This picture was taken by a good friend of mine about a week and a half ago, and he just texted it to me yesterday. I was pretty drunk at that moment, and had just miscarried a few days before. You wouldn’t know it by the expression on my face. I look happy.
Since I have no where else to post this, I’m leaving it here. I look at this picture and my heart hurts, because I just want want to look and feel that happy in real life. I know it’s only been a week since the break up, and two weeks since the Big M, so I should cut myself more slack. Before we broke up, he told me I can be too hard on myself. Too negative. And he is right. I am too hard on myself. I’ve been too hard on him.
I was going through the pictures on my phone and found a selfie he took the afternoon I found out I was pregnant. He was shaving off his mustache for Movember. It was a silly moment captured in time when things were still good. When I looked at it, I just ached inside, wishing so much to turn back time and go back to where we were. Fuckitall, I wish we could just be happy together again.
But I can wish in one hand and crap in the other and see which one gets filled up first. (Hint: it’s not the first hand.)
The truth is, no amount of social media avoidance takes him off my mind for more than ten minutes. Something always tends to bring me back to him. Did I make the right choice walking away? Did I overreact? Does he even give two shits? I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now. I just know I wish I could text him, see his face, kiss his lips, tell him about my day. I don’t have that anymore. No one is at fault. No one is the villain here. It just is what it is.
I hug and kiss my cat instead, but I don’t think she appreciates it as much.
I will say one thing about not being on Facebook and Twitter and having a job with nothing to do: It gives you a hell of a lot of time for self-reflection, which I then spew out on this blog. My apologies to anyone who actually reads this on the regular. It will get better soon. I was thinking of giving this a new title, but Kevin Hart already stole “Laugh at my pain.” That bastard.
But since his dad was a crack addict who once walked through the walls of his school with his man junk bouncing around in a thin pair of sweats, I think he deserves it more than I do.
Alright alright alriiiiiiiight. You’re gonna learn today, son!
My parting thought on today’s emotional spewage is that somebody needs to develop an app for getting over an ex. I’m not sure what that would entail. Maybe you wear a ankle bracelet like people under house arrest, and every time you think of that person, your phone sends a signal for your anklet to zap you. It’s like a the human version of the bark collar that shocks dogs who make too much noise. After the zap, your phone says, “How many times do I gottsa tell you to stop thinkin’ ’bout that man?!” Then some kind of really terrible music plays, like polka, or anything by John Mayer, and you just become conditioned to never, ever think about your ex again. The Break-Up Zap-o-Matic, made specifically for iPhone. Coming soon to Android.
Too much? Too ridiculous? What can I say, I have too much thought time on my hands.