Hmmm? Isn't it? Banana?

Maybe I should change my number

Text messages out of the blue on Sunday:

Mystery texter: "Hi. Can we talk?"

Me : "Depends who it is. Your number's not showing up"

Mystery texter: "******"( Ex-girlfriend as of 18 months ago, pathological liar, psychopath, fucking nutter, source of untold hassle, the source of the lowest point of my life/self-esteem since I was 14 and the reason that I was £2.5K worse off at the end of the (18 month!) relationship. Impressive, huh?)

"Then, no. I really don't think that we have anything to say to each other. Sorry."

"Why are you still so angry with me? Can't we be nice civil (sic). Really need 2 talk 2 some 1 who knows me well. I know we parted on bad terms but I never wanted you to hate me."

"I was perfectly polite. If you need someone to talk to, try your husband." (She married new guy a year and 2 months after we split. Rush into it, did we?)

"I can't. Im sorry ur still so bitter towards me. I must have hurt you very much."

(after fighting the urge to reply for about half an hour): "That's you all over, though isn't it? Not sorry for what you did, just for how it affects you. Still. It doesn't matter. I don't care enough to be bitter anymore."

I wanted to send, but it would have given too much:

"Leave me alone. You have already tricked me and cost me more than I would ever knowingly be prepared to, or can cope with giving. You have no concept of the damage that you have done to me, as you have never managed to see out past your own needs and demands to even notice anyone else, never mind the life you were sucking out of them trying to keep you happy".

But that's too much. She doesn't deserve to know the closed and shut off person that I have once again become after so long. I spent 10 years trying to regain some emotional ability after shutting it all away so effectively when I was younger, and I am fighting being back at square one. There was a time after her when I couldn't even voice these thoughts (those that know me may now know how significant that is/was for me), and now that I can... Well. It all seems a bit pointless and after the fact. The feelings had to subside to such an extent that the resolution of what it meant and did to me seems strangely irrelevant now. I need to form everything I do into sentences before I can understand it, feelings alone are beyond my comprehension. Now that I can word it, I have nothing left to vent the words that were so important to me in order to express myself. I feel cheated again.

What irritates me the most is I know exactly why she texted. She's lacking attention, and wants to ring me up and reassure herself that I still fancy her, that she can still cast her spell over someone. This is the same girl that had a MAJOR failure of self confidence because we once walked into a bar and "No-one" looked at her. I sure as fuck didn't see any backs of blokes' heads, I am damn sure. All her other exes must have their phones off, as I know she rang them when we had rows. Tough luck, sweetie. I really meant it when I told you to fuck off and stop bothering me last year. Really. The only feelings I can muster for you any more are those of bitterness at wasting 18 months and thousands of pounds, hours of time and pissing off my friends, trying to keep an emotionally fucked-up girl happy when it was an impossible task.

I was weak. I was stupid, and not a small part of me hates myself for being so unfathomably stupid. I was dazzled, and hopelessly head over heels. She was (still is, by all accounts) a stunningly, heart-stoppingly beautiful woman. Tall, slim, blonde hair, striking looks and very graceful, she would (I am utterly convinced) still take my breath away, stop my heart and weaken my knees if I saw her again. Right up to a milli-second later when I would remember that she so utterly embodies the expression "Beauty is only skin deep". When she was being lovely she was indeed so, but it was all a veneer and soon split, but too late for me to spot it. She constantly tried to create an impression designed to appeal to how she wanted people to perceive her, borne of a deep insecurity from a broken home and an equally fucked up and shallow Mother. I never understood what she saw in me, and perhaps that lack of faith in myself was part of the reason that I sacrificed everything to try and keep her, someone that I was too close to, to see how screwed up and (in all seriousness) psychologically damaged as her. Or maybe she just knew a fundamentally decent bloke and a soft touch when she saw one.

I don't know. I genuinely don't really think she was knowingly that devious, but someone so desperate for attention I have yet to meet.

Ok. That's enough. I wanted to write something about this, but I'm fresh out now. Both of the feelings to keep writing about it, and the desire not to care that this is on the web. So I'll stop. I've disabled comments for this post because well, in the nicest possible way, I don't really give a fuck what anyone else thinks. I know what I did wrong. If people that know me well really want to say something, they know where I am. But no-one is as harsh a judge of me as myself, or as analytical, so it will undoubtedly have been pre-empted and reasoned into a positive statement.

It's truly believing those statements that's the hard thing, isn't it? And no-one but me can do that. I can make the intellectual steps without any help which is a bit daft, as that is the bit that is easiest to help. Still, no-one said that being me was easy, did they?

I'm going to post this now as I am losing faith in it, and having second thoughts. I'm not even going to spell check it. Sorry if it's dull and not the usual stupidity I post, but hey? Who gives a fuck? It's my blog, after all.

;)

posted by Brock @ Monday, March 14, 2005