I had quite the night a few days past. Once again I found myself warding off the advances from my ex, feebly attempting to brush him off and politely informing him I’d moved on as one should with an ex. An ex that one never, ever wants to get entangled with again. Fortunately this time it has definitely come to end. A sad end but nonetheless an end period.
At least I truly hope because God help him should he ever, EVER contact me again.
It began with the usual shenanigan speak. Sweet talking me (all via text mind you) and keeping up with the whole, “I miss you” and “I always treated you good” farce. Messaging me at ungodly hours of the night, trying to win my affections despite my attempts at pouring cold water all over them. Even ignoring him at times too. I was calm and rational until he let it slip that he also missed my blonde hair.
I am a brunette.
And it was through that unknowing slip that his obvious drunken mess of a state made his intentions finally loud and clear. Thanks to the booze his true colors came shining through ever so brightly. Sure I had blonde hair when we first got together, however after a few months I went back to being my natural dark brown, something that took him nearly six months to even notice mind you, and had stayed true to my natural colour for the next pointless four years. A 1am text from him only meant one thing; booty call. I’ve suspected that was all he was really after all along. And after so many years of attempting to pursue me. But I was just another one of his ‘dumb’ floozies he kept warm on the side. I am so glad I never really fell for that charade and in my choice of choosing not to respond to his tacky ‘love’ declarations because my intuition knew full well what this sorry excuse for a man was up to all along.
He was not after his ‘true love’ but a quick wham, bam thank you ma’am.
Over the last year or so he kept on persisting, trying to woo my affections by telling me what he thought I wanted to hear. Lines straight out of some smutty teen Hollywood romance flick from the nineties. That night he made mention of how I had hurt him for running out like that, without a word and all. I felt guilt and I felt like since I’d been desperately trying to avoid him I’d never truly given him any real closure. So here was my chance to do that and maybe, just maybe he’d finally accept it and move on.
Not a chance in hell.
He used my apology to backhand me across the face. Changing from ‘sweet’ teen heart-throb to heartless villain in a nano second. Informing me how he’s already seeing somebody else but she happens to be on vacation and out of state so he was really only after a quick fuck. That he was an idiot for contacting me in the first place because why in the hell would he even want to be with someone like me.
Yeah, he’s quite the charmer, no?
And man do I feel for that poor girl he’s seeing now. She has no idea on just how much of a douche bag he truly is and what he’s doing and will continue doing behind her back. She’ll sadly learn the hard way as I did. And to think that was all he was doing behind my back as well when we were together! Treated me right? How about NO you fucking sociopath. Sleeping around, telling me lies. Taking, taking and taking and never giving anything back in return. A completely selfish lover with a miniscule prick that would rival Mr Chow’s character from The Hangover 2. And you bet I could have retaliated with all that. But I didn’t. I could have hit him where it really burns, the size of teeny-weeny cock but I refrained from the name calling, restrained myself from being lowered down to his trailer trash talk of a mouth and I kept it classy. I could have also mentioned how he was teetering on the edge of turning forty and acting like he was still some nineteen year old, “big man” on campus womanizer. How he should perhaps get his shit together and learn how to not treat women in such a deplorable way. I mean fine if you decide to remain a ‘bachelor’ but don’t sit there and enter into commitments or make a girl think that’s what you’ll do if you’re going to sleep around so carelessly.
Someone needs to put him in his place, though I was not the one to do it. One day he’ll get it though, I am sure of it and how spectacularly he shall fall! I did use that vile c*** word a few times at him though. But I am proud I did. That wanker could not get away with verbally abusing me like that. Treating me like some expendable piece of dirt that he could just use and abuse whenever he felt like it. Especially when he name called me in the most demeaning and shattering of ways.
I think what hurt the most was his use of that particular word. A word that I can’t bear to type and a word has been thrown my way carelessly by my parents my entire life. A word that really cut’s me that deep and one I refuse to utter; even in silence. It is a word my mother loves to cram down my throat as if trying to wash my bad behavior out of me with it. It’s also been something that I’ve felt others have judged me for or would eventually judge me for being, and in doing so allowing them to define the person I am by this cruel word. I suppose because of it, it is also one of the many reasons why I have never been able to let someone too close to me. Why I’ve chosen to remain hidden in the dark, afraid to step out in case others see this terrible thing I carry with me.
“Who would want to be with someone like you?”
That’s a phrase I’ve heard more times from mother growing up than a simple “I love you”. Shaming me for something I couldn’t seem to control nor felt a need to at times. Allowing that word to define me and shape me into something far less than who I truly was and what I actually deserved. Having her painting this false reality of how slim, polished and poised ‘Stepford’ wives get ahead in life and win the affections of men. Perfection and superficial wins the race. I’d like to think it was untrue, and I suppose I did try my hardest to see the good in society, see my mother as being so disgustingly foolish, but maybe she was right. My worst suspicions were ultimately confirmed when I read that text. Reading such a hurtful line from him, someone who used to mean a lot to me brought back to light a hoard of demons I thought I’d buried a long time ago. Those simple words feeding them with conformation and knowledge from an outside party that yes that statement is so true. It essentially makes mum right. That no one wants to be with someone like me, that the world dwells upon the physical rather than who someone truly is. And at the time I laughed it off knowing I would not let his insults weigh me down, nor define me further but as I got up, showered and dressed myself I felt my heart weigh heavy with the sadness that transpired a few hours ago. I can’t seem to help it, words like that have tainted me my entire life and I guess to hear it from another is like knowingly slipping into cement shoes and jumping into a ravine. You can struggle but they’re going down and taking you with them.
I look into the mirror and it’s all I can see, like it has been permanently marked with a Sharpie onto my forehead. I don’t feel much like stepping out of the house because I am fearful that others will notice or that I’ll notice how everyone has been looking at me all along. In just a few short sentences all those years of weaving a protective vest, of noting my beauty both within and on the outer all came undone within seconds.
The sheer power of words is extraordinary.