Smorgasbord, It’s What’s For Dinner

Well here I go, random-ing things up all into one post again. This is, ultimately, a relationship post. But first!

First, I want to thank everyone who read through my post last night about Self-harm. I am so grateful to my readers. Without you, my writing this blog every day/night is just an exercise in bad writing. But, if you are coming back. I guess I’m doing something right. My biggest fear here, is that my writing is boring. So thank you for your support, sincerely.

I am going to continue to expand upon my first post about self-harm, as it comes to me organically. I hope you’ll stick around to read more.

This was my first holiday season as a single woman — in five years. It was — nevertheless — perfect. I write it that way because I thought I would be more sad than I was. But I will not mourn abuse any longer.

Kidding; I cannot control my feelings. I am starting to miss the things that I didn’t have to “know” because my ex did.

Now, my life is kind of like the “Touch Tunnel” at The Liberty Science Center. (Holler if you know what I’m talking about. What a TERRIBLY INAPPROPRIATE NAME, for essentially, a pitch-black tunnel that you force elementary school children on a field trip into — within which you have to touch your peers — or maybe even adults — to get out. What. The actual. Fuck, was that about? It was about experiencing the life of someone who is blind. Still. Terrible name, guys.) I’m pretty sure the above sounds crazy to anyone who doesn’t know the weirdness of the “Touch Tunnel.”

Anyway, the simile stands. I am wandering around in the dark, fending for myself, like the good old days when I figured out anything that I needed to figure out to move forward. I had help from my parents on many occasions, but I have always tried it my way, even if it may be unconventional. (My ex used to yell at my — I’m not exaggerating — literally yell at me — when I didn’t do something the way he would have done it, “I JUST THOUGHT YOU WERE SMART ENOUGH TO WANT TO DO EVERYTHING IN THE BEST MOST EFFICIENT WAY.” <– See what he did there? He stifled the inner confidence and CORE BELIEFS I had until then maintained, as well as violating my autonomy by critiquing everything — just constantly. But no more.

I don’t really hear from my ex.

His friends also suddenly stopped acknowledging my existence, even though I thought they liked me, and they told me often how amazing it was that I essentially tamed the beast, and stayed in this relationship, happily. And I was happy. But I read you shouldn’t spend time caring about your ex’s friends, or mutual friends. I get it. But I am seriously considering just “unfriending” them in every way possible to eliminate — terminate — him from everything I see.

So.

Here’s the meat of the relationship shit.

Thanksgiving day I get a text from Mr. MIA, “Happy Turkey day!” I was incredibly surprised that he reached out to me. My instinct was to engage, at all costs. But, I didn’t respond, because I am trying this new thing, where I stay away from my abusive ex-boyfriends.

Thanksgiving night, at 11:40 P.M., I get the following text from my ex-boyfriend’s Mom, “Just want you to know we missed seeing you today. Hope you had a great day with your family.” This text is kind, thoughtful, and considerate. I take no issue with it except that it even exists.

I wanted to reply — thinking of multiple responses — ranging from “blame your fucking son for that; he is the one who abandoned me,” to, “I have hope for the future,” to, “thanks.” I mean, like, there were a lot of other ones, but ultimately I couldn’t answer her either. All I wanted to do was say “blame your fucking son if you missed me.”

The correspondence, or lack thereof, just left me really fucking sad and angry.

Why did his Mom text me? Is that normal? I just want to know if that’s normal. I know she and I developed a relatively close relationship. I believed she’d be my Mother-In-Law.

In April of this past year, my now ex went to Las Vegas with his friends for a yearly thing having to do with the industry he works in. He has been going 4/5 years we’ve dated.

I happened to have been granted an interview with a company I very much wanted to work for while he was gone. And I got the job! And even better, I loved going into work every day, in sharp contrast to nearly all of my previous work experiences. Things were going well between us, finally, I thought. He even asked me if I wanted to see the engagement rings he was looking at getting me. I was so FUCKING EXCITED in that moment!!!!!!!!!! I told him I wanted to be surprised.

During the break-up I asked to see them after all. It was an emotional request for both of us.

But between my new found independence in April when he was talking to me about FOR REAL engagement rings, and August, when he stopped coming home, I don’t know what the fuck happened.

How can someone think about committing to marriage four months prior to running out of the relationship without providing any reason besides his admission that he required sex if we were to continue our dance of destruction. You know what happened. FUCK HIM. But I didn’t.

No one tells me what I need to do. I don’t “do” ultimatums. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to go through what I went through with him again just to maintain the shell of the relationship we had left by giving in to his requirement of intercourse. Jesus. What an asshole.

So I didn’t answer my ex’s Mom’s text either.

The next day, I get a text message from my ex, asking if I was available for a delivery. In our relationship, that request had always previously meant that one of his many daily packages required a signature to be received. I didn’t reply to that text either.

Maybe his intention was to come visit me. I don’t know. No one rang the doorbell. No packages came. And he texted nothing else. No phone call either. So I figured, the “Happy Turkey day” was merely to play nice, so I could once again take care of his responsibilities. I know I’ll eventually find out, because he has things that belong to me, and he still has the keys to this place, which he shouldn’t, since he doesn’t pay rent here anymore.

I’ve decided conversations between us will be over the phone, if at all. I haven’t told him this but he’ll adapt or not. I’m not a dog he can call with a whistle whenever it’s convenient for him anymore. I did that for him for YEARS without complaint. I enjoyed being a part of whatever he’d let me into.

Nevertheless, if he wants me, he can call me. Otherwise, even if it is not in my best interest, I’m not replying.

What do you make of that?

Am I punishing him, or just fighting for myself?

I don’t know.

So that is it. That’s the entirety of the correspondence.

On a more positive note, I had the great fortune of meeting with my best friend, and, her significant other, today, at what is now, solely my apartment. Pure freedom. Well, in theory.

I have a tremendous amount of guilt due to my stupid fucking afflictions that I cannot help my Mom more right now. She is capable of everything. But not of everything at once. Not everything at once on her own. Fuck. I hate myself.

My best friend and her significant other brought me food! I have this “thing,” that keeps me from expressing my emotions extremely or even realistically to other people; it’s so fucking awkward.

But I cannot remember the last time anyone thought to bring me a meal. I was so touched by this gesture, but I expressed my “thanks” awkwardly, if even noticably at all.

They also brought cheese and bread and I said I wished I had some fancy grapes to make a true Smorgasbord. (My best friend and her significant other are geniuses, so the fact that I got that word right on my first try was a win for my ego today, LOL.)

Denotatively, smorgasbord means, “an often large, diverse in character and content, mixture.” Connotatively, it means cheese and grapes. Sure, why not?

I am, denotatively, a smorgasbord. I am — so many things. One of my first posts here was a list of ten things about me. That post saw the most traffic I had received until that point in my erratic posts. It inspired me to write about sexual assault, which ultimately inspired me to angrily vent about my own rape.

I believe that people want to know about other peoples’ genuine, if not entirely extraordinary, experiences.

And, I believe that if someone sees — and understands — that at least one other person does what they do — or thinks what they think — that maybe that person’s life will be saved. 

On my life, I believe that. And I want you, reader, to believe that as well.

Am I scared of sharing so much personal information about myself to God knows who? FUCK YES, I AM. It’s FUCKING TERRIFYING. I already admitted that I am beyond insecure. It’s not cute.

Still, I insist on writing about things people don’t usually discuss unless they’re in middle school. (At least that’s how my petty posts about relationships feel — to me — a lot of times.)

I expose myself. In all of my insecurity. Despite my self hatred. Despite my reasons to abandon this world (which I have no intention of doing, once again, for the record). Despite the fact that people who know me personally are learning things about me that maybe I never expected them (or wanted them) to learn. 

I understand that people like voyeurism. We yearn to know the truth about what is going on with those we know, when they might not be able to directly tell us. (Think about how that Netflix show “13 Reasons Why” went beyond viral.)

What’s weird is when I’m talking to a friend about something going on and he/she says, “oh yeah, I read that in your blog.” It feels violating. But that doesn’t mean it is any less important. I don’t believe in its necessity any less. 

I think personal, weird, and genuinely honest experiences are what matter to people. It’s how we coexist, really. It might be how we exist, period. So that’s what I’ll be writing about.

For better or for worse.

Until death do us part.

But seriously, can someone tell me if my ex’s Mom’s text is normal?!