This is the Last One, I Swear
So I've designated Saturday as my official Over Him day, after which point I will no longer mope, cry, or sulk, and at which point I will go out and start trying to meet shiny new boys regardless of whether I'm ready for such things. However, there are some things I need to get off my chest in the interest of a fresh start. So here goes the venomous bile spewing! Woo!
The worst part, aside from the crushing loneliness and recurrent fears that no one will ever love me, is that everything feels tainted now. The whole relationship feels like one big lie. Even happy memories feel dirty, like it couldn't actually have been happy because now I'm so miserable and apparently he was miserable at the time (even if allegedly not miserable about me). Every tiny meaningless conversation is suddenly being replayed in my head and I'm analyzing every little word, wondering what he really meant, what he was actually thinking, whether he knew we'd never last even as he was implying we had some sort of future.
Like before he went to Toronto when he said I could meet his family sometime. Or when he said that he just didn't mix up bits of his life and that was why I never met any of his friends, co-workers, or family members. It seems so transparent now, like he was planning on doing this all along so of course he never even tried to include me in his life at all, because he never thought I was important or he was ashamed of me or something. Because telling people you're no longer with someone sucks, but if they never knew you were dating someone you get to avoid that whole scene. Or every single time he told me he cared about me. Obviously those were all massive lies. Or two nights before he left me, when we talked about me switching birth control. Why didn't he just tell me not to bother, not to call the gyno to set up a consult, because he was leaving anyway and contrary to what he said, wouldn't actually be going with me or supporting me or caring? Why lead me on like that? Maybe he lied about the girl he kissed, too. Maybe he did get her number, maybe he's with her right now and this whole existential crisis/needing time thing was a clever ruse to get me to have sympathy for him even though he was dumping me.
I can't walk around the city, every block there's somewhere we ate or drank or walked by or talked about. Every time I turn a corner I bump into a memory. But I can't stay at my apartment either, his ghost is there, on the couch and in the kitchen, in the bedroom untucking the blankets. I remember the afternoon I spent nauseous from EC when he brought me ginger ale and stayed with me, napping on the couch while I lay in his lap focusing on not barfing and how once I felt better we grilled hot dogs, Hebrew National of course. Or the time right when he got back from Toronto when he asked why I never wear jeans and volunteered to take me shopping if I wanted and how later that week, my advisor gave me a pair of jeans - apparently we're the same size - she bought but didn't like and it was this weird coincidence. And how then I was at a consignment shop and tried on a pair of jeans on a lark and they fit perfectly and I bought them even though I haven't owned jeans in years and was going to wear them to surprise him but never got the chance. Even my closet is trying to remind me, I can't get dressed without feeling betrayed.
The more I look back, the more I see our problems. Like not meeting his friends ever over eight months of dating. Like barely seeing him once a week. Like how he invariably chose lab over me. Like how I always felt vulnerable and acutely aware of the fact that I wanted to be with him more than he wanted to be with me. Like how I was never I felt I was a priority, I was nothing, I was just some girl to see and screw on a Saturday because what else was he going to do that night anyway? All the times he told me he cared about me sound so hollow when I replay them now.
But more than anything, I want him to call, to say he's sorry, that he made a terrible mistake, that I am important and I was the best thing he had in his life and he blew it and pleasepleaseplease forgive him. And then I feel sad and pathetic that I could let myself think that way, even for a moment. I should have my feminist card revoked for letting some stupid fucking boy bother me this much. But I miss him and I feel so hollow and empty and helpless. I hate myself and I hate him for doing this to me and then I hate myself more for letting him and I'm just dissolving into this messy puddle of loathing until there is nothing of myself left.
The worst part, aside from the crushing loneliness and recurrent fears that no one will ever love me, is that everything feels tainted now. The whole relationship feels like one big lie. Even happy memories feel dirty, like it couldn't actually have been happy because now I'm so miserable and apparently he was miserable at the time (even if allegedly not miserable about me). Every tiny meaningless conversation is suddenly being replayed in my head and I'm analyzing every little word, wondering what he really meant, what he was actually thinking, whether he knew we'd never last even as he was implying we had some sort of future.
Like before he went to Toronto when he said I could meet his family sometime. Or when he said that he just didn't mix up bits of his life and that was why I never met any of his friends, co-workers, or family members. It seems so transparent now, like he was planning on doing this all along so of course he never even tried to include me in his life at all, because he never thought I was important or he was ashamed of me or something. Because telling people you're no longer with someone sucks, but if they never knew you were dating someone you get to avoid that whole scene. Or every single time he told me he cared about me. Obviously those were all massive lies. Or two nights before he left me, when we talked about me switching birth control. Why didn't he just tell me not to bother, not to call the gyno to set up a consult, because he was leaving anyway and contrary to what he said, wouldn't actually be going with me or supporting me or caring? Why lead me on like that? Maybe he lied about the girl he kissed, too. Maybe he did get her number, maybe he's with her right now and this whole existential crisis/needing time thing was a clever ruse to get me to have sympathy for him even though he was dumping me.
I can't walk around the city, every block there's somewhere we ate or drank or walked by or talked about. Every time I turn a corner I bump into a memory. But I can't stay at my apartment either, his ghost is there, on the couch and in the kitchen, in the bedroom untucking the blankets. I remember the afternoon I spent nauseous from EC when he brought me ginger ale and stayed with me, napping on the couch while I lay in his lap focusing on not barfing and how once I felt better we grilled hot dogs, Hebrew National of course. Or the time right when he got back from Toronto when he asked why I never wear jeans and volunteered to take me shopping if I wanted and how later that week, my advisor gave me a pair of jeans - apparently we're the same size - she bought but didn't like and it was this weird coincidence. And how then I was at a consignment shop and tried on a pair of jeans on a lark and they fit perfectly and I bought them even though I haven't owned jeans in years and was going to wear them to surprise him but never got the chance. Even my closet is trying to remind me, I can't get dressed without feeling betrayed.
The more I look back, the more I see our problems. Like not meeting his friends ever over eight months of dating. Like barely seeing him once a week. Like how he invariably chose lab over me. Like how I always felt vulnerable and acutely aware of the fact that I wanted to be with him more than he wanted to be with me. Like how I was never I felt I was a priority, I was nothing, I was just some girl to see and screw on a Saturday because what else was he going to do that night anyway? All the times he told me he cared about me sound so hollow when I replay them now.
But more than anything, I want him to call, to say he's sorry, that he made a terrible mistake, that I am important and I was the best thing he had in his life and he blew it and pleasepleaseplease forgive him. And then I feel sad and pathetic that I could let myself think that way, even for a moment. I should have my feminist card revoked for letting some stupid fucking boy bother me this much. But I miss him and I feel so hollow and empty and helpless. I hate myself and I hate him for doing this to me and then I hate myself more for letting him and I'm just dissolving into this messy puddle of loathing until there is nothing of myself left.
Labels: boys
3 Comments:
I wish there were something I could do or say to make this better, or at least easier. Just know that I'm thinking about you, and I don't think there's anything wrong with the way you're reacting (and I certainly don't think you've done anything that would neccessitate revoking your feminist credentials).
Write him a nice formal letter saying you went to the gyno appointment and actually found out that you have herpes and you thought it was his right to know. That might come back to bite you in the ass later, but it could be worth it. That is if the situation is the same.
In the small little science community, saying I had herpes would come back to haunt me instantaneously. I only like revenge that doesn't bounce back in my face. Like signing him up for pamphlets about Jesus from the 700 Club or something.
For the record: I do not have herpes. I promise.
Post a Comment
<< Home