Rehashing the past

I sent a message to M this week. I wanted to give him the news that I had been offered the job I told him about. After being told that saying "I miss you" was too painful for him, I pulled way back. Stopped making the first move in conversations. I only asked about weather, kids, work.

His answer was arrogant. He's really good, actually. He's "seeing someone, which is strange to say" to me and "kinda sad, but time." His life is so full at the moment, yadda yadda. It went through me like a bullet, tears started streaming out of my eyes before I could even process the words. I can't feel jealousy, we've been apart for 9 months, a few quick and dirty meetups in that time. It was just the way he said it, so much like when I would hear him telling Buddy to shut up or quit sniffing trees. For someone who is such a do gooder, that was a hurtful way of saying something that didn't even need to be said. If he thinks it's strange and sad to tell me about it, then it's even stranger and sadder for me to be sitting here hurting over it. He treated me badly. He guilted me into everything. Made sure I knew every time I overstepped or understepped. He tried to instruct me about being Jewish, how to eat and socialize, who to be friends with, who to work for and why.

I often wonder why I was attracted to a man like him. Or if I truly was attracted, or just infatuated with the notion that an older, smarter man wanted to sleep with a divorced mom in her 40's. I let him treat me like garbage. He left me alone to pay the bill at breakfast more than once. He hated my driving and even took the wheel of my car because he didn't want to be a passenger. He constantly worried about his bowels. He had narcissistic bowels. His bowels were the third wheel in our relationship. Our "relationship" was nothing but a band-aid. I'm plagiarizing Orange is the New Black here. He was nothing but a band-aid, during a time when I was hurt, bleeding to death from my shame and misery. And now that I'm getting better, I've ripped off the band-aid, and all I see is a scar. I'm ready to heal, and looking at the scar is a painful reminder of how hurt I was in the first place.

I don't need him, he gives me nothing but superficial reassurances, followed by shallow-grave references to how I took something away from him. I'm doing us both a huge favor by never speaking to him again. New season, new home, new job, new friends, new authentic self.