Come mid-August, it will be 11 long years since the ex left me, getting on a plane to Europe to disappear forever.
Looking back on it now, I dodged one hell of a fucking bullet; I’ve kept track of my ex, and I know what happened to her, the man she ended up marrying, and her kids. There, but for the grace of God, go I, my sons.
I don’t think my ex ever consciously meant to use me as an ATM–if she had, she would not have told me so much of the man she did end up with. But, she did–and she would still be doing so today, were we still together.
It was this post that got me to thinking about my initial meeting with my ex, and the mistakes that I made; Lord Almighty, I cringe at the mistakes I have made–yes, even the flowers I brought to the first date. I was Beta (Gamma, by Vox Day’s metric), and she treated me as such. Every day, from the point I found out my cancer had departed, must be a day that I say, “Never Again”–and mean it.
Which is why this post is so bloody disheartening. Nothing sucks the wind out of one’s sails than to realize that one can fall back into old habits so damn easily–and I have; I’ve tipped my hand to one of the hotties up on 9, and I can see her contempt in her eyes every time she walks past the desk.
“Hindsight is wonderful-it shows you how you busted your skull after you’ve busted it.” ~Robert Heinlein, Friday
Fuck it. Regroup, recover, and soldier on. Move forward, or die–and I’m not going to face God like this, damn it.