The Ex. Again.

I ran into him again!

I went to a show last night. It was six local bands, a burlesque troupe, and a fashion show. Sounds fun, right? I thought so. I invited Cat and she brought her friend with her, but they aren’t “show” people. They’re more club people. So they didn’t stay that long. In the meantime… I fucking saw my ex again.

It’s baffling, really, the emotion that sweeps over me when I see him. It’s not remorse, or longing, or heartache, or any of the things NORMAL people usually associate with an ex…. It’s a lot of rage and the feeling of being invaded. I haven’t seen him in years, aside from passing him on the street when I went to the museum with Billie, so you’d think that I’d just let it go. No. I can never let it go. All the rage, wrath, injustice, and general loathing that I ever had for him is still there, floating just underneath the skin, ready to boil over at any minute like unwatched ramen noodles set too high. If I look in the mirror long enough I can see the contempt swirling around beneath my face.

I’ve heard of people seeing red and losing themselves in their rage, but that never happens to me. Everything stays quite clear, except that my brain is rushed with thoughts like, DRAG HIM INTO THE STREET AND BEAT HIM TO DEATH WITH ALL THESE PEOPLE AS WITNESS TO HIS EXECUTION. I haven’t done it, yet, but if he keeps popping up at places I’m at, it might be the winning argument. This is my world, those were my bands, my show, my scene, my haunt. If he’s going to invade my territory, eventually we are going to tangle.

I was doing okay with his appearance, as okay as one can when every fiber of your being is screaming for you to murder someone, at least, until Cat and her friend left. I was then left relatively alone. Shows are weird for me that way, because it’s not that I don’t know anyone, but I know the bands… and the bands are there for business, so it feels like I don’t know anyone since they get busy. In poor judgement, as I tend to have under strained thoughts of homicide, I started drinking pretty fast… too fast… somewhere in there I tapped him on the shoulder and said hello and that he looked great (and he did, which pissed me off… I wanted to like kill him while fucking him in that moment, which is weird for me for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that I don’t experience sexual attraction…), and then pretended I had people to go talk to… Now, it seems really pathetic, but honestly I felt better afterward. I showed I didn’t need to avidly ignore him. It might pay off in the long run…. Shortly after that, though, I threw up vodka in a trashcan on the patio and left…. I should have waited, but people saw me, so I got in my car and left. I did stop at an all night diner and eat, though. I know that doesn’t make me less drunk, but it did make me a safer driver, since it gave me something to soak the booze up with and I didn’t feel drunk and disoriented afterward. So… made it home.

I wish I could will myself to let my grudge go. It’s like a poison in my chest. Makes me sick to think about, even. I just can’t, though.He ruined two rooms in my house that I’m JUST NOW getting back, because I couldn’t afford to fix the flooring.He took away my sense of safety in my house when he got attacked by drug dealers and MY address was the one on his license. He wouldn’t fucking get out. He couldn’t pay rent. He cut his thumb off because he went to work high, but then they didn’t test him so he got to keep his job and he walked out on it. Like… It’s just so much offense, and I can’t let it go.

One thing bothers me, though… I know I didn’t love after him…. I liked Grant, and he was a sweet guy, but I had to cut him loose because I didn’t love him. My question is whether I loved before him? Did me make me Aromantic? I don’t know. But if did, if he took my ability to care about people in a romantic way, and a generally platonic way, because I can’t trust anyone… doesn’t that kind of offense deserve a punishment? I mean, I know that drug dealer set him on fire and everything… but… that wasn’t MY punishment.

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