noodle

I took you back. I took you back twice. I trusted you again. You said in a drunken text that you wanted to marry me. And cleared it up, of course, the next day. But you still wanted to try again. I did. We were different. A healthy supportive relationship, imagine that! I knew things were off. My Christmas present mysteriously didn't arrive until after New Years? You pulled away after a text from an ex on New Years Eve. No codependency, so overwhelming drive to spend every waking minute together, more respect, more concern for me and my needs. or so I thought. Damn, did you just get so tired of thinking about my needs at times? I love you. I have loved you for two years. I have loved your child, your faults, your quirks. I have loved the goofy-nasty wart on your elbow, the patch of hair above your butt, your flat feet, and your amazing mind. I don't care that you're overweight. I don't care that everyone else thinks that you're an asshole. What I do care about is that you never EVER trusted me. You wouldn't even break up with me in person. For the second time, mind you. Fuck me, I'm an idiot. You came over Wednesday before the trip because you and I were so flipping excited. You didn't want to be alone and neither did I. Beautiful sex and cuddling. You fucked me again on Saturday even though we were both exhausted from snowboarding and your friends were up and down the hallway outside the door. You ignored me all day Sunday, wouldn't cuddle that night, no eye contact or speech yesterday until the text in which you tell me we're incompatible and you're mad at yourself. Fuck that. I told you I'd fight for what I want. Fucking TALK to me. Coward. Have to be Big Bad Man in front of all of your friends, calling me a fucking idiot repeatedly, then snuggling up at night. Why? Why do I love you still? Why do I let you keep doing this to me? I don't know what I did, but I trust your judgement that it must have been heinous enough that you cut me out of your life completely before I even got home. But the kicker, you jackass? Accuse me of being addicted to medications and threaten me with a restraining order. Yup, I'm on Wellbutrin (mostly because of you, dickhead), and flexoril for the fibromyalgia (gee, thought it would be a good idea to take a couple after falling down the mountain 1800 times), and some cold medicine. I want to stalk you like I want to dive into the back of a fucking garbage truck at 4 o'clock on a summer afternoon and go swimming. What makes you think you're so important? I don't want to stalk you. I don't want to see you again. I did want you to look me in the eye and tell me all of your feelings and accusations. For my own closure. So I could stop loving you, Puppet-master. By not telling me what I did wrong, you know you've got the upper hand, eh? All I wanted was for you to really let me love you. Now I want you to fuck off. I want to stop crying. I want to get over you. Not to forget, because there was some good stuff. But to not feel anything for you. Apathy. Because anger would give you more power over me. Self-righteous pig. I am rejoining the gym. I am going to take up boxing. I am going to kick your ass if you ever come near me again. I am going to heal somehow, you hear me, you bastard?

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