I am angry.
For the first time since the break up I am allowing myself to finally relish, marinate, soak up, and embrace the anger that I have kept at a minimum the past three weeks.
So, so angry.
I am angry that he said, “I love you,” and then took it back so soon. I’m angry that he walked away from me when I needed him the most. I’m angry that I put so much faith, love, trust, and support into a relationship that ended up being completely one-sided in the end. I am angry that I believed the things that came out of his mouth. When I questioned him tonight, on his use of the L word, he replied that he meant it when he said it at the time.
Angry as fuck.
So many questions.
So, you did love me? You said you did, but how can I trust you?
When you told me in the movie theater that you wanted to make me happy for the rest of my life, did you mean that, too?
When you said you were worried about me, and I told you I wasn’t going to do anything crazy, you said, “good, because I need you,” did you mean that as well?
When you introduced me to N, was that just for show?
I don’t take the world “love” lightly. That word means something to me. Is love a word you think you can casually toss around, like a cheap pair of sunglasses that you can try to take care of, but when you drop them lens-first, and they scratch up and get bent on one side, so you just figure “Oh well, I’ll just get another pair.” ???
I am beyond angry.
I’m angry that I worked so hard to take down my brick wall, only to get piled underneath the very masonry I worked so diligently to deconstruct.
I’m angry that I don’t hate him. I want to. I even told him that I hated him tonight, and of course instantly regretted the words that came out of my mouth, words that were covered in a toxic sludge of emotions that I could no longer control.
I am angry that I love him. Even after all his fuckery, I still love him. Even after his inability to dig himself out of the chicken shit grave in which he has allowed himself to be buried, I still burn for him.
I’m angry that his excuse for reaching out was to make sure I’m okay. Fuck you. You are the one who isn’t okay, and you reached out because you missed me and you know this is all a bullshit parade, and you have appointed yourself as grand marshal.
“I don’t know what I want.”
Hey, guess what? Welcome to adulthood, asshole. We are all scared, indecisive, and lost at times. But you know what? Grown-ass folks pull their heads out of their asses and deal with their shit in productive ways.
I’m so angry.
I’m angry that I stood on the edge of this sinking ship, throwing life preservers at him in vain, telling him “just grab onto one, I will pull you in. I’m here to pull you in.” And he just stared at me, wearing his emotional mask, pushing the preservers away, and continuing to drown in his sad, lonely ocean of one. What I finally see now is the anchor he has tied around his own ankle, an anchor that will pull him down if he doesn’t learn to let it go.
I am angry that he never leaned on me. I saw him get emotional once, and that was because vodka unleashed emotions that he kept buried under a thin surface.
Is that what it takes to get you to process your emotions? Do I need to tempt you with alcohol in order to get you to feel? To be honest? To let me see what is going on inside your heart? Goddammit. I saw the mask on your face tonight. Even in the dark of night, with only the distant house lights upon us, I could see your mask on. I saw your game face. I could hear it in your voice. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.
I am angry that I couldn’t even be the one to delete him off social networking. He beat me to it. He took that last shred of dignity away from me.
And you know what?
I’m so fucking angry that he will use this experience to justify his behavior. This is why I tried so hard not to get angry, because I knew that emotion would fuel his “Lonely Island, Party of One” attitude. “I’m an asshole, I’m selfish, I do nothing but hurt people.” Good fucking grief. Congratulations, you emotional fuckwit. You have completed yet another custom-made self-fulfilling prophecy. Keep this up, and it’s going to be your lonely ass yelling at the pigeons in the park, not mine.
Remember, you are just an ordinary guy with everything to lose. Maybe you should rephrase it as “I am just an ordinary guy with everything to lose, and when it happens, I have no one to blame but myself. I pushed the life-preserver away.”
And lastly, I am so angry because anger is not a primary emotion. Anger is a defense mechanism that covers up the core emotions that we don’t really want to feel- namely hurt and fear. I am so hurt. There is an ache in my chest that I cannot soothe. I am so hurt because I have been made to feel as if I am worthless. As if I am an object to be easily discarded. Like the sunglasses, I fell, got scratched up, a little bruised, and now I’m no longer worthy. He told me last weekend that I’m “great.” I went from being the woman he claimed to love, to being great.
Blonde hair, a pretty face, a nice pair of tits- that’s a dime a dozen, right? Well, shit got hard with this one, better toss it aside. Nah, man, it’s alright, another will come along…
I don’t know if he will ever regret his actions. He could very well come out of this and meet a new blonde who magically has everything he is looking for, and they can snowboard off into the wilderness together, happily ever after. Or, maybe he will regret this someday, and realize that I’m not great. I’m something pretty fucking amazing, and he let me walk away. He told me to walk away.
I am angry that as we stood by my car tonight, tears on my face, I had to make him tell me “I don’t want to be with you.” He kissed me on the forehead, said he was sorry, and left me there, in the cold, alone.
He doesn’t want me. He told me to walk away.
I am angry that after everything, there is only one thing that I can really say.
As you wish.