Why I am doing this now, almost three years after the breakup and two years since we last spoke, I don’t really know. I barely shed a tear when we ended, and the one or two that I did shed were mainly down to annoyance at myself, that I put up with your antics for so long.
But to be honest, it is more than time that some of this stuff went on record. You were so sweet and so lovely to me when we met, and I believe that was genuine at the time, and to this day I can’t understand how someone could change so utterly. Looking back, thought, the red flags were always there.
Before we’d even met in person, you’d pulled back when I expressed nervousness about meeting. If I ever committed the cardinal sin of saying you sounded low, or unsure about us, or - heaven forbid! - asking for reassurance, it would result in a freeze-out that would last for days. You helped make our one-year anniversary extra memorable, for instance, by blanking me for three days over something trivial right after we’d had what I thought was a lovely couple of days away together to celebrate.
If I ever had to change the slightest detail of a meet-up, a rescheduling or even just a slight delay in being able to get there, you’d try to call it all off. At least once you literally ended things with me because I said I couldn’t make a planned meet-up after all. You know what, I wish I’d just called your bluff and taken back my life much sooner.
You publicly wrote what amounted to a love poem TO SOMEONE ELSE and seemed perplexed as to why I would have a problem with that.
You ruined three meets for me, which is quite an accomplishment given that you were only on two of them.
You sneered at the town I grew up in, the town I love for all its faults. You ruined a fun evening in a fun place with nice people because you were homesick for fucking Chinawhite, or wherever else you deemed ‘good enough’ for you. If you want the truth, that weekend was the beginning of the end for me. First off you announced at the last minute you weren’t coming after all. Then you changed your mind back and I ended up wishing you hadn’t. You were so rude to some of my dearest friends, including the person who’d been kind enough to drive you there in the first place, and also the owner of the B&B where we stayed, someone I’ve been friends with since I was 16. You spent the evening after the meet giving me the silent treatment because someone flipped you the V on the street, like it was my fault because I’d apparently committed the unforgivable sin of stopping to speak to him in the first place. (Oh, by the way, you continued this theme delightfully the time you ripped me a new one for stopping in the street to sign a petition to stop a children’s acute care ward from closing: ‘You shouldn’t stop for these people,’ quote unquote.) You were still pulling your Princess Elsa act the next morning and I still didn’t walk, why? Because I was stupid enough to be concerned for you. You didn’t seem in a good place, but after the way you treated me you’re lucky I gave a damn about your feelings any more. I should have left you to stew in your sulk, and at the end of that weekend, when you superciliously announced, ‘I knew you wouldn’t go,’ I so wished that I had.
I have so many regrets about almost every aspect of our relationship. I regret that I didn’t care enough to get angry enough about the way I was treated. I made too many excuses for you, put up with way too much. But I mostly regret that I didn’t call you out more on the way you treated people I cared for. It was like if you knew someone was important to me, that was a reason to be shitty to them - and then you made ME out to be the insecure one. What a joke. You’d post the most horrible things online about MY FRIENDS and expect me to cheer you on, then sulk when I didn’t. You’d purposely stir up trouble and then get on Viber to me boasting about how you were ‘kicking some butt today’, no you weren’t. You were just being nasty for the sheer fun of being nasty. You almost drove more than one of my dearest friends away with your bizarre behaviour towards them. If you want the truth, I consider myself lucky they still speak to me. There were many, MANY occasions when I was ashamed to have anything to do with you. ‘The Defiant’? Don’t make me laugh. ‘The Psycho’ would have been closer to the mark.
I had so much going on in my life, but any show of weakness - or, heaven forbid, tears - was treated dismissively, or, worse, with contempt. Everything had to be about you all the time; I wrote a post on here recently about how I always thought I’d know narcissism when I saw it, but failed to realise for four years straight that I was dating it, it will always be a puzzle to me how I didn’t see what was right in front of my eyes. It’s like you can’t bear any trace of human frailty around you, you can only cope with people who have larger-than-life, tougher-than-Teflon personalities with the ego to match. The rest of us - those who aren’t afraid to feel, and to admit we feel and admit we cry - well, you have a word for us, don’t you? That’s right: inexplicably, somehow WE are the cowards.
And yet I let things drift on. Till finally the weekend when, in hindsight, I know I really should have told you where to stick it. It was already long overdue by that point. You flounced out of that meet on a whim, dramatically announcing that ‘this bi thing wasn’t for you.’ In hindsight I wish I’d let you go back to the hotel alone, stayed at the meet and enjoyed myself without you hanging around like a walking storm warning, but at the time I was stupid enough to care about what that meant for us, you’d become a habit by then, and my mind hadn’t yet caught up to the fact of how much better off I’d be without you. So we stood there, outside Candy Bar, the second time we’d stood outside a bar while you ruined my evening, and I let you have it, about what a bitch you were being, tears of anger streaming down my cheeks, and what did you do? You laughed in my face. And then when I walked off and left you to make your own way back, you were a bitch about that too. Did I ever get an apology for any of this? Not one that seemed even remotely sincere. (The saddest thing about that, by the way? Candy Bar was where we’d had our first kiss more than two years previously. Nice to see how much that memory meant to you.)
In hindsight, I can see that you were ambivalent about me for pretty much most of the time we were (supposedly) together. That’s fine - it’s your prerogative, especially as I was similarly ambivalent about you - but I rue pretty much all the time and money I spent on our relationship. It was an expensive lesson in more ways than one. Eventually I became so indifferent to you that I couldn’t even bothered to end it. That’s how apathetic you made me. When a person never shows you their heart, never shows a modicum of fragility, of human-ness… over time, there’s something oddly repellent about that. I stopped thinking about you in a sexual way long before we ended. I didn’t even especially want to kiss you. I used to get bored sometimes when we were doing ‘stuff’ and start listening to the TV instead, do you know that? Your insensitivity towards me at times was quite the biggest anti-aphrodisiac going, you see.
I keep trying to remind myself how good it was in the beginning when you used to actually let me in on how you were feeling, when you let me know that you cared, deeply, and even needed me. But that was only one side to your persona, and it disappeared over time. You just turned total ice-queen bitch and I was left scratching my head trying to figure out why. At one time I cared enough to try to figure you out. I knew you suffered badly from premenstrual mood swings, and I sympathised, but I tolerated way too much in the name of that excuse. It ended up being easier not to call you out on stuff because you would retaliate by making the most personal and hurtful verbal attacks on me, my insecurities, my vulnerabilities, that I’d been stupid enough to reveal to you. If there was one of us that had a personality disorder, it certainly isn’t me.
What you did to our relationship - to my feelings - was comparable to taking a beautifully handwritten love letter and scrawling obscenities all over it in marker felt. In the end my feelings just died, simple as that. Although you’d never have believed it, they were dead long before we ended. That was nicely done, by the way, via a random email in the middle of a busy work day - how were you to know all I would feel was relief? I could have been in bits for all you knew. But if I had been, and I’d told you so, I’d have been made to feel bad for that too. Everything is always someone else’s fault in your world, isn’t it? Your faith is so important to you, and you’re so convinced God loves you just as you are. Have you ever actually stopped to *look* at who you are? At how shabbily you treat people? And if you have, how on earth can you continue to call yourself a Christian? Oh well, that’s for your conscience to deal with now, I’m just glad to be out of the whole dysfunctional mess.
Even after we broke up you still tried to mess with my head, tried to make me jealous that you were moving on, when all I felt by this point was relief. At the time you tried out your little game I was rather more concerned by the fact that my cat had narrowly escaped death after being hit by a car and how did you respond? A cursory comment about hoping she was OK, then radio silence, because I didn’t play your little game, did I. You ‘hit back’ by unfriending me on Facebook and I just wanted to laugh.
The only regret I have now is that you’ll never get to read this. You’ll never know what I really thought of you towards the end. You’ll probably never get wise and stop being such a bitch, either.
So there we are, I finally said it.