It’s funny how much your life can change it fourteen days. Two little weeks. Half a month.
Two weeks ago, I couldn’t have been happier. I had a boy that wanted me. I was going home, I love home! Thanksgiving was coming. Food! And with it brought Black Friday. One of my favorite days of the year.
What happened?
In fourteen days, I simultaneously rekindled and ruined my relationship with the Ex. My mom stopped talking to me. I started smoking. I slept with a man that I hate, and hurt the one person who’s ever been really in love with me.
In fourteen days, I ruined everything.
Weeks ago, I called the Ex. Our communication up until that point had been non-existent since our last failed attempt and a relationship. I called him as a result of a small fight I had with the Mistress. I called him out of desperation and slowly our friendship rebuilt itself. It was nice, having him in my life again. It thrills me, how happy he is to see me. It’s like not right for anyone to be that happy to see me. Me! But he always happy to see me. And our friendship again blossomed into something more. But I didn’t want to commit to him. I didn’t want that full-blown, hand-holding, spooning at night, no you have the last piece of pizza deal. I didn’t. I don’t know why. I just wanted him. Not the other stuff. In retrospect, I should have considered myself lucky that he wanted me in that way. (Me!) And so when I went home for break, and when he told me he wanted me “officially” I couldn’t do it. And he got mad. Said just the right things to hurt me the most. A horrible disadvantage of letting people in: They know how to hurt you all the more.
So I ran. I left his North-Side home to the closest man I could find. the Evil One. The man that not even month ago was still painfully stringing me along. Toying with my emotions because he was bored. I knocked on his door, and though he was surprised, he was also happy to see me. (Me!) And we did what grown gay men do best.
No, we didn’t open an antique store or decorate a house, ahole.
Afterwards, I felt so horrible. It was something similar to what I imagine a prostitute must feel. I couldn’t even look at myself. (And I love to look at myself.) What was I doing? Sleeping with a man I hated. I left his house with the promise of having Thanksgiving dinner with him. Friday, when I saw the Ex, I had every intention of commiting and giving myself to him, the way he wanted. But when I saw him, all I could remember were the cruel words he spat at me, and the ease with which he did it. And I couldn’t contain my anger. It was like burning in my throat, and I wanted to hurt him like he hurt me. So I told him, in great detail, how I’d fucked the Evil One. And how much better it was with the Evil One. (Not exactly a lie, but information he didn’t need to know, nonetheless.) And I did hurt him. I saw it in his eyes. Like he had hurt me so many times before, I finally had this chance to hurt him. And even though it had been three years since he’d first cheated on me, even though it had been two years since he hid his heroin addiction from me, even though it had been a year since he cheated on me the second time, each wound still burned hot. I got to do the hurting now. Me.
But as I stood there, looking at him, looking at me like a monster. I felt like shit. It wasn’t gratifying or rewarding. It made me feel worse. Yay, I hurt him. Go me. It didn’t make me feel any better. About anything. So, as sat her there, trying to wrap his head around this I left. And we haven’t talked since.
I had dinner with the Evil One on Thanksgiving. Lunch, really. I hated him for … being him. I hated him for thinking this was fun. We fucked again. We haven’t talked since.
On the drive home, I found a pack of cigarettes in my car, no doubt left by its true owner (the Dragon Lady’s fiancee), and I just started smoking. It was fanfuckingtastic. I concentrated on that small white stick, and puffed all my problems away.
So here I am. A young adult, who’s mother has all but disowned him. A gay man in love with a hetero. A man not able to commit to the one person that has ever been in love with him.
I’m going to stop, before I get all melodramatic and start babbling how I don’t recognize my own face in the mirror.
I’m praying that the next fourteen days bring about as much change as the last.
