I’m smug and satisfied today.
I don’t appreciate being toyed with and this situation has left me sleepless, hung over and fucking pathetic. I’ve been swimming in self pity and sadness and have earned a few nicknames of my own… nevermind the dozen pounds I’ve tacked on lately trying to swallow the lump in my throat.
I finally fucked him out of my system like I desperately needed to and turned that goddamn page.
Feeling insignificant and rejected brings out the worst in my character. I feel relieved this morning and content that I got what I wanted. Call me a spoiled brat if you like, you wouldn’t be wrong and I won’t be sorry. The shoe fits and I like it.
I don’t know what it is in my character that is so deeply attached to winning someone over, proving someone wrong or even just gently changing their mind. He brought this hurricane to my door and as soon as I got caught up in the wind, he vanished.
Being ghosted or the victim of a hit & run, confirms all those deep dark fears you have. It rubber stamps the ugly thoughts you have about yourself and proves that you just aren’t good enough. Having someone be there one second and gone the next, makes you feel worth leaving. None of these fears are valid, but having someone treat you as if you’re disposable is one of the biggest heartaches life can throw at you. It’s even worse when it’s someone you love.
A small sliver of me will forever hate him for not being brave enough. We could have had magic but he sentenced us to regret and animosity. That sucks for everyone.
I wish him toothy blowjobs that both terrify and wound him, and only from women who hate giving head in the first place. I told him so. I would love to be a fly on the wall for that first tooth. Ha ha haha…
But I don’t wish him me, anymore.
I slept in Sunday. I painted my toenails. I put on a costume and celebrated my sister. I smiled again for the first time in what feels like years.
It’s been almost a year. A year wishing and crying over what I was convinced had to be cursed candles, clovers and stars. A year full of hope, dashed. A year feeling insignificant and insecure, after decades spent learning otherwise.
A year wasted on him instead of spent on me.
I hate to give credit to attention from another man, but I have to. His stunt double has turned out to be a stellar human with a noteworthy life. He’s a dog dad, a good son and a patient man. Excellent job, no children and sober.
Eeeeek. There’s always a catch.
I love champagne, a perfect dirty martini can ease the worst heartache for me and an ice cold Corona in the summer is a religious experience. I’m not an alcoholic, but I do like it.
So I asked him all the questions and he answered them with ease and honesty. He’s not a recovering alcoholic but realized it was a problem at some point and stopped. He’s not weird about it, just knows that it’s a healthier lifestyle for him to follow.
He has an Instant Pot, the shiny bald head that occupies some of my favorite fantasies and excellent spelling and grammar.
He’s a polished version of the man I hoped he’d be like. I don’t completely love that but I’m not perfect, either.
Good character is everything to me these days and it’s nice to smile instead of cry. Positive attention goes a long way when you feel empty and waking up to great news stories, pictures of the sunrise view at his desk or a simple “Have a nice morning, gorgeous” sure doesn’t suck.
Now to just force myself to go on that date….