kiwifruit's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- What A Girl's Gotta Do Sometimes a girl�s gotta do what a girl�s gotta do. Having just taken a huge blow to my ego (not to mention the state of my heart�broken into a million pieces thanks very much), I have spent the last three nights sucking down wine and Grey Goose vodka. I realize that eventually I will have to sober up and deal with the reality of the situation. But I think I�ll put it off until Saturday when C. is coming to the apartment with a moving truck to help me put everything into storage. Fun fact: Saturday would have been our one year, 10 month anniversary. Somehow moving out of the apartment that you once shared with the man you thought you were going to marry isn�t exactly how I would want to spend that day. I am trying to take the high road here (although I often have lapses into absolute bitterness and cruelty�more on this later). I simply want to get through Saturday with as few tears and emotions as possible. He says that we can �talk� on Saturday too. I don�t think I can. I don�t want to hear why he fell out of love with me�that will not make me feel better. I don�t want to analyze every aspect of our relationship and why it didn�t work. I don�t want to hear about how �sorry� he is. I just want out. I just want to have it all over with. I don�t want to rage at him or let him see how torn apart I am (although that will be challenging). As hard as this is. As sad as it is, there is a part of me that thinks this is for the best. Throughout our entire relationship I always knew that there were certain issues that would make it difficult for us to make it. I tried very hard to ignore these things, to tell myself that all the good in him made up for the bad. I don�t know if I ever would have had the strength to leave him. But now I can say it out loud. I can admit it. He was an alcoholic. And given my behavior over the last three days I�m not really one to be throwing stones. But there is a difference between having a few (too many) cocktails and getting blind drunk on a thrice-weekly basis. There is a difference between being a little tipsy and not being able to walk or keep one�s head up. And in the end, this is not what I want for my life. I don�t want to wake up next to someone passed out in his clothes, stinking of Jack Daniels and cigarettes, unable to speak other than to beg me to bring him three aspirin. No. That�s not exactly the life I envisioned for myself. It got to the point where I couldn�t enjoy myself anymore when we went out because I was always watching him, counting the drinks that he ordered (and we�re talking like 15 Jack & cokes in a night, sometimes more). I would spend the entire night begging him to �Please not get too drunk tonight. To please just hold it together�. And he would promise. And then he�d be passed out in the cab ride home next to me, head bobbing up and down slurring his words and dropping all his money and cell phone on the floor as he tried to pay the cabbie. There were so many times he made promises to me and didn�t keep them because of his drinking. There were so many times he lied to me about what he�d done or where he�d been the night before to cover up his drinking or drug use. In writing this, I realize how absolutely insane I was to think things would get better. And it feels good. It feels good to finally be able to get it out. It is sad really. He was such an amazing human being when he was sober. And he has such a good heart. But he has so much crap deep down inside that he is completely unable to deal with. And I don�t want to be his mother anymore. So, that being said�what do I do last night? Spent a few hours in my apartment with a girlfriend and a bottle of wine, packing up my life and throwing out a lot of love letters and photos and so on. Oh yeah and also using some of C.'s CDs as frisbees and tossing them across the room (see there's a little bit of bitterness for you). Oh, I also took a photo of C., myself and his misogynistic best friend and applied a sticker that says, "This promotes woman hating", I then posted said photo on the fridge.(This "friend",was supposedly a good friend of mine as well, but he constantly stabbed me in the back in the hopes of getting C. back into the single boy frat mafia so he could have a partner in crime. I can't count the number of nights he would drag C. out for around 9 thousand cocktails telling C. to "Fuck her. She can't run your life.) After this fun little project I decided to call it quits and we hit "our" wine bar again. And what can I say? A few hours later I am making with a delicious 25-year old. Yeah well, like I said, a girl�s gotta do what a girl�s gotta do. And it was fun. And he was unbelievably sexy. You know that little lower lip nibble thing? He�s got it down. In fact nothing would make me happier than to spend around 24-hours sucking face with this man. He was that good. Black hair, blue eyes, Irish/Italian�seriously a good dose of medicine for more bruised ego. Delicious. But don�t worry folks�I am only drowning my sorrows in the only ways I know how�serial dating and staying out until all hours doing some serious bonding with the gals. Next week I will eat more than half a balance bar a day. I will get back into the gym and downward dog that fucker out of my system. I will start pulling the pieces together. Right now I just need some numbness and some meaningless snogging. There will be plenty of time for listening to Van Morrison and crying later. La di da. La di da. 2:09 p.m. - 2002-11-15 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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