Who you? You, that’s who. You win. Who’s on first.
Not specifically you, of course. Unless you’re one of the people who called me a lesbian, mistook me for a woman, called me emotional, thought I was gay, told me I was ugly, or bullied me in school.
Or if you’re one of my ex’s. Fuck. You.
They’re the big winners. The lotto jackpot winners.
It’a a strange feeling knowing that there are at least a handful of people on the planet who think you’re a monster. That hate you so completely that they wish you never existed.
My first serious relationship, my girlfriend did such an amazing job of ripping me apart as a person. She cut me open and dug out the insides. I was left not just a shell of a person but a ball of pure anger and spite. Near the end I became the worst version of myself that I have ever been. Still, no violence. I’m a pacifist to the core, and in case you haven’t realised yet, I try to stick to my core morals, even in a blind rage. I think I needed to see that side of myself to realise that i didn’t ever want to see that side of me. Ever. Getting revenge is not worth it if you have to lose your humanity.
And yet, miraculously, surprisingly, I managed to slowly piece myself back together. To put myself in some sort of human shape again. To walk out into the world and be a person. To have some semblance of self esteem, no matter how small. To put on my ‘happy’ mask and interact with other people without falling into a ball of emotion. I’m quite frankly amazing I managed to do anything at all.
My second serious relationship, my girlfriend didn’t have to do much to topple my fragile ego. It was less knocking over a sturdy building and more leaning on a Jenga tower.
She decided to smash my Jenga tower core with a baseball bat.
The way she destroyed me could not have been the more perfect situation if she had tried. I’m convinced that if she had actually maliciously tried to hurt me, she would not have come up with a more perfect way to rip apart who I am as a person. It’s amazing to think how she stumbled into the perfect form of torture for me. Fuck, if my life was some sort of movie, then everything I had ever told her about my previous relationship would not just have been foreshadowing, it would have been on-the-nose, OMG-it’s-so-obvious-what’s-going-to-happen-next, on the nose foreshadowing.
History repeating itself. I just don’t want to combine it with the rule of three’s. I doubt I could survive it again. I’m not entirely sure I’ll survive it this time.
Both of my cheating ex’s have ensured that I solidly believe that will never experience happiness ever again. Their powers combined have convinced me that i am not a worthwhile person. That I have no reason to be on this stupid fucking planet except to be one of those hapless people who never get married, never have kids, get asked into their 70’s why they’re still single and die with no family left to mourn them. Fuck, there have to be some people to counter the balance of the happy couples.
You both win. Where ever you are, whatever you currently think of me, if you ever think of me, whatever much more beautiful person than me you are fucking, you win.
It blows my mind to think that cheaters get whatever they want out of life, whereas people trying their best to be caring and kind get ground into the dirt.
I have to pay someone $100 per hour to tell me I didn’t deserve to be cheated on. That I am a real human people who deserves kindness and respect as all people do. That I don’t have to take the shit people give me.
I still don’t believe him. I think I’m wasting my money.
Every time someone has told me they thought I was a lesbian, or thought i was a woman, tears a tiny strip off my soul. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against women or lesbians. But I imagine that women that get called guys all the time would feel the same way.
And the future? Who fucking cares. I’m trying not to care about anything. Caring hurts too much. People who don’t care get whatever the hell they wanted.
I am a garbage human being.
Who will read this? Considering it’s on a part of my website that I never update, and I won’t be sharing a link online, you would have to search the website to find it. And it’s been so long since I shared a story online. It’s easier to wallow in my sadness and write these pieces than it is to actually create something. Why do you think it took me 10 years to try stand up?
I just have to accept an empty life. Oh sure, it will include friends and being happy for other people. And every time it does, I will die a little more inside, through the big smile on my face and the laughing.
It’s time to put my mask back on.