Homework.
My friend for hire [the lady I pay to listen and give me advice] gave me homework after our 1st happy hour together – write a letter to Mr. Ex letting it all out – don’t hold back, then shred & dispose of it. “But don’t actually give it to him.”
I wonder if she’ll be excited or upset that I not only completed the HW like an obedient student, but I took it up [a few] notches. I drunk dialed.
Not my finest moment, but in retrospect, I’m at peace with the experience.
Many concerned comrades from both sides of the party lines have advised me to speak with him – for closure. However the last few weeks I’ve felt so much rage & anger that proactively making a move to communicate directly with him was the last thing on my mind. I had nothing to say, nor did I care to hear what he would share either.
I’ve been worried of accidentally running into him, for fear of Chuck Norris-ing his face, that I’ve made a concerted effort to avoid physical contact at all costs…actually steering clear of certain locations & events. I’m not a violent person & have a difficult time terminating pesky, uninvited indoor insects, much less bitch slapping a human being. But one day when I noticed my skin bubbling, from the blood boiling underneath, something told me it was in everyone’s best interest to remain in a straight jacket.
Then, little by little, my self-imposed barrier was stripped away. First through my overdue, returned pictures left on my windshield complete with a handwritten “I won’t let you go” letter, followed by continued outreach from his inner circle, offering the same super glue sentiments.
Finally on Saturday after 12 full hours of consuming Miller Lites with limes thanks to a convenient Irish festival taken place right outside my doorsteps…I was alone, I caved. Everything I would have said in that secret ‘for my eyes only’ homework letter, is what I verbally vomited over the phone. And, just as I originally anticipated would happen, and why I chose not to engage in discussions about the alleged affair during the break-up, the outcome went just as expected.
- Denial of past sexual transgressions
- This was the first & only time it happened in our 7+ years of dating
- That he “would have” come clean with it eventually
- Yatta yatta yatta.
I believe none of it. And told him so. No more half truths. No more masks. No more lies. No more make believe.
The only real question I had for him that no one has been able to answer is Why. Why? Why! And, he too couldn’t respond with any kind of explanation.
Ok then. How. How? How! This is about the time I absolutely Lost It &likely woke up the neighbors. Something about an expensive jacket needing to be returned to his closet is what put him in contact with the other woman.
“So let me get this straight. You went to get a jacket back [which as far as I understood, you had no more tangible or intangible ties to her any longer – another lie] and you fell on top of her? That makes perfect sense.”
Although that unscheduled early morning dialogue under the influence wasn’t in my plan – I actually do *feel* better. A sense of closure. I guess – to hear it directly from his mouth. That was validating.
In addition, I also gave him a get out of jail free card. My bruised ego, out of vengeance, could have allowed him to spend the next 6+ months doing back flips to win me back, again. I could have led him to believe there was a small glimmer of hope – only to leave him stranded alone without a life preserver in the end.
That would have been one way to “get back” at him; to hurt him. But that isn’t my style.
I explicitly advised him to move on. Use the same time & energy he’d use to win me back and/or wait for my return instead reflecting on poor, selfish decisions, gain insight through the guidance of a counselor, and live life to his greatest potential. “Don’t let this all be in vain. Help yourself first, don’t ever treat any woman that way again, and then go live your best life.”
Lastly, I remember him reciting a bible verse, from the book of Matthew. I remember shaking my head that here I was drunk, and he was reading a verse from holy literature. That scenario was so ridiculous, and backwards, for so many reasons. In the scripture, the subject of forgiveness came up. I pointed out that he had not yet asked for my forgiveness – but that if he wanted it, I would give it to him.
Jesus is my inspiration, simply put. He walked the Earth & was abused beyond comprehension, yet he found it in his heart to forgive – and so I can do that too, just as I’d want someone I wronged to do the same for me. That doesn’t make his behavior “right” but resolving this chapter in my life is my only option. And holding onto bitterness and resentment will get me no where. I’ll say it til I’m blue in the face — our journey here is all about learning lessons and growing from them.
Stories from this very thick, prophetic book talks about an eye for an eye in which a person who has injured the eye of another is instructed to give his/her own eye in compensation. That seems so barbaric, effective, but barbaric. In modern times they call it compensatory damages – not literally giving up a limb, but merely paying for the injury through say, an eye transplant.
But that isn’t my goal, or desire. I don’t wish pain on him. My wish is that we both individually come out alive with sound, solid, stronger hearts.
I feel divine intervention has taken place and am now in a position to truly move on. I will do whatever I need to do to protect my heart from future proverbial beatings [from any man] and hope he will put down the club for good and understand what it means to feel compassion.
