You Probably Think This Write is About You

Well, well. What have we here? That bit of drivel may or may not have been written by you personally, but there is enough of you in there that it has become clear that there is a wee bit of misunderstanding occurring. Time to clear that up, I think.

I said Goodbye to you months ago, and make no mistake, I meant it. You see, I always mean what I say. Even when I am writing in another voice. Please try to understand that what follows is no exception.

This could well be an unpleasant read for someone such as yourself, but I am certain you will devise a way to frame it such that you will still be able to maintain that incredibly exalted image of yourself that you so very carefully cultivate, so here goes…

You did realize, didn’t you, that when I was with you, I was slumming? Come on, now. Women like me do not settle for men like you. At least not for long. There is such a thing as league, and Baby, you are nowhere near mine. This is not Disney movie, and life just doesn’t work that way. Sorry. I was a little raw, a little clueless. I believed some of the things I was told by individuals who, in retrospect, have much in common with you. You see, when a woman is attractive, bright, and loved, those lies always have a limited shelf life. You slid into a very narrow window, a slice of alternate universe where a woman far, far better than you will ever be would not only take you seriously, but undervalue herself enough to actually fall for your carefully-crafted image.

Did you know that, even when I cared about you, I questioned this? Do you know that, when we were together, I was bored beyond reason? Do you know that when you said “I like you because you can keep up with me,” I nearly choked, amazed that you didn’t realize how very much I had to dumb myself down to converse with you? That the first time I saw you, I nearly got into my car and drove away once I saw what you really looked like? Did you know that, the many times I pressed you to just sack up for once and let me go, that I was really hoping you would? I had no desire to raise a man-boy who had long ago decided to remain a loser. I knew I had neither the time nor the energy to raise yet another child, and likely his children as well, if it ever came to that. For fuck’s sake…Other than the sex, the whole reason I was even with you was because I felt kinda obligated…

I had a dream the other night.  A nightmare, really.  I dreamed that I had stayed with you.  I woke in a panic similar to what I feel when I dream that I never got divorced.  The relief of waking and NOT finding you sprawled in my bed was nearly indescribable…Ah, what might have been…Imagine it.  Living with a convicted felon, one who chooses to take unemployment every winter instead of working.  Who cannot maintain a checking account.  Whose son thought it would be OK to bring illegal drugs into my home.  Who, at the age of forty, doesn’t even have a vehicle of his own.   Who actually stole cash from me.  Wow.  The physical piece had already begun to lose its luster.  I thought it was because you had stopped making an effort, but I think it’s more likely that my intellect was waking from its deep, deep slumber, and interfering with my misconceptions about you…Namely, that you possess any worthwhile qualities whatsoever.

It was much more than that, though. I could handle being with a guy who was not bright, attractive, or successful. I’m not COMPLETELY shallow, after all. What I couldn’t handle, what I suspected strongly from the time I first met you, what I realized for sure when I finally saw you through Pharyngula eyes, is the fact that you are utterly hollow. An illusion. An Internet mirage.

You are a fake.  I suspected it when I read the blog where you described yourself as old-fashioned – said that you didn’t believe a woman should have to pay on a date.  Seemed odd, as I always footed the bill…Your constant racist, homophobic jokes were a stark contrast to your “sensitive guy” image.  Your lies weren’t even convincing…

It didn’t happen overnight. I had never allowed myself to fall before, and thus, was unfamiliar with how to deal with things once I did. Particularly when I found myself enamored of a person I knew deep down I neither liked nor respected. And especially when that person was intent on playing games with me. I did get the hint, you unutterable douchebag. And I told you I noticed. You were the one who told me I was paranoid. That my perception of your distant behavior was all in my head, that everything was just dandy. And I also bought your solemn promise that, once it was over (which we both knew was only a matter of time) you would talk with me about it. Like grownups.  If only you had done that, I would have drifted away with a sigh of relief and nary a backward glance.  But no.  Instead you kept me dangling.  I still maintain that the reason you refused to let me go officially was because you wanted me to hang around your harem, pining over you like your other exes. What an ego-boost, eh? Proclaiming to the world that a woman way, way out of your league was stalking you…Makes you look like a stud, no? BTW – Did you ever tell T you called her a stalker, too? I saved that email, you know. If not, no matter. It seems she may possibly have looked past Oz’s curtain and found the tiny little man sitting there already…If not, she will soon enough…

I did go on the blogsite because I knew you lurked there…weird, since you were banned long ago. Imagine. A banned blogsite member lurking. Hm… But I needed to write you away, and I needed to make it clear that your impact on me was not inconsequential at the time.  Yes, I wept out my disillusion, my bewilderment.  See, I didn’t realize that, for some people lying is baseline.  Some those posts were inaccurate.  For instance, when I said you were neither a loser nor a douche I was sorely mistaken.  You are both, I’m afraid.  As to pumping your cyber-friends for info?  Not so much.  I did find it odd that L had to comment on every weepy blog I wrote, and that she sent me a friend request right after I started there.  I didn’t think she could possibly have been dumb enough to miss that little cut-and-paste paragraph.  Matter of fact, I still doubt she missed it at all…

I did eventually figure out what you were.  Hence my booty call with my friend – The one I made absolutely certain you read about.  Did you enjoy that?  I hope so – I sure did!…Once I realized that I had dodged a bullet with you, the website became about the website and about me. Not you. I had fun writing, and my skills grew quickly. No more weepy blogs.  References to you became sidenotes – which is what you had become by then.  You see, I realized that the one I thought I loved never existed.  That guy was smart.  He was deep.  He was devoted to me.  You were never any of those things.  Once I figured that out, I lost any interest I ever had in you.  Shite.  You’re not even a very good writer, unless one has an appetite for self-glorifying glurge…Like the section of memoirs you sent me…Yikes…How’s the publishing going, BTW?;-)

I digress. You know the truth. You are aware that I never, ever, not even once, texted or called you late at night. That the one time I showed up at your miserable little apartment without calling was when you had asked me to take off work to hang with you that day, and the reason I didn’t call?  Well, apparently you had “lost” your phone, and couldn’t contact me any other way, since your power was turned off for nonpayment.  Lord.  I WAS gullible, wasn’t I?  …And now you know that the blogsite and the ensuing drama had almost nothing to do with you at all after the first few weeks.

You are utterly inconsequential. You will always be inconsequential, except as a cautionary tale about the difference between real life and the Internet. You, I think, will continue to exist in your weird cyber-reality…a place where people who have never met you are your sole source of validation.  You will never have a “real” relationship with a woman…Just cyber-queen LDR and maybe a few strippers here and there.  You see, any woman who deals with you in the day-to-day will soon discover that, while you put up a good written front for the untrained eye, there is nothing underneath.  You chose this. It’s hard being real. Opening yourself up to criticism. Look what happened to you on Freethoughts. Real people might just tell you that you are a fake. I told you in the one and only communication since I severed ties once and for all that you have potential, if only you would stop depending on mindless drones for affirmation. I was wrong yet again. You never will.

So. Let it be known that I am over you. Have been for a while. I am embarrassed that I ever dated you at all, let alone fell for you. So why am I responding, even in a way where you would have to stalk me to see it? Because…The humiliation of ever having cared about you at all is huge, but the humiliation of hearing an utter go-nowhere loser say I stalked him? More than I can take.

When bad things happen to you, please realize it is not due to the actions of your spurned former lover(s). It’s karma. As much of a bitch as I can be, that chick is much, much worse. Enjoy.