Last week, or so, Edna deigned to text me after I’ve been texting her wishes of “good mornings” to her. She related to me about how she’s found someone through her Philadelphia polyamory group, how her husband is not happy with the situation, and shared a may-may about how your relationship should only be important to yourself and not the general public.
For one reason or another, I hit my breaking point and lost my shit at her. Maybe it was the principle of measurement. How many times does someone do something for you versus how many times you do something for them? Edna rarely ever reached out to me after the business partnership, unless it was related to business like shipping a package of receipts and other stuff to a client. On the other hand, I reflected that I did most of those things because I wanted acknowledgement and affirmation from someone who became important to my life rather than having her organically give it to me. Someone who gave me affection, honesty, and, most importantly, understanding. Three things I’ve lacked, and continue to lack, as of this writing.
Maybe it was jealousy which was walled off by denial.
Either way, I am blaming myself a lot and not accepting that I am just a human being with weaknesses and foibles like all the other eusocial primates.
But I went off at length about how she’s been particularly shitty. How it seems like she’s doing “nice” ghosting. If I get the balls to dip into that thread then I’ll copy and paste it here for the sake of posterity.
Just not tonight.
Afterwards, I felt numb. Later in the afternoon a black mood came over me. I took out the office garbage, my work-related field trip of the day, and as I walked around the building to come back inside I was muttering, “Fuck this gay planet. Fuck the oxygen everyone breathes. Fuck every stick of life. Burn it all.” and so forth.
When I saw my therapist on Friday, she affirmed that I am human, I’m entitled to have these feelings, and expressed understanding about how I felt so hurt to perceive that I’m no longer important to someone who was once so important to me as a human being. Never a lover, unfortunately. Or maybe fortunately?
Maybe Edna was naïve, since she never goes out and lives inside a cocoon of lies known as religion. After all, one of her recent employers hit on her hard which got her into an awkward situation. When she related this to me, she said how her husband explained getting a woman drunk then pushing personal space is typical. Her husband did his best to illustrate how she was naïve. Then again, every now and again she’d bring up how she just went with her sexual desires starting at the age of 14, telling some kid point blank that he’s going to fuck her, then how they would have a rendezvous in the middle school stairway on occasion. It’s this paradox that makes me think she’s just manipulative.
Moreso, I reckon she’s manipulative because of this guy she knows called Dave. He’s a sommelier, someone who tastes wine and makes recommendations, and when I met him I got a really awkward vibe from him. Like he was looking at me with jealousy that I was with Edna. Somehow, in the past, he had been in my place while feeling like the king of the world. Now, he’s lucky to get a “kind”, but ultimately cruel ,sentiment of, “You’ll always be such a good friend to me.”
Now I’m “Dave”.
Then again, Edna is nearly 70 miles away from me. There is no reason for her to pay me a social call, regardless if I had shared my sentiments or not. And what then if she did stop by? Dredge up Leah’s resentment and anger? Push all my “good”buttons, the triggers which make me thrive rather than devolve?
But I’ll never have someone stop me when I’m going off the deep end with anxiety and anger, tell me “Look at me” and have her look back at me as an affirmation that I’m a human being and she might somehow understand the black tangle of wrath that’s been knotted up since I was knee-high to a junebug.