•May 5, 2017 • Leave a Comment

I wanted to tell him so much more.

I wanted to open those wounds and let all the shit and hurt flow forth and drown him. So he too could feel it’s heaviness.  It’s suffocation.

But I didn’t.  I stayed on task.

I apologized for being “weird” on Sunday.

He had brought “her” to the festival.  A new “her”.  A “her” I met in passing once, and thought nothing more of.  But here she was.  With him.

He dropped this on me the night before.  I just smiled, and said “Oh, ok!” like it was the best fucking news I had ever heard.  Inside I could feel my stomach drop.  I felt my face burn.  I wanted to puke or scream or punch him in the face.  Maybe all three.  Yet I kept smiling. Trying to be as supportive as I could be.

It didn’t matter that once again he was breaking or “changing” plans.  Hey, shit happens. Plans change.  I get it.  But this….this….this was something I was not happy about.  Once again I got the shaft.  I did the only thing I knew to do in situations like this.

I got drunk.

The next day he showed up with “her”.  All smiling and laughing at her dipshit jokes and commentary that I knew he would have otherwise found usual and bland.  But here he was, yuking it up with “her”, Ms. Jokey Mcjoke pants.

No wonder I acted “weird”.

The “hers” scare me.  They scare me because I like my time with him.  I like the things we do.  They are things that only he and I do together.  I wouldn’t want anyone else stealing those moments away or intruding into our weird little sphere of inside jokes, favorite places, and asinine plots.  Soiling the sanctity of such activities with their own thoughts and opinions on such matters.

I know, that he will never reveal just how deep him and I have been.    I warned him. People can always tell about our connection.  People always mistake him and I as the couple even though we don’t touch or interact the way couples do.  Regardless, that’s enough to make someone feel uncomfortable and insecure with our friendship.

I know one day, one of those hers will have the power to say enough! and a choice will have to be made.  Sadly, I suspect I would be the loser in that situation.

I want him to be happy.  And I do want him to be able to tell me these things about that side of his life, since he always seems to shut me out.  But I also wanted him to understand, with a history like ours, why I behave the way I behave.

I explained that I felt non existent, for anytime he is with a “her” I am completely ignored.  It wouldn’t be such a big deal except when we have plans and he is M.I.A.

What I really wanted to tell him was how the feelings of non existence then lead to the feelings of not being worthy of that side of things.  And how those feelings then lead to the feelings of how I was only ever good enough when nothing better was around.  How at times, there still is a small tiny part of me that yearns for what could have been.  If only.

But I didn’t.

Instead I kept it safe.  I dared not to tread through those waters.  He would never admit to seeing it from my perspective, and perhaps I am too jaded to see it from his.

It doesn’t matter now.  It shouldn’t matter.  Those hurts and disappointments from before.  They are remnants of a time that has come and gone.  A time where I obsessed to be his.  A time where I was certain that he was what was meant to be.

In a way, he was my meant to be, just not in the way I had envisioned.

So we both carry on.  My heart attached to someone else, and his searching for an attachment.

But the “hers”….



•March 23, 2017 • Leave a Comment

And there it was.

Staring me in the face.  How did I not see it the first time I had looked?   .

A wave of feelings that had been stored away and buried came crashing down.  Tidal waves of anger and resentment pounding down upon me.  I sat there and stared at the images feeling the air leave my lungs, my body not remembering how to take a breath in. My heart racing as fragile layers peeled away renewing old wounds that I am not sure will ever heal

And how would they when I put myself in the line of fire so often?

The pictures I had confiscated.  The whore he decided to go off and be with because she was the better option.  There were always better options.

Me, I was just something until the other options showed up.

It looked like a hotel hallway.  Elevators reflected back in the mirror that was across from them.  Her dress up exposing her ass while she clung to him.  Their mouths mid kiss.  His one hand down her panties while the other hand was used to hold the cell phone to capture their naughtiness. Their moment of being risque.  Each frame showing her going down lower and lower till she was on her knees looking up at him with his full erect cock resting on her cheek.

The date of the pictures would put them right around the time of my ill fated birthday party.  I remember talking to him.  Asking him why?  Why couldn’t it ever work? He may have hinted that he was seeing her, and I probably backed away crumbling from the hurt. Then again I was never privy to the personal matters of his life.  He kept all that hidden from me.  Another reason I felt hurt.  Betrayed.  Less than.

I would go back to P.

I always went back to P.

Because I had to make something work.


These pictures were years ago.  Those feelings I had….were years ago.  I’ve moved on best I could.  I learned to not wait around for someone to love me.  If they don’t they don’t. I deserve more.  I am worth more.  Move on.  So that was what I did.  And here I am now, with someone I love,cherish and am crazy about, and they the same of me.  I am finally for once in my life, in a healthy relationship.

Yet those pictures still sting, and my ego is still a bit burnt.





Eat Shit.

•January 9, 2017 • Leave a Comment

He is heart broken.

He can’t understand why the last girl he dated for the past few months won’t talk to him.

Just one day up and stopped talking to him.

She even blocked him on Facebook, which really pissed him off.


He can’t seem to find a “rad” chick.  They are all “fat”.  At least the ones that are into him.

The ones he are into won’t talk to him, or stand him up.


His hillbilly neighbors, who live downstairs from him, let their cats run wild.  Picking up fleas, which find their way into his apartment.  He has had to spend countless dollars having his rugs shampoo’d and his dog bathed.

The travesty.

He had to get braces.  So now he feels….Ugly.

He’s just so depressed.

Nothing is working out for him.  2016 was just the worst year for him.  I mean, with such problems as above.


Poor Poor narc.  How does he carry on?



•November 26, 2015 • 1 Comment


Because this is exactly the sort of message you send to someone who has just been diagnosed with cancer.

Yes.  I was diagnosed two weeks ago.  Been going through chemo and will probably need a bone marrow transplant.

I thought about telling the ex n that hey… I have cancer.   But then I thought about the past conversations and  thought why bother?  I need positivity and support right now.   Not negativity and bullshit.

And how he proved me  right  when a mutual friend brought up the fact that I was sick.

He blamed the friend for meddling…. He flipped over a table at the bar they were at, citing he was drunk and my responses of why should I tell him when his past interactions were dickish were just fueling the fire.  His friends finally saw his ugly side.  Left him drunk at the bar and told him to uber home.  Said that if he tried to come get his car from their house, they would  have it towed because of how drunk he was.

Of course the ex n made them into the ones that were acting like the assholes.  And me I’m sure.  How dare they just leave him when he created such a scene.

I don’t care.  I’m not surprised.  I knew his intent to “reach” out was not one that was motivated by true concern.

It was because I cut him out and moved on. 

And now people have seen his true colors.



•October 9, 2015 • Leave a Comment


So spot on. 

Two weeks and five days

•September 15, 2015 • 1 Comment


We’ll start with this.  He went on a “date.”  Originally he asked me if I wanted to go with him to a game, but I told him no, I couldn’t go. (Obviously). 

Then the day of the game he asked me to attend with him, I get this text.  

I have a feeling it was on purpose.  

Yet, I’m the one who blows everything out of proportion.  
Our whole relationship it was I. 
Him talking to other women?  What was the big deal?  
Finding him on Fetish websites?  Why was I getting so worked up?  
Trying to plan rendezvous with an ex girlfriend so they could have threesomes?  Really… That’s nothing to be upset over.  I mean, it’s not like he  actually went through with it.  
Ignoring my needs and wants…. I shouldn’t have been so needy. Constantly ripping apart everything and everyone I loved?  Obviously I can’t take a joke.

And let’s not forget the constant lies lies lies.  


Obviously I jest.  In a most sarcastic way.

What irked me, was his statement of how I “blow everything out of proportion.” And how he proved his point so poignantly, as shown in his remark before telling me how i am the one to always blow everything out of proportion.

Once again, deflection.

Later he would tell me that he would have had more fun had it been him and I.

A few weeks later, because I’m a sucker for the dog, I break down and go out to his place for a visit

I love that dog.  She is a piece of my heart.  She was what got me through all the hard times when I was there with him.  She was the one who came to check on me when I was hurt, sad and lonely.  She was the one who would curl up with me when i needed reassurance and kindness.
There is no way in hell he would just let me take her for a few hours or let her come stay with me.  So, by proxy, if I want to spend time with her, I have to spend time with him.

Yes.  I know it’s silly to go back for a dog.  To break no contact.  To allow him that one foot in the door.

No contact has been slow going for me.  I’m not good at it. 
Despite my curiosity about P’s life after us, and if he is still pulling the same crap on other unsuspecting victims, there are some commonalities between us that I feel only he could appreciate.

He was the only one I could talk to when it came to certain things.
Nothing on a grand emotional scale… Or on deep philosophical quandaries…. But things that tickled both our fancies.


I’m not sure what that says about me and my failure to go no contact with P.
Why I still care.  Why I still search for answers and affirmations.

Keep your enemies closer?  Maybe.

So I’m hanging out at his place.  We’re watching a movie.  But he isn’t paying attention.  He’s up and down.  Fiddling with the dog…. Texting someone.  A girl.  Some girl in Erie, PA.  I recognize her picture from Facebook.

He’s then on Google maps.  My guess is perhaps a rendezvous could be in the works. Erie isn’t that far from him.  My heart sinks a little, and I wonder why?  I don’t want him.  I don’t want to be with him.
Maybe it sinks for her. Another victim.

When I leave later and get into my car, I break down and cry.  I don’t know why specifically either.  What was I holding in?  I just know there was a release.  I tell myself no more.  No more visits.  I  will need to let the dog go.
Maybe that’s why I mourn.  Or maybe I just mourn for something that never was.

A few more weeks go by.  I leave to go on vacation.  We text here and there, but it’s mostly about him and what’s going on with him.  Oh and of course him making fun of my destination choice and activities.

I have a very somber night.  I watch an effigy burn.  Again, I cry.  My soul knows its time to just cut that final thread that tethers me to him. I’m tired of being nice. I’m tired of trying to be a friend. I’m just tired of the whole scenario.

I get home and there is a few days of no contact. It almost amazes me. Actually, it’s nice.

Then he texts me.
I realize his birthday is coming up. So I ask if he has plans. As you can see from the conversation he’s not amused with my responses.


On his actual birthday, I figure I’ll be nice.
I text him happy birthday.

He responds “g thanks.”
Then we pretty much go silent.

Later in the day I come across this picture while perusing tumblr.

Since he collects diecast airplanes (rather obsessively) and since we bimage

Both found the vampire to be a pretty cool looking plane, I forward the link on to him.

(This would be a perfect example of just one of those things that only he would appreciate, as everyone else I know in my life finds this stuff boring.)

However, P is fixated more on the fact that I found this on my tumblr account…
For he is convinced that any account I have on any type of forum is/was mainly used to flirt with dudes.
A moot point now of course.

(Who uses tumblr to flirt and pick up people? Is that a thing??)

He wants to know what’s the point of sending just the picture…. As he can Google a million pictures of this plane.

It’s in that moment where I just feel…. Done.

I don’t want to deal with him any longer.

I’m tired of his rude and degrading comments. And not just about me, but about anything he finds an issue with.

I don’t want to talk to him only when it’s convenient for him. Case in point when there is no supply there to entertain him.

I don’t want to be part of his fucking supply menagerie.

I want something more genuine from him….. And I will never…. Never….never get that from him.

In any capacity. Even as a “friend”

It’s strange that it takes this particular moment to actually feel the need to be done for good, given that there have been so many other instances where it was blaringly obvious that I needed to walk away for good.

But I guess that’s just how I operate. I’m a pretty tolerant person. Too tolerant. And even though our interactions were sporadic, they were still to many.

Over the weekend I received these texts.


I didn’t respond. To any of them. As much I wanted to. I didn’t. What would be the point of expressing my feelings to him?

The last text from him is a good reminder as to why I shouldn’t.

I’m really going to miss that dog.

Stop being a shit for once.

•May 21, 2015 • Leave a Comment


It starts off with him asking me what comes to mind when I hear someone is a cosmetologist.  I ask him if this is about some “crazy” hairdresser that used to cut his hair who had been chatting him up on his fb.  Of course he is vague….but I’m not stupid.  ( Just like when he avoided telling me who he was running with this past warrior dash…. I knew it was that chick he started talking to a few days after we broke up.  I knew she would be doing the race with him.  This of course was confirmed by pictures on Facebook.)

Anyways…. I asked him the other day if he was afraid that if I knew he was talking to or interested in some chick, that I would stop talking to him.  (Which I would.). Of course he said no.

Lies.  He needs the supply.

Why am I even supplying?

Stop supplying.

God damn.