I sat back, closed my laptop lid and stared at the wall. “Wow… Fuck… Wow…” Couldn’t say more than those two words for the next ten minutes. I was shocked, with too many emotions trying to escape through my eyes and too many thoughts, slamming the doors of my mind. “Fuck… Wow…”
Meeting Anna left me wanting more than just one last sleepover with her. I craved more blasts of the past. More closure. More healing. And, among all those women and above all those stories, there was one to rule them all. The One. The root of all my regret, the very source of the deepest, darkest void within.
I crossed a bridge made of ashes into the unknown, carefully crafting a message meant to serve as both amend and reconnection. I knew that reaching out again, after all what’s been said and done, wouldn’t be well received. But the odd chance of there being a good conversation, or even a friendship, comforted me. Until I got the answer, of course. That fucked me over. Completely.
I told The Moroccan, as I ended our relationship a few days after getting L’s message, that my ex described me as an abuser. “So I can’t be with you. I can’t be with anyone,” I said. And I cried, feeling weak and devastated. For I had failed. “I just wanted to be good. All I’ve ever wanted is to be good, but I can’t. I keep hurting everyone,” I sobbed, feeling more than ever as that lonely, broken boy inside. She held me in her arms until my tears went dry. “You are a good man, Eduardo,” she said, caressing me softly. I didn’t know if I could believe her. I didn’t know what to believe anymore.
The years feel so fucking useless. I was psychologically, emotionally and physically abused by my parents and the school bullies, just to grow up and experience more of that abuse by friends, lovers, bosses, colleagues and so on. For fucking what? To learn what? Fuck all.
I feel like a puppet of destiny, curse to repeat the “Like father, like son” story. I’m nothing but a younger, shittier version of my fucking crap of a father. No wonder I’m an alcoholic, anxious and depressed sex addict, on the highway to self-destruction. Fucking myself up to kill every trace of him in me. Poetic bullshit right there.
Reading the resentful words of my ex was a painful eye-opener. Unintentionally, I became her emotional abuser. Whatever the reasons or the madness that drove me to become that beast don’t matter. Excuses can’t change the outcome of our toxic relationship nor wash her suffering away. And even though I have decided to change for the better and stay away from women, nothing I do will make a difference for her. It’s so fucking helpless. How powerless can a man be?