No, no. I want to talk about it. I should talk about it. Talking about it makes it easier to forget about it. And besides, there are probably people who wonder to themselves on occasion, “Why is Lauren such a bitch?” & this might make interesting reading for them. Or not. Like I care.
I do believe that my life, or God, or the Evil Alien Lords have a plan for me. I do. And when certain things manifest in my life in such a way that it smells sort of like a message, I try to be cooperative or at least vigilant. Last month my anticipated term of caregiving came to an end when my grandmother, who I had expected to hang on for several more years, let go. Since then I’ve been more or less adrift, disoriented & bewildered at the suddenness with which my life has apparently been returned to me. And then last night someone told me that Brad got married.
Yeah, him. He Who Must Not Be Named. My last boyfriend. The last guy I was ever in love with, who gently & politely broke up with me for the 5th time as we lay in bed on the morning of May 15, 2005. He got married.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that the news of his marriage breaks my heart because it’s a significant & meaningful sign that he & I will never be together again ever. That he won’t come crawling back with some charming, fawning line for a chance to break up with me a 6th time & destroy my life again. That I’m so broken up because now, 4 years later, I’ve finally gotten confirmation that that last break up was real this time; he wasn’t just fucking with me.
That would be inaccurate.
I’m furious. I’m jealous. I’m disgusted with myself for caring. I’m struggling not to hate him. I’m trying to find some redeeming thing in my life that makes this seem less shitty. But no, I am not mourning his departure. I did that years ago. If he had come crawling back I would have gone looking for some rocks.
I have spent the last 4 years of my life unable to scrape up any kind of caring or emotional attraction to anyone. The one guy I dated (3 dates, that’s something) I had absolutely no liking for; I just knew that he was going to be great in bed & after confirming that, I broke up with him because our incompatible schedules meant that I would be reaping rewards proportionately way too infrequently compared with how much I was going to have to talk to him. My friends laughed & made comments about my “male” attitude, but the fact of the matter is that I am emotionally destroyed. I’ve been seeing a therapist for 3 years. We’re still waiting for it to grow back. That thing. I can’t even truthfully say I want it back.
Since our break up I’ve struggled with my pettiness. I keep trying to find fault in him, because somehow blaming him saves me from being the waste of time he spent 2 years convincing me I was. I keep hearing him telling our therapist, “My family feels I could do better.” I’m haunted by his whimsical statement, hoping that he would move on to find Miss Right, but that I would never be with another man. At the time it was a wistful joke mourning his feelings of attachment, but 4 years later it’s a painful, malignant curse. Intellectually I know that I’m just being silly, & I keep telling myself so, & yet I remain damned.
And oh yeah, I’m trying to stop hating myself for letting it happen. It’s a work in progress.
There’s a part of me that feels happy for him, probably that same part that felt happy for the crazy, malicious bitch who made Mother Of The Year recently & whose hip nightclub events are in MidWeek or the Weekly every other month. I’m happy that you… you PEOPLE are doing well. I’m glad that you are achieving your dreams. Good for you. You go.
And then I turn back into a frog.
Getting my life back — no longer being responsible for a 91-year-old — means a lot of things. It means I can catch up on Missing Dave gigs. I can go see Sunway sing. I can go out, without planning it a week ahead, if I want to (although I got kind of used to planning things a week ahead). I can take guys home. I can get into a relationship. Well, I can pretend to be in one at least, if I want to.
And then Brad getting married. It’s not a sign; it’s the pivoting of eras in my life. I sense this. It was an emotional day for me, & when I say this I don’t mean that I made new cuts on my wrists but that there were simply all kinds of colors flooding through my head all day, every moment, as I did whatever it is I do on Wednesdays. I’m not the kind of person who has people to talk to; I have this blog. I tell the anonymous, silent person, maybe because there’s no attachment liability there. I have people I can count on to drive me home when I’m wasted. I don’t have shoulders to cry on. And if you offered me yours I’d probably slap you. No, seriously. I will slap you.
It hurts me that he’s succeeding. Him, with the family that views every significant other of any family member as The Enemy. Apparently he did meet Miss Right. And now they are going to live happily ever after, privileged, & their kids are going to go to private school & then live happily ever after. There’s always the chance that family tradition will prevail &, like his siblings he’ll have a nasty divorce & then he & the entire family will spend the rest of their lives condemning, cursing & namecalling the offending ex-mate. Because that’s what they do.
And I’m going to rot. Here in this hole where he put me. He put me here. I can’t seem to get out. I’ve been trying to get out for 4 years & he met someone his family likes & married her. I’m so angry. It’s so unfair.
Earlier today I2 said to I1, “Why does it have to be anyone’s fault? How about no one being at fault?” And I1 said, “It has to be his fault because if it isn’t then it’s my fault, & that would mean that I really am worthless & a waste of time.” But that’s because I1 still believes him. I1 still has this attachment to his opinions. Which is stupid.
I is stupid sometimes.
I would really like to believe that it was no one’s fault. Intellectually I know it. I’ve been arguing this for years, but emotionally I still think that I’m worthless & that I have to pretend that I’m not, even to myself, by blaming him.
So once I can make myself believe that I’m not a huge, disgusting loser, then I can stop blaming him. Then I can finally be free of him.
This may take some time. But now would be pretty appropriate.