Monday, May 31, 2010

The Last Few Months In A Series of Parts

Hey, did you ever meet my friend Ian?
He’s a computer hacker.
He helped me erase your Myspace page,
And your band’s Myspace page,
And your Facebook page.
Happy networking, asshole.

---- Munchausen by Proxy & Zooey Deschanel, "Yes Man"


Back on February 16th, I celebrated the One Year Anniversary of my breakup. To celebrate, I triumphantly got on a plane on that very day and flew out to California to spend a whole week with my bestie and her family.

BUT.... about 1 week before that day, I was casually perusing Facebook when I came across something that totally rocked my world and set a course of events into action that, to this day, I rue.

My ex and I are albeit barely linked on Facebook, in fact I deleted him and almost everyone that we had in common -- which the exception of just a few -- a month into the breakup. So because we had someone in common, that one person commented on a link to a blog interview my ex gave and therefore, through the magic of Facebook, that link showed up on my Homepage. (Isn't it so lame that we talk in FB terms like this? ...sigh...). So there I was, sitting at home, minding my own business, and I'm faced with proof of his existence.

There it was. Right there. In my face.

I could not just skip it and move on. I just could not.

A better woman might have closed her laptop, said, "Hmm, whateves...", and went on with her life. A better woman would not have taken maybe 2 seconds to think it over and then proceed to click the link and continue to read every single word of the interview her ex gave.

And so yes, I am not a better woman. I'm a crazy woman.

Normally, an article where he recites stupid answers to pointless questions about his band wouldn't be that big of deal, but they were his words. His picture. Proof that he exists. Reading the words actually sounded like him, I could almost hear his voice, and that to me was a big deal since we have not spoken in over a year, no text messages and very few emails that never end well. And so I poured over each word, like I was consuming each and every one.

Reading that article made my heart race. It was like some kind of bad accident you see on the road and can't stop looking at. Or, more to the point, it was masochistic. I knew what I was doing would upset me, and it would most likely set me back. And it did.

Because what I read was this, he doesn't live in Chicago anymore. He moved to fucking Los Angeles. He moved. Left the state. And for reasons that I didn't understand at the time, I proceeded to take a GIANT leap backwards accompanied by panic and as much as I hate to admit it, I experienced the kind of hysteria that I felt in those first few weeks of the breakup.

After about 2 days, I regained my senses and came to, and when I did, I asked myself, "What the fuck just happened here?!"

I think that with him leaving, I felt like I would never get closure. He was truly gone. What was worse was that I felt like I meant absolutely nothing to him after all. He didn't care to let me know he was leaving the state and that, as mad as I am at myself about this, made me feel awful.

I talked to friends about it and I heard many different perspectives. My bestie couldn't understand why I was so upset. She thought that it was really not anything to get upset about, after-all we were broken up, he didn't own me anything, not a goodbye, not an explanation, nothing.

Other people though, thought that he should have said goodbye. That I deserved at least that. That after 9 years I deserved something. Was it respect? Or was it something else?

These questions reeled in my head, over and over, and I felt a million things.

And so, one night, after 2 days of feeling sick over the situation and arguing with myself over whether or not I had any right to be upset, I finally picked up the phone, and propelled by pure adrenaline, I sent the very first text message to him in over a year. It read, "It's been a year and I think I'm ready to talk. Will you talk to me?"

Dear Followers, Part 2 will soon follow. But first, I'll need a cigarette before I write the rest.

Lots of love to you all, I'm very happy to be back.

Le B


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