There are so many issues with this scenario. Yes I text him the last two days in a row. We spoke last week for the first time in months. In me speaking to him I text during normal daytime hours, kept conversation to a minimum and asked him questions on things he has first hand knowledge of. Which is why I text him. I just needed info. He very obviously was drunk. Asking are you up Niagara... which I assume is drunk for Are you up my nigga? And beings as I didn't see it right away, it took me over an hour t respond. I said yes why? No response, I am sure he's passed out now. So as I think about this and try to go back to bed, I am a little perturbed.
I gave you no reason to late night drunken text me. I'm not better. I'm not okay. You made me out to be a monster with my head covered in snakes. I was evil. I was so hated by you in all of your words you claimed I didn't know you, and I was an awful human being. 6 fucking years of his hot and cold emotions. Never knowing what he wanted, always making me to be the bad guy. 6 fucking years.
I'm not ready. I'm still pissed. Pissed at myself, pissed at him, pissed in general I could again leave so much of me with someone I don't now who I am. The only thing that is left is fragments of me that are scared to ever actually love another human again. The shell of an asshole. A deliberate mean human being. I kept my texts to what he knows about. They were legitimate. Real questions and he honestly was the only person I know that could answer them.
I cried for months. I wanted to die. I was actually going to kill myself over him. Swearing I never loved him, I was awful, h wanted to not deal with my bullshit anymore, he had a new girlfriend and he as going to put his efforts in there. Like knife to my wrist. I just spent the last 3 years of my life living with this man who always had a pot on the stove but turned it on and off. On and off. and when he would leave it on, and I would boil over, would question why.
We shared a bed. Yes it was completely voluntary. I never had to. But he fit me perfectly and who in their right mind would turn that down? And yes he told me the whole time he wasn't ready to be with someone. Unless he was drunk and then he would spew how much he loved me to me and cry, and apologize, and I always thought a drunk mans words were a sober mans thoughts. So I stayed. And every time I would go back to my own room and sleep, he would tell me I can come back to his bed but don't get the wrong idea. And I always came back, and I always got the wrong idea. When he kissed me, everything in the world seemed to fit in it's place. And then we both got complacent.
Our bad habits wore on one another's nerves. Endless love turned into an endless fighting. It was exhausting. Something he thinks he endured alone. As if always picking up after him, and having to search for dirty dishes in his room was my favorite spare time activity. The difference was I just wanted to be held, and he just wanted to be with everyone who wasn't me. He never learned once in the 3 years of living together that all he had to do was hold me to get me to shut the fuck up. I didn't need more stuff. He was an excellent provider. He worked damn hard. I knew that. And never in my life have I ever had anyone take care of me the way he did. But while having things is nice, he was always the only thing I ever wanted. So where he was exhausted from working and giving, I was exhausted from never getting what I wanted.
I could of slept next to him forever, proudly, and happily. He was my friend for so long that him taking him away was the worst thing he could of ever done to me. So much I still don't know who I am anymore. I barely laugh. I fill my time with this instead of people. I live out imaginary relationships in my head that I pretend are okay, not because I'm crazy but because at least daydreaming takes my hurt away for fractions at a time. I'm trying not to cry thinking about it right now.
So I text him back before I started writing this and told him I'm not ready. Not for drunken texts. Not to be friends. Not for late night conversation. Fuck he wanted me to go away. He doesn't remember the good times. The shit that haunts me he has zero fucking recollection of and I'm supposed to keep loving as if my love, my heart, was worth nothing more than a grain of salt?? I love big. With all of me. I don't actually know another way. Who wants to be kinda loved? I want the whole fucking cake, pie, dinner, dessert, coffee after all of that... I'm not even close to being ready.
At the end of it, after he decided he was hurt, when I was raped, I begged him to come over, sobbing, just so he would sit next to me so I felt safe. He came over and pretended to be an ass. He is one, but more so. Telling me the person I think I know is gone, I don't want him, he's just an asshole now, he's only going to take from women.
And I know him. I know him better than I know myself. I know how he acts when he is mad, or hungry, how quickly he gets irritated when he's sleepy. I know every crease in his face while he eats. I studied him for years trying to perfect loving him. The things he was saying were definitely words coming out of his mouth but I never heard them before. Peoples vocabularies are always changing, their souls do not. That doesn't mean good people cannot do bad things, but it does mean if you are inherently good, you always will be. Benga is good. Not just a good man, but a good human.
I know because I loved him for so long. And I knew in that moment where he was saying these ridiculous things, he wanted to be a bad person to make it easy for me to go away. I too wish it were that easy. It's not. But he started talking about when your demons come calling. And he don't have time for feelings anymore.
As I laid there sobbing, full panic attack ugly cry begging him to stop, I explained, that is not what it looks like when demons come calling. When your demons are demanding payment, you will look like me. Hysterical, not wanting to live, and emotional wreck. You will have no control.
My Nana wanted me to check myself into a hospital I was so bad. I was so alone. Where were my friends I had been there for endlessly? The people I called my family who I would drop anything for? No one was there. Everyone I had ever loved besides my kids and my Nana were gone. If I die are these the people who will be at my funeral? The ones that didn't dare love me back the same?
Maybe why it's why I am so okay with being alone now. I had to realize I always had been.
I miss him. Every minute of everyday. I would give my life for his still without a doubt, or a second thought about it. He will never do anything wrong in my eyes, even when he does. He has the biggest heart of any man I have ever met. I would of been a fool not to love him. I suppose I was a fool either way. But I'm not ready. I can't be his friend, I can't text, I can't do drunken phone calls. It's only been two months. Everything he said to me is burnt into my flesh. Things he can never take back. And no matter what I will always love him, I will not keep standing inside of the flames and continue to get burnt.
The difference between him and I is simple. I remember all of the good and most of the bad. Every smile, every time he held me through a nightmare. I remember every kiss and every cuddle. I remember every single thing he ever did for me, every I love you and I'm sorry. He was priceless to me. He, on the other hand, remembers every fight. Everything he ever bought. He amounts our relationship to a dollar amount. Money he spent over a duration of our life together. I was a cost he figured. It wasn't memories he was investing in, it was a dollar amount to be thrown in my face later. I was another cost. Our life was. And my heart was never for sale.
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