Cease and desist

All those months resisting the urge to write, and for what? A new, sad and desperate attempt to get a reaction. Just when I thought I couldn’t get any lower. Well, maybe we need to hit rock bottom to bounce back up, right? And it doesn’t hurt getting yet another confirmation of what I already knew, but was too afraid to acknowledge: no matter how many chances I’ve given and continue to give C, she’s never coming back with an apology. She’s not shown any signs of regrets, ownership, self-awareness nor even a tad of guilt. I was, as always, fighting for us completely alone. For, hopefully the last time.

“Dear Edo. I’m very hurt. And I think you are being very unfair. It hurts that you can’t see all what I sacrificed for us during our relationship. It hurts it never will be enough for you. Even though you’ve been my one love for so long. It hurts that you always will resent me and never forgive me and be able to move on the matter what. Maybe it’s because you and I understand love differently. You don’t think I deserve better, but I do. I don’t deserve this shit. So I think it’s time for us to have some time apart again. Maybe for good this time? (…)”
June 21st, 2020. 22:19

Reading her last message enraged me, back then. “The fuck you think you are, C? How dare you say any of this?” I thought, as my fingers trembled and convulsed with an angry response on their tips. But I held it. Took many deep breaths and swallowed my sorrow and justified fury under extra layers of anxiety. “Not tonight.”
Not in the rest of my lifetime, as it stands.
A year has rolled by, almost to the minute. And as the anniversary of our last words and face to face approaches, I reread her last fucking SMS. As if to seek comfort or a gram of redemption in any of her words. There’s none. My hope of there ever being one coming my way, gone. Just like her. A chapter’s been finally closed, dragged into the fading side of my history.
The last few weeks, those tortuous flashbacks of anger and pain, starring her, are coming less often and intense. Unfortunately, they are not completely vanished. I’ve missed her in eternal nights of madness and insomnia. Black demons dancing around my head, wearing a mask of her. A facade of love, of lust, of vague resemblance of peace. But there was almost no rest beside her. There was always something breaking whatever little harmony there could be. A text she’ll run to answer in another other room. Inconsistent stories on top of dissonant versions of “the truth.” An ever-changing moral compass, accompanied by a total lack of empathy, self-doubt or ethics. And the permanent gaslighting and emotional manipulation to keep me at bay, suffocated by angst, jealousy and insanity. Nah. No peace nor rest at all being with her.
“Maybe it’s because you and I understand love differently.”
No. She didn’t love me. Or not just me. Maybe she tried to convince herself she did. Or, perhaps, the sound of that had a nice ring to it. “I have a boyfriend.” Most likely, she wanted to make the colleague she was fucking jealous. “Who knows, maybe now he’ll finally leave her wife and kids for me,” she probably thought. But that was never going to happen, and he didn’t. Instead, she ended up with a broken man in her arms. A man she destroyed just because he loved her with everything he could give and more. A man who’s now done for. Dead and gone.
What she did was pathetic. Why going to all the trouble of lying constantly to get a “relationship” going, when in reality she just wanted to keep fucking around? Why not just being single? Why wasting so much time and energy living a double, triple, quadruple life? It beats me. But, if we are talking about pathetic individuals, then look no further than me. She was a lier and a cheater, but I was the idiot sticking around. Eduardo the Cuck. Bow down to me, peasants! The Emperor of Cuckold is here!
I looked her up on LinkedIn the other day. C’s moving up in her career, I saw. Good for her; at least she has that going. I’m actually glad for her. One of us made it out unscathed from the shitshow of our time together. So karma is not a thing after all, huh?
You wanna hear something sad? I do mean it. I am glad she’s doing okay. Despite she tearing me apart and fucking up any feeling of self-worth, I am trying my best to stop resenting her. It’s not worth it. Holding up to this anger is, basically, just holding on to her. It’s not hatred against her or what she did to me. It’s a profound sadness left within, for she never lived up to who she said she was and just left unfulfilled promises and ignored compromises.
What I’m facing now is not the aftermath of a toxic relationship that was, but the realization of never having had such relationship. Nor a girlfriend. Not even a person I could really say I knew. I’m mourning a fictional character that never was, still in love with a woman who never existed. A lie that every day I wish I never knew it was, irrefutably, just that. A fucking lie.
So I must stop. Cease and desist.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published.