Open Eye, Insert Rusty Blade
I just talked to an ex of mine. At least I consider her to be an ex. I’ve lived in a bad marriage for seven years. About three years ago, a female co-worker and I started talking and became good friends. She seduced me one day, but I didn’t mind. We poured our hearts out to each other and all that nonsense. We said “I love you” deep into the night until early morning and got all sweaty and musky and flushed as the smell of sex and moist heat filled her bedroom. This went on for about a year, with occasional smoldering sexual encounters continuing right up until about nine months ago.
Make no mistake about it; I was in love with this chick. I gave her my whole heart and soul and mind for over two years. I completely withdrew from my wife (who of course knew something malodorous was afoot) and fell frantically obscenely cravenly gluttonously in love with the other woman for all I was worth (which turned out to be not much). I was swallowed (and buried) alive in the fissures of her being until I had lost myself in her.
The emotional attachment between us was the most serious and amazing thing I’d ever experienced. Anywhere. With anyone.
It ended horrifically, as these things always do. She eventually reached into my chest, tore out my soft tender loving heart, threw it in a blender with some ice and tequila and lime juice, liquefied it, and took one sip before spitting it out in disgust and dumping the rest out for the dogs to lick up and get wasted on. Then she went back to her old boyfriend.
She created a severance in our relationship, and I had to deal. It’s hard to “deal” when you’ve got a sucking chest wound where your heart used to be. To make matters difficult, I still had to work with her and see her every day and pretend I didn’t love her anymore. To make matters more difficult, she still wanted to talk to me and tell me she loved me every so often. (Which is grand fun. It’s always a riot to find oneself dangling at the end of a fishing line, attempting to breathe, and having some insensitive codependent female stick you back in the life-giving water for two or three minutes, only to pluck you out into oxygenless dry again, and repeat the process ad infinitum, ad nauseum, when all you really want at that point is sweet, blissful death.)
So yesterday morning, early, I’m on my way to work and drive by her house and there’s a strange vehicle in her driveway and I know it’s her latest boyfriend. And I’m surprised because it’s been nine months since I last told her I loved her, yet I feel this tremendous sadness come over me at the thought of her being with some guy who isn’t me. Then she calls out “sick” from work. So I send her an immature email basically saying I know all about her escapades and why she’s “sick.” She replies later in the day with one whole sentence:
“You should be happy for me.”
“Happy for you? Oh I’m so glad you told me. I didn’t know that. I need to sit down. Um…could you help me get this rusty blade out of my eyeball before you continue? Yes it really does hurt like a mofo. Is there some reason you felt the need to put it there? What were you saying? Something about being happy for you? Okay, yes, I need to be happy for you. I can do that. And I’ll come to work tomorrow wearing a pretty pink tutu and aluminum foil on my head and singing like a quaint little fairy. I’m just glad you’ve moved on and that life is so wonderful for you. Wow my eye still really hurts. But man am I ever happy right now! Ouch…well you know how it is with eye injuries…they hurt a long frickin’ time. Especially at night. But I'm happy! Let's sing 'I Feel Pretty!'”
So tonight, while talking to me, after twisting the knife yet AGAIN, and sensing my aloofness and inner yearning to be in Soho (London, not New York – I mean distance here), talking to some weird drunk stranger and forgetting my life and times on the East Coast of the USA, she dares say to me,
“I love you…I don’t care what you say.”
Is there anyone out there who can tell me how long it takes to recover from a heartbreak? I really want to feel nothing when she says those three little words. They are my enemy. They give me a sense of false hope. They drag out the inevitable. (And no I didn’t say them back! What do you think I am, a masochist?) I mean, what do you do? Do you just fake your way through life among other faking, phony people and eventually you just won’t care anymore?
I want to feel nothing when I hear her name or run into her at the supermarket. I don’t want to think about her. I don’t want to dream about her. I want this relationship to be dead. I want whatever warmth is left in my heart to be colder than Siberia doused in rubbing alcohol.
When something’s dead and cold, you can poke it with a stick and it won’t react. That’s what I’m talking about.
I need it to be dead. This wonderful forbidden intimate relationship wherein I found close unfettered connection with a human being that I’d never known before. Just let it die.
Please, God!
The emotional attachment between us was the most serious and amazing thing I’d ever experienced. Anywhere. With anyone.
Most pathetic: I would give you my freshly-knifed, bleeding eyeball to get back to that place. To do it all again.
~ Witt
Make no mistake about it; I was in love with this chick. I gave her my whole heart and soul and mind for over two years. I completely withdrew from my wife (who of course knew something malodorous was afoot) and fell frantically obscenely cravenly gluttonously in love with the other woman for all I was worth (which turned out to be not much). I was swallowed (and buried) alive in the fissures of her being until I had lost myself in her.
The emotional attachment between us was the most serious and amazing thing I’d ever experienced. Anywhere. With anyone.
It ended horrifically, as these things always do. She eventually reached into my chest, tore out my soft tender loving heart, threw it in a blender with some ice and tequila and lime juice, liquefied it, and took one sip before spitting it out in disgust and dumping the rest out for the dogs to lick up and get wasted on. Then she went back to her old boyfriend.
She created a severance in our relationship, and I had to deal. It’s hard to “deal” when you’ve got a sucking chest wound where your heart used to be. To make matters difficult, I still had to work with her and see her every day and pretend I didn’t love her anymore. To make matters more difficult, she still wanted to talk to me and tell me she loved me every so often. (Which is grand fun. It’s always a riot to find oneself dangling at the end of a fishing line, attempting to breathe, and having some insensitive codependent female stick you back in the life-giving water for two or three minutes, only to pluck you out into oxygenless dry again, and repeat the process ad infinitum, ad nauseum, when all you really want at that point is sweet, blissful death.)
So yesterday morning, early, I’m on my way to work and drive by her house and there’s a strange vehicle in her driveway and I know it’s her latest boyfriend. And I’m surprised because it’s been nine months since I last told her I loved her, yet I feel this tremendous sadness come over me at the thought of her being with some guy who isn’t me. Then she calls out “sick” from work. So I send her an immature email basically saying I know all about her escapades and why she’s “sick.” She replies later in the day with one whole sentence:
“You should be happy for me.”
“Happy for you? Oh I’m so glad you told me. I didn’t know that. I need to sit down. Um…could you help me get this rusty blade out of my eyeball before you continue? Yes it really does hurt like a mofo. Is there some reason you felt the need to put it there? What were you saying? Something about being happy for you? Okay, yes, I need to be happy for you. I can do that. And I’ll come to work tomorrow wearing a pretty pink tutu and aluminum foil on my head and singing like a quaint little fairy. I’m just glad you’ve moved on and that life is so wonderful for you. Wow my eye still really hurts. But man am I ever happy right now! Ouch…well you know how it is with eye injuries…they hurt a long frickin’ time. Especially at night. But I'm happy! Let's sing 'I Feel Pretty!'”
So tonight, while talking to me, after twisting the knife yet AGAIN, and sensing my aloofness and inner yearning to be in Soho (London, not New York – I mean distance here), talking to some weird drunk stranger and forgetting my life and times on the East Coast of the USA, she dares say to me,
“I love you…I don’t care what you say.”
Is there anyone out there who can tell me how long it takes to recover from a heartbreak? I really want to feel nothing when she says those three little words. They are my enemy. They give me a sense of false hope. They drag out the inevitable. (And no I didn’t say them back! What do you think I am, a masochist?) I mean, what do you do? Do you just fake your way through life among other faking, phony people and eventually you just won’t care anymore?
I want to feel nothing when I hear her name or run into her at the supermarket. I don’t want to think about her. I don’t want to dream about her. I want this relationship to be dead. I want whatever warmth is left in my heart to be colder than Siberia doused in rubbing alcohol.
When something’s dead and cold, you can poke it with a stick and it won’t react. That’s what I’m talking about.
I need it to be dead. This wonderful forbidden intimate relationship wherein I found close unfettered connection with a human being that I’d never known before. Just let it die.
Please, God!
The emotional attachment between us was the most serious and amazing thing I’d ever experienced. Anywhere. With anyone.
Most pathetic: I would give you my freshly-knifed, bleeding eyeball to get back to that place. To do it all again.
~ Witt
posted by Wittenberg95 | 4:13 am
My last boyfriend treated me a similar way, and I strongly identify with the feelings you expressed. He and I were also coworkers, but when the company went into a downturn shortly after our breakup, he was laid off. Then he moved to another state.
It's been nearly two years, and I think I'm almost over him now. I don't know how I ever would have healed if we had been forced to go on working together every day. Is there any way you can put some physical distance between yourself and your ex?
My last boyfriend treated me a similar way, and I strongly identify with the feelings you expressed. He and I were also coworkers, but when the company went into a downturn shortly after our breakup, he was laid off. Then he moved to another state.
It's been nearly two years, and I think I'm almost over him now. I don't know how I ever would have healed if we had been forced to go on working together every day. Is there any way you can put some physical distance between yourself and your ex?
i want to comment since i read the entry in its entirety: i sensed madness! peace to you, brother!
You sensed madness? It must be love.
Is it? Is it love? Is it madness? No. It is only the image of the love you had. Now the hurt is more of the rejection than love. You cannot go back. If you did it will never be the same. Perhaps she still loves you like she says but not in the same way as before.You need to move on.
We cannot choose who holds our hearts. We cannot sometimes even hold on to the ones who do so either. Love isn't always a two way street (trust me I know it as well as you do). I don't know how long it will take for the pain to pass, for love's embers to go out. I waited 4 years the last time my demon walked away from me. I was still totally in love with her when she came back. I still am even now that's she's gone again. Off and on for 14 years now and my heart hasn't learned it's lesson. I wish I could offer you hope. All I can say is life goes on and we continue to walk our paths despite the pain. Perhaps one day it will end. Perhaps one day you will learn how to let go. If you do PLEASE tell me how. Peace.
There is only one way to make this dead, and that is to kill it.
Cut her off. Distance will help, but isn't required. Never speak to her again. Not until you could watch her being gang-banged in a seedy porno and be happy for her.
Cut her off, mourn her memory, but keep it pristine in your head. Don't keep fucking it up like this. More to the point, stop *her* from fucking it up like this.
After a while (a *long* while) you'll be friends with her and all will be well. She'll be a dozy, insensitive cow that you'll feel slightly sorry for, but she'll have given you some memories that you'll treasure and learn from.
Easier said than done, but you know... It's a cunt.