Thursday, January 01, 2015

French Fries and Vodka...




So first off, Happy New Year.  I know that my last blog only hours ago was basically along the lines of fuck the new year but I'm going to stick to the cliche and say, that's in the past.

That being said, knowing that the object of last years affection had a slightly shitty start to the new Year is kinda helping fuel this level of happy.

The vodka in my McDonalds orange Hi-C isn't hurting either.

And French fries!  Drool love french fries.

I also said I wasn't going to make a new years resolution.  I guess I lied because all the way home tonight I thought of just one thing.  I am done having crushes on men.  I'm done giving any piece of my heart to a guy and he treats it like shit.  This year alone, one person has made me doubt myself more time than even my ex husband did and I tried to commit suicide twice because of him. This guy...

So I spent the last three or maybe four months beating myself up because I wrote a blog that basically called him a whole bunch of names that a man should never be called and he saw it.  I beat myself up, I cried, I yelled at myself, I even stood in the mirror and degraded myself so bad I made myself cry and needed to take a headache pill.

But I never took the blog down.

I convinced myself that I didn't mean any of it and it was just the angry ramblings of a woman that doesn't have any other outlet than her blog.  I told him that it would never happen again.  I apologized more times that I think any human is allowed to say they are sorry in a given year.

But I never took it down.

Tonight, I realized, that I never took it down because deep down, I think I still believe everything I wrote.  I have taken down blogs before.  Usually when I realize that I'm doing more harm than help and it just needs to be like it never was.  But this one, I left.  At one time I did mean to take it down but I didn't.  I just couldn't hit the delete button.  I could not make that particular rant never there.

Do I still want to call him all of those names?  No.  I never want to call any man those names.  Maybe the guy who is going to inevitably throw the switch that starts my lethal injection but no, I never want to call any man those names again.

And I don't wish him any harm in the coming months.  But I also-- and I can't believe this is actually coming from my fingers-- don't wish him any comfort in the new year.  I don't wish him anything.

Several time this year I handed my heart, as broken and bruised as it already was, to him and almost every time, he tore it just a little more and handed it back.

Even my ex husband didn't do that.  He fucked with my head but he never touched my heart. That was a place that even he didn't go.  That is particularly one of the reasons that he still holds a place in my heart.  I would be a character witness for him if needed. I can't say my testimony would help him, but I would be there.... If he ended up in jail, I would make sure his mother and sister came up with bail money.  I might even contribute ten bucks. (Twenty if it's his weekend to have the kids...)  The point is, when a man fucks with your head, you can bounce back-- even if you have to bounce off a few padded walls for a bit.

But when a man fucks with your heart, you don't bounce back.  You take an extreme liking to shiny sharp things.  You become a stone figure of who you used to be.  You lock whats left of that fragile organ away and very few people ever get to see it again.  I dare say that if you've been hurt enough, you lock it away so far and hidden that even you forget it's there.

Now, don't get me wrong, if Mr. Wonderful is still out there someone needs to update his GPS so he can get here.  I'm putting away my heart but at the moment, I still have the key and the ability to let it out again.

Maybe.  I'd like to think I do.

But there will never be another moment when I hand it over to a person that is going to use it to put out his cigarettes.  As of right now.  My heart is no longer and never ever will be again an ashtray.

To that guy, I will say this one last thing.  You had a chance at a good woman.  I am worth more than you think.  I am honest, and loving, and compassionate and you treated me like I was fat and ugly and not worth ten cents.  I cried more tears over you than any woman should cry in a lifetime.  And now I have reached the end of the line.

To him I can say this.  You reached the worst possible outcome with me:

I no longer care about you.  I don't care if you are happy.  I don't care if you are sad.  I don't care if you feel well. I don't care if you didn't sleep well, didn't eat well or if a butterfly flapped it's wings in Bolivia and you have a headache.  Live with it, die with it, do whatever you want.  I. Don't. Care.

Read this or don't.  Call me on it or don't.  Tell me that I've betrayed you or don't.

There are a few people in this world that can verify that when I stop caring about you.  You have lost something very valuable.  If you watch HIMYM, then you understand the picture.  If not, I can't help you.

On that note, I am going to bed.  I have to be up for work by ten.

I hope that everyone has a good new year and that everyone was safe bringing it in.

Stay frosty!