I couldn’t sleep last night. Because you read my Fantasy post and blew up my phone at 3am. I answered and that lead us down another one of our rabbit holes of post-break up arguments.
I’ve never hit anyone in my life and I don’t plan on ever hitting anyone. I have this thing called a brain that has the capability to imagine and express emotion. See, I have a lot of emotions when I think of you. They used to be always happy and pleasant. And now, since you did shit like tell me to go fuck myself as I slept and demanded mortgage money at the same time you were kicking me out of our – sorry, your – house, my emotions are negative when I think of you.
My Fantasy post isn’t literal. It’s figurative. I know this is hard for you to follow, since you’re always a bit pickled, but it was make believe. You know how there are movies and people called actors do stuff and it’s not real? Its like that. You know, a story. Actually, let’s unpack this a little more. I feel like it’s important.
So, last night, I was sitting around my apartment and I became very overwhelmed with sadness. Maybe because I was putting contact paper on some shelves and that’s very boring and it sucks, but I just thought, “I hate him for what he did and what he’s continuing to do (that’d be the heavy drinking, FYI). I loved him and I trusted him. And then he threw me away. Because I asked our friends for help. Help to get him sober because he was drinking himself to death. Morning to night, bottle a day, it was non stop. He threw me away, and somehow, he’s trying to convince people I am somehow responsible. With taking little to no responsbility for what he did.” Then I used my imagination to convey how I felt (that’d be emotions, FYI) by writing.
I know emotions are scary for you, especially the non-happy ones. I’m not scared of dark emotions. There are a lot of things I’ll laugh at that you’ll shy away from. You’re constantly telling me I’m negative. In fact, that was one of the first things you said to me last night. At about 20 seconds into the conversation. “A lot of people told me not to contact you because of your negativity. But are you okay?”
“Wait, what? Who thinks I’m negative?”
“It matters to me. Who said that? Are these your friends or mutual friends? I want to know if the people who said that actually know me, not what you’ve been telling them.”
“Doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t speak negatively about you. I know you better than anyone.”
“Except you’re the only one out of anyone who knows me that’s called me negative. None of my friends have ever told me I’m negative.”
“That’s because I’m the only one who’s honest with you.”
“How would you even know that- sure, right. You’re the only person [my ex-boyfriend] who’s being honest with me, but you won’t tell me who said this. Cool.”
I understand why you think I’m negative. I was always scowling at you because you were always drunk. Maybe you thought I just scowled at everyone all day long. I didn’t, I don’t. I would scowl at you during the day as you drank, then I would go to work and laugh and then I would go home and go back to scowling because you were zombie drunk or passed out drunk. But from your perspective, I was always scowling and it couldn’t be because I was unhappy in our relationship, unhappy with the drunk guy I was living with, because as you’ve told me before and again today, “I’m a great fucking guy!” A Great Fucking Guy who once called me a cunt and a friend of mine a cunt because I asked why you were acting weird one night. Nice, Great Fucking Guy. Real nice.
Let’s talk about anger. It’s prevalent in me. I know that and I don’t like it. But I’ll admit it. I grew up with anger. Anger blows. But you know what’s always behind anger? Fear. There’s always fear. I learned that a few months ago and I shared that with you. You didn’t buy it. Whenever I’m angry now, I stop and think, “What am I afraid of? Oh, that this asshole on his phone walking so slowly down the subway steps will make me miss my train and I’ll be late to work.” You tell me that you don’t get angry. It’s a waste of energy. I’ve seen you angry, so many times, but you deny it. You say, “I’m frustrated.” What you should say is, “I’m afraid.” There’s a lot of fear in you and you won’t admit it. That’s why you do what you do.
If I were to see you, if I were to actually walk into that pub late one night and you ran up to me, I wouldn’t hit you. I would just cry. I would cry and cry and I’d ask you for millionth time, “You say you love me, so why can’t you give me the one thing, the one thing, I’m asking of you?”
Then you would deny and deflect and minimize and project and manipulate until
I had enough and I would leave.
But before I left, I would say, “I moved back to Chicago to make sure I never go back to you.”
I’m angry at you because I’m afraid you’ll never stop drinking.