It is 2015. And it looks at long last that my unemployment is coming to an end. So are other things that have been bothering me in life.
Here's to a happy new year.
About this time last year, actually earlier in the month of December '13, I started making peace with myself that I'd done everything I could to win Ex-'s friendship back. I had been getting drinking under control, partly thanks to upping my anti-depressants earlier, which not only suppressed my appetite but kept the constant whining-hatemyself dialogue in my head to a low murmur, thus keeping it from needing to be doused with rum or bourbon to quieten down. And then, out of the blue, The Porn Freak contacted me.
The Porn Freak was a guy who Ex started seeing after dumping me without a word. I had honestly been trying to get better, but the meds are tricky and the right dosage is a target that isn't easy to hit... my dose turned out to be a very small bullseye that took well into the summer of 2013 to get right. I tried apologizing and admitting my mistakes, no response. Lashing out when I did drink, no response. Being an emo pussy anytime that Stepdad song came up in rotation. But mostly being heartbroken, as the only real indication that I'd finally been dumped was when I saw the picture of him and his new squeeze on his new squeeze's IG.
A quick Google of his screen-name revealed more pictures and videos of this guy's cock than of his actual face. He did amateur porn. Jack-off vids, to be precise. You know, the classy stuff.
I learned this at work and decided, fuck it, and wrote a very blistering email because frankly, what was I going to do, wish Ex good luck in his new career as a suck-toy? I never got a response from that, and I remember many nights as I fell off the wagon of reaching out to him and saying "Really? THIS is what you want?" or "Cockslutwhoredouche," and many variations in between. Finding out that the guy you were still in love with was now partnered to somebody who did that cast a big question mark on everything that was said between us while we together, and I let Ex know this.
The fact that he didn't care that I thought that of him blew my mind. Silence of that sort is usually admission of the truth.
Around August my anti-depression meds finally started evening up, and I crawled out of the bottle. I was doing pretty good... made a new friend who might have been a romantic one if not for distance, and everything was going smoother until Porn Freak contacted me around Nov-Dec of 2013. He hadn't heard from Ex and was worried and wondered if I knew what was going on. I said, in much nicer terms than I'm putting here, yeah, he dumped me twice that way too, perhaps we should start a club? Shortly after Christmas he contacted me again, saying he'd had his appendix out and could have died and texted Ex to no response. I felt bad and commiserated some.
But honestly at some point during those two conversations I got furious that it seemed I was right, this WAS how this guy operates, and the message I sent Ex was not a kind one.
By the time New Year's Eve rolled around, I had felt that perhaps I was one of the lucky ones who didn't need to stay on anti-dep meds all the time... perhaps I just needed a correction. My job was going great, my life was going fine, and the doctor took me off of them. Honestly, I also wanted to enjoy food again, so I put on 15 pounds afterwards.
And all was fine until Ex decided to initiate contact again.
Could he talk to me on the phone? Too busy with work, or a wedding, or whatever. There was always an excuse as to why he couldn't talk.
Then one day I figured it out... he'd snatched up a new convenience and was too busy getting fucked by him to bother talking on the phone. I lost my job for no good reason except cutbacks, and he was too busy getting fucked to bother talking on the phone and helping me off the edge of the wagon I felt I was bound to fall off of. Which I did. One lousy fucking phone call could have helped so much, but cuddling during a thunderstorm was more important. So I "enjoyed" a few more months of nights I'm pretty glad I barely remember.
He's a peach, that Ex.
Does that sound like a harsh way to put it? That's because it was a harsh way to find out. I'd been fucked over the exact same way once again. I opened myself up for his friendship again when I should have taken his partner's facebook advice, and "told him a truth he didn't want to hear." Like, he's a selfish asshole, a mooch, a liar, a manipulator, and, using his current Bae until it's no longer convenient for him to do so.
Just like he's done with everybody else in his life.
I know my stalker still reads this. Hey Crazy Dan! Send this to Ex if you want, you know who it is, after all. Since October I'm on my meds again (thanks Obama) and they're working fine... and no, they aren't "happy pills" as Ex's idiot partner insultingly put them, but that's okay because he's obviously not too bright and only there to be a convenient cock, and you don't need brains to be a white trash Sanford + Son...
...and it seems that within the first six weeks of the new year, I'll hopefully begin embarking on a new job and a better healthier life, without the leeches of the past, if all goes well, which it seems it is doing. That's my resolution, that I won't find trace of Ex or X in my blog again, because I don't need people in my life who are too lazy to forgive, when I actually make a successful effort, just because they're getting deep dicked by Sling Blade. I don't need the hypocrisy from somebody pretending to be a Christian and holier than thou. But I'm not bitter...
Also, Happy New Year, y'all!