One day, I won’t be sitting in this extra large chair with its worn-through patchwork cover and too many pillows, curled up with my face leaning on a pillow in the same position every week; glancing around at the same cheap fake paintings of women looking at the sea from wicker couches and chairs and tables, avoiding what usually is an agonizing hour due to her lack of any empathy, humor, encouragement, or personality.
One Wednesday, I will stop spending from 2 p.m. to 3 p.m. in this office. I will feel well enough to say good-bye; although at this particular point that plan was looking exceedingly doubtful considering it was a Tuesday and I had called her to beg her to see me.
“I blocked him. Isn’t that courageous? I blocked him from facebook, texts, my phone number, everything. Of course, he could still come over and actually see me but... oh my GOD I hadn’t even THOUGHT of that!”
I paused, horrified, for a millisecond. I could not think about that ever again; which meant I would obsess about it 24/7. Here I had blocked him out of my virtual world, (which had seemed to have overcome my real life world but that’s another story), thinking it sent him a message strength on my part that would make him panic—to I know longer cared about his carelessness, (although I thought his actions much more deliberate with the intention to drive me mad). And yet, he could simply hop in his fancy car (that I had keyed in a rage; he repainted and at least had stopped demanding the money) and come right over to see me. Shit.
There were moments I was stronger and others where I thought the pain, the irrational, sick, unrelenting, broken-hearted pain would kill me. If I were my best friend, I would say, “This is totally ridiculous. There are so many men in the world. Why do you chose the ones who can’t love you? Why do you try? What is wrong with you? Don’t take it personally it is his problem, not yours.” But I wasn’t my best friend. Worst enemy?
