Things you’d say to an ex.
Now it’s getting real.
This is a subject that I’ve spent quite a bit of time pondering; early on it was quite the obsession. The Douche’s two major communication skills are hearing only what he wants to hear and taking what I said and twisting it to use against me. The only way to deal with that is to put things in black and white. And so time and time again I put those thoughts to words, clattering furiously across the keyboard.
I’ve forced unruly emotions – my rage, my betrayal, my pain – into orderly lines of text. Then I deleted it.
Rewrite. I asked questions I knew I’d never get forthright answers to. I deleted them.
Edit. I drank too much wine and lashed out ruthlessly. I went numb, analyzed and observed, coldly detached. I deleted that too.
Rewrite. Rewrite. Rewrite. I accused. I intellectualized. I rebuked. I deleted it all.
I finally came to the realization that there was nothing to be said. No matter how carefully I chose my words, no matter how eloquently I expressed my feelings, it couldn’t change anything. He had made it very clear, he didn’t want to know. He didn’t care because he is completely lacking in empathy; he’s narcissistic to the core.
I felt pretty good about that decision. About this time last year he started sniffing around, trying to weasel his way back into my life. He wanted to get together and talk, he wanted to “come home.” After several weeks of ignoring his overtures, I finally had to tell him to stop – if he had anything he desperately needed to communicate he could do so through my lawyer.
Today, I think I could forego the stoic silence and give him one sentence. It’s the power line from an iconic movie and has always stuck with me. (It’s probably 99% true and I’m working on the 1% everyday.)
You have no power over me.