I’ve been a bad blogger for a while. Shit’s been going down. Christmas ended up being busier than I figured it was going to be, and once again I’ve basically moved into Bear’s house. I haven’t finished (or kept up with) Because I Can’t Write a Novel, but I can fill in the blanks anytime, right? If WordPress scheduling had worked like it was meant to have done, none of this would have happened. Technology and I have not had a great relationship recently.
My actual relationship, on the other hand, is going splendidly. There’s nothing really wrong [yet], and things seem to be blending together just as they should. Bear and I live together really well, and more than that, we encourage each other to do good stuff. Bear’s Son and I get on really well too, and that’s made me happier than I thought it might. It’s surprising how much I care for that little dude already. Another story for another day perhaps?
The thing I want to talk about is what always happens when you find yourself happily moving on with someone brand spanking new. You know – the goddamn ex makes an appearance with a desperate bid to fuck things up. The goddamn ex in question being Brown Eyes. Of course it was fucking Brown Eyes. That fruit loop can’t keep away.
Let’s start with the basics – his message:
For one teeny-tiny split second, I almost fell for it. Almost. But then I realised something. He still hadn’t actually apologised. There was no “I’m sorry” at all. Someone should probably alert him to how apologies are meant to work.
I was at Bear’s house. Clearly my face reacted even if the rest of me had desperately tried to keep my shit together. I told him. I showed him the email. For one teeny-tiny split second, he almost lost his shit too, but then we realised that this guy was completely insignificant. He had his chance. He blew it.
I wanted to say a whole bunch of things back to him. But what would be the point? I literally don’t give a shit about him, what he thinks about me, or how he’s feeling. If I didn’t have Bear maybe there would be some tiny, lonely part of me that would think about running back, but I have Bear now. And for all of his troubles, this has been the easiest, most fun, and most relaxed four months I’ve ever had. Brown Eyes really doesn’t stand a chance.
I did email him back, but only so we could put a line under it all. I didn’t say all the things I wanted to say. I made it short and simple, hopefully simple enough for his dumb-as-fuck mind to understand.
What I wanted to say was something else entirely.
You miss me being in your life? I know you do, and I also knew you would when you were treating me like a piece of something you just stepped in. I knew you would miss me because they always do. All of my scumbag exes, just like you, come crawling out of the woodwork again at some point. You’re not special, sunshine, you’re just one of many. Disposable, expendable, unimportant.
You’re the only one to blame for this? Yep, you are. And you act surprised that I’ve moved on? Someone else is appreciating what you no longer have. Someone else is appreciating it real good too – treating me the way I SHOULD be treated, not treating me like dog shit. He doesn’t talk to me like I’m a piece of shit, and he does care about my feelings. He listens to me. He pays attention to what I say. And he fucks me in exactly the way I want to be fucked. He’s loyal, honest, and too stupid to play games. I wouldn’t have him any other way. He’s a million times the man you were, that you’ll ever be.
There’s not a day goes by that you don’t think of me and regret your actions? Ha! We’ll start with regret.
verb (used with object), regretted, regretting.
1. to feel sorrow or remorse for (an act, fault, disappointment, etc.):
He no sooner spoke than he regretted it.
2. to think of with a sense of loss:
to regret one’s vanished youth.
3. a sense of loss, disappointment, dissatisfaction, etc.
4. a feeling of sorrow or remorse for a fault, act, loss, disappointment, etc.
5. regrets, a polite, usually formal refusal of an invitation:
I sent her my regrets.
6. a note expressing regret at one’s inability to accept an invitation:
I have had four acceptances and one regret.
If you felt sorrow, how come you still couldn’t say sorry? If you felt remorse, how come you couldn’t apologise? Six months later, SIX MONTHS after we’ve broken up you had ONE stab at an email to me. You had ONE shot at it, yet you STILL couldn’t say that you were sorry? At least Jock managed to throw an apology my way, even if it was a fucking shit one.
And, as for not a day going by without you thinking abut me, maybe you should have been thinking about me when you were fucking up six goddamn months ago? Because I did fucking love you, and I did put my heart and soul into what we had. You threw me away. Not just once, not even twice, but a whole bunch of times. How many times did you seriously expect to throw me away before I stayed thrown away? Idiot.
You hope I’m okay? Really? Because if you’d taken a peek at my Instagram (and we both know you probably have) you’d have seen I was dating someone else. And you also know that if he’s on my Instagram it’s probably serious. It is serious. We’re talking about moving in together. Seriously discussing it. Soon.
If you really hoped I was okay, you’d stay away. You had your chance with me and you blew it. You really did blow it. Proper blow it. You fucked up real good, and now there’s nothing you can do about it. I genuinely hope that haunts you for the rest of your life. In fact, I don’t care whether it does or doesn’t, because I no longer think about you. You’re nothing but another bad memory in another bad year gone by. That’s all – a part of 2016 I would much rather leave in 2016. You won’t get the chance to fuck with 2017.
Of course, my last email couldn’t have been the parting shot. He had to have one last say. I completely ignored this one. I didn’t bother replying. I didn’t even bother reading it at first.
It’s not the first time he’s tried to get in touch? Bullshit. His best friend sent me messages, and then a friend request, on Facebook. I ignored the message. When he sent the friend request, I blocked him. We have no need to communicate. He wasn’t my friend before. I don’t miss him in my life now.
He said that because he wanted me to email back and argue with him. He wanted me to tell him that I knew it wasn’t the first time he tried to get in touch. I was one step ahead of the game this time though. I knew it. That’s why I didn’t bother reading the rest of the message. I saw that first line and just thought, well, there’s no point to this at all. All that would have happened if I’d responded would have been another angry email exchange, and I really don’t give enough of a shit to get involved with that.
He’s glad I’m happy? He still loves me dearly? He always will? Nah, sorry, it doesn’t wash with me now. I get the game. I understand the rules now. I know there’s no chance of me winning it. I don’t see the point in even trying to play. I’m not interested. That’s how much I’ve moved on.
I wasn’t going to write about it – about him – again. But this is my last post of 2016. I figured that’s where he belongs. Back in that shit year. He doesn’t deserve to be a part of 2017, so I’m not going to let him be.
See ya, Brown Eyes.
See ya, 2016.