talk to her. He won’t refuse to take her call. He just defends her in a way that he won’t defend me to her. And I guess I had enough.
I won’t say that I haven’t wanted to call him a hundred times over the weekend and show up at his house but I already knew what I would find if I showed up there. And if he truly wanted to be with me like he said in the midst of his realization that maybe I was really leaving, I feel like he would have shown up at my door. He would have apologized. He would have been sincere.
I get it that’s not what alcoholics do because they are always the victim and feel like the whole fucking world should revolve around them and he is no different. So I have tried to keep myself occupied all weekend by working on this little blog page.
I’ve looked at a dozen different themes to change to. Always coming back to this one. My comfort zone. The one I’m used to.
I guess I’m the same way with people. I just get in the habit of them and refuse to quit them because I’m loyal. Or stupid.
I want to be strong and tell the world that I am done with him. But I also know that if he showed up at my door tomorrow, there’s a high probability that I would open the door, step aside, let him in, hug him and continue to try to love him through his shit. But then again, I just keep seeing him pulling up with her in the truck with him and maybe that was enough for me to let him go.
I feel bipolar in a way because I’ve gone back and forth about this the whole weekend. But in reality, I guess it’s really a moot point because he hasn’t tried to smooth things over. He hasn’t tried to talk about what happened. He hasn’t tried to apologize. He hasn’t tried to reach out. He hasn’t tried to love me. He’s obviously made a choice.
Maybe he is right. Maybe I am delusional. Because I keep thinking that he will feel what he lost. But drinkers don’t really feel anything. I feel everything. And I feel it to my core. I’m writing these words at 2:44 am. And I’m full of all the emotions. The whole range from anger to heartbreak.
I know I’m supposed to be quiet about it and keep smiling and act like I’m strong and I can do better and I am better off without him and all the things we, women, are supposed to tell ourselves when we decide to date shitty people and they hurt us. But, I’m human and I’m doing all the human things. I’m doubting my worth. I’m questioning the last year and a half of my life. I’m mourning. I’m trying to stay occupied with other things. I’m trying not to over eat ice cream and cheese dip. I’m sending my kid away with the car so I don’t get tempted to drive to his house. I’m trying to stay away from my phone so I don’t get tempted to text him or send him an email. I’ve blocked his number. I’ve deleted it from my phone. I just keep repeating to myself, “you are happy, you are loved, you don’t need that shit.”
Soon I’ll believe it. And soon I’ll be fine. But today, I’m human and I just want to have a pity party for myself. Writing my true emotions sometimes helps. And maybe it should be in a journal that the whole world can’t read, but we all know that’s not really how I roll. And truth be told, I know that I’m not special enough to be the only one going through this right now. And maybe someone else needs to know that it’s OK to be human and to lose your shit over some guy you thought was your forever who turned out to be…..whatever.
RouletteWeekend 