Rant of the day
In an effort to further torture myself, I started to mentally tally items I wished I could return to him. Photos of us/him on my iPhone, the toothbrush he bought to leave at my place, ya know, my hopes and dreams. When, in the middle of my anger tally, I realized he had something of mine. Something I actually wanted back. My awesome back pack I used in Costa Rica.
I was horrified. I wanted it back dammit, but the thought of contacting him again made me throw up in my mouth a little bit. After conferring with my sanity consultants, the general consensus was shoot a quick email, to the point, no fluff, and ask it to be mailed.
So I did. I didn’t expect a response - or even for him to acknowledge it. I fully expect to receive the backpack mashed up in a manila envelope with no note.
Instead, seconds later, I got: I’m 99% sure I returned it to you. I’m still out of NYC but will look when I get back. I’m sorry I haven’t replied to your wonderful emails. It’s just too hard. I hope you are doing ok.
Now I’m on an emotional rampage. What the hell does he mean by “It’s just too hard”. What’s too hard for him? Ignoring I exist? Cause it seems like he’s doing a bang up easy job of it.
I hate him for running away. And I hate him for saying this is “hard” for him. He decided I wasn’t what was best for him. He’s the one that ran away. So what on earth is hard for you mate?
I want to tell him to go to hell. That no, I’m not doing ok, but you don’t deserve to know that any more. Because you are the definition of a coward. And if you had the guts to actually live your life, instead of wallow in it, I wouldn’t be writing any of this.
But I won’t. Because I have pride and need to move the fuck on.