texted me I had to text back. I didn’t want to “hurt him.”
Was I really afraid of hurting him? I don’t know. Maybe I was afraid of what he would think of me if I ignored him, that I was a “bitch” and not wonderful. Maybe I was just afraid of cutting off my supply.
Eventually, the pain of waiting for texts from the drug-person outweighed the highs. I said my final goodbye. I blocked him on my phone.
I then went through a period of grieving much deeper than I ever went through in quitting the drug-person before. I cried about deaths that happened fifteen years ago. I cried about having to grow up. (FYI: It’s probably never really about the person you think you’re obsessed with. It’s about old pain.)
A few weeks ago, I found myself doing really well, better than all of the times I’ve quit him before. When I dreamt of him, the dreams were no longer full of lust and ache. Even in my dreams I knew that we weren’t right for each other. I dreamt that I flew over his apartment building in a helicopter. The building looked beautiful and he called to me to come in through the roof. But I didn’t go. It’s as if even my subconscious version of him was ruined. I felt glad it was ruined. I felt strong and free.
Then, the drug-person got in touch again, twice. Perhaps he sensed that I had healed and he didn’t want to be forgotten. Perhaps he didn’t want me to feel like I’d been forgotten. No one wants to be forgotten.
First he commented on one of my FB posts. In the past, whenever he used to do this it would get me high. But this time, when I saw the comment I was like fuck. I felt doom. Should I “like” it? If I didn’t “like” it I would appear cold-hearted. But if I “liked” it, I’d be breaking my rule of no contact and also potentially encouraging him to contact me again. I didn’t “like” it. I felt good.
A few days later, he sent me a series of messages on FB. I didn’t know what to do, so I decided that I would just ignore the messages and let them sit there forever.
This essay was supposed to be about not checking the messages. But I am a human being, so obviously that didn’t work out.
I didn’t check the messages for two days. Then, I went down the rabbit hole of my compulsion into a gorgeous, grammatically hellacious cascade of his drunken messages.
He said: its incribly hard not to harass you i love you still obsivously
He said: i still visit your shit to sniff and i love the semlaall… in the romandic way of the beauy adnd the best…
He said: god i already regret this communication… howefver i must say that i huhhhh… the longer the type the lobgner i realize my mistake… i love u so much… i love ur life… i am crying… you are th e best human.… im sorry im in marrakech… i am very drunk in morroccoan country…
It was then I realized that he, too, is probably an addict of some sort. Anyone who can meet my level of intensity can’t be totally normal.
He said: ugh… i have failed u my queen. oh i only mean to communicate that u are the best one and anything else i wish i would be vaporized for… no need to respond please… u are the only 1
Then he said: Please ignore me, I just want to leave you alone. Really sorry :/
This essay was supposed to be about how I ignored him. But I am a human being, so obviously that didn’t work out.
I said: please do not throw words like this at me drunk, because i am a very sensitive human being with real feelings and am not an object (which is hypocritical because i guess i treated you like an object in some ways)
I said: it is very easy to tell me you love me when it is over and you are thousands of miles away in a foreign country
I said: could you love me at your front door?
I said: i don’t think you could.
I didn’t think he could. And even if he said he could it wouldn’t mean he could. It wouldn’t mean I could. But of course I wanted him to say he could, whether or not either of us could.
He said: i don’t know what i