When I started this blog, it was one week after my Ex came back into my life, and abruptly left again. I sat here, wanting to write about how bad it had hurt, but after just one week it hurt less. And then I decided it hurt too much to write the post, so I left the blog, meaning to post when I was ready . . . Nearly every night for the past two months, I have I sat and stared at the pre-filled space and the title, “Hello World!”, and wondered where to begin.
I won’t bore you with four years of gory details right away and I’m sure that over time everything will be explained. It was my fault my Ex came back. Afterall, I extended the invitation. It was just sex. I was horny. And, frankly, that’s what he was best at. I knew he’d do it. Text that man a pussy-shot and he’s there, doesn’t matter who you are. I guess, too, I had been wondering if the door should be left open as I had left it when I moved out of our house. I felt it was time to figure it out, once and for all. I knew the answer, but I didn’t know for sure.
I asked him if he had a girlfriend before suggesting we get together. He said no. I can’t say I believed him, but why would he lie? I mean, wouldn’t you want to tell your ex, the woman who left you, that yeah, you have a girlfriend and she’s the best thing that ever happened to you, plus she’s really hot? I thought he’d be all about the “You left and now I’m finally happy!” thing, since his goal in life is to make people feel like shit. Not that he wouldn’t have fucked me anyway, but at least I would have known not to proposition him.
When he walked into my apartment, the sight of him knocked the wind right out of my sails. He looked really . . . ugly. He looked kind-of . . . old . . . worn . . . unclean. I couldn’t believe that for over 15 years, this was the hottest man I’d ever known. I went through with it anyway, since he was there, and since I’d asked for it. As we fucked like we needed to prove something, it worked and it was nice, but at the same time my mind was elsewhere and I was regretting my decision.
I sat on the sofa at 2AM unable to sleep with him snoring and sweating in my bed. I wanted him to leave my bed, my apartment and my life. I saw his cell phone go off repeatedly. He left his 14 year old daughter home alone, without her knowing (who does that?), and thought maybe it was her, panicking. His cell phone was the window to his soul since he rarely told the truth. This was where, for years, I found the nude photos, the flirting, the information I always knew was there but couldn’t prove. From exes, from bartenders and waitresses on his route, and from co-workers of every shape and size. He was too sure that he could lie his way out of any situation and turn everything around, so he was never careful.
I picked it up and I looked at it, just checking to see if it was a text from his daughter. It wasn’t from his daughter. Honestly, I didn’t want to see what was in his phone because I knew deep down it would be bad and it just didn’t matter anymore. I mean, I didn’t want him so I didn’t care. But then, I did care at the same time. I just wanted to know the truth, I guess, once and for all. The familiar thumping of my heart, the adrenaline that coursed through my veins whenever I discovered another lie wasn’t there this time. Instead, I was just . . . disgusted. But, I also felt so right for leaving, so justified, so free.
The things he said to his new fiance he’d said to me and probably every woman before me — and there were several. A template, a formula, he had used it many, many times. It worked for him, at least in the beginning, before everyone eventually left him. Well, she could have him. Good luck. A financially messed-up pizza waitress at least ten years his junior. They were perfect for each other.
I tried and failed to sleep and when he got up for work at 4:30AM, I listened to the same sounds I’d heard every morning for the past four years. It was odd to hear these familiar noises in my still unfamiliar apartment. It wasn’t comforting, rather, I was annoyed by the way he would gag himself with his toothbrush, by the way he let the toilet seat crash back onto the bowl after taking a long, loud piss. I couldn’t wait for him to leave and when he came into the bedroom to say good-bye with 20 irritating chicken pecks, it was all I could do to refrain from telling him not to let the door hit his ass on the way out.
I got up and showered, feeling violated and filthy. And then all day I thought about what to do next. So, I confronted him. As always, manipulation and lying was his defense. This time I wasn’t listening and I didn’t care. I didn’t try to believe something that wasn’t true just to save my relationship. I did let him know that I knew what he was and what he always had been. I didn’t hold back. He tried to tell me that he was preparing for me to “come home”. The thought of doing so made my skin crawl.
Then, I let it go . . . and I felt the hurt and the pain of doing so before I finally felt pretty great. I tried to think of it as a blessing that I had spent only four years with him instead of ten, and at least by the end I was only 36 instead of 46. We could have had children, we could have been married, he could have given me a disease.
“It could have been worse.”
Things, already, are looking up. This blog won’t only be about hurt, pain and my Ex. It will also be about dating and sex (which I have done and am doing), my friends (who I am spending more and more time with), my family (including my sister, who I am trying to rekindle a relationship with), my dogs (who bring a smile to my face every day), my job (hopefully there won’t be too much of this), my past (it really is colorful!), my health (which I am improving after four long years of neglect), my travels (there will be a lot) and my future ( . . . ).