its pretty fitting that the last words i said to him were “fuck you.” my liberal use of expletives was just one of the little things he disliked throughout our relationship. he also disapproved of keeping an online journal. and eating sweets. and working too much. and spending time with my family. and being religious. so, one by one, i tried to give those things up. i never wrote, previously one of my only creative outlets, and grew sullen and learned to keep emotions bottled up. i never ate unhealthy food in front of him, but took to hoarding it and then binging when he wasn’t around. there was a period where i alienated myself from my family so wholly that i didn’t speak to anyone for almost two months, and i can’t look at a rosary without conjuring up the memory of standing on the porch saying goodbye after the first time we said a rosary with my family. his disgust was written plainly on his face, and i knew it wouldn’t be long before i felt the same way.
it was only after i moved and he stayed behind that i started to see how fully i had absorbed his thoughts and feelings and ideology. suddenly, i was alone, and didn’t feel like i needed him to tell me how to feel when i had new experiences. and so we grew apart. i used to have so many great memories of our time together, but i guess i’m not completely free from his grasp, because his present bitterness has tainted them all, to the point that i’ve slowly removed them from my mental catalogue.
i could never shake the feeling that he was counting up everything done, weighing significance, and coming up with a total for how much he was owed. when we went to college he chose not to get a job, because his parents paid for all of his things. i had previously worked like mad (much to his chagrin,) but had slowly grown more lazy, and finally decided to devote my time to him instead of being fiscally responsible. this led me to rely too heavily on student loans and ultimately i was in a tough position—i couldn’t pay my rent. i can’t say that its all his fault that i’m horrible with money, as i’m naturally a poor saver and will probably always like the more sumptuous things in life. in reality, i should’ve been more careful, and have been reaping what i’ve sown for months now.
and so it goes that i owe him a grand…and make less than that in a month. in a way, i want to just pay it, as the last bit of baggage before a good riddance can be muttered over my shoulder, but i sometimes feel like i don’t owe him shit, especially after how he’s acted toward me since the break-up. and when you add up all the time spent cooking and caring for him, all the time away from my family, the countless words swallowed down instead of spilt on a page…but they weren’t factored into his “grand alegbra” and so are worth nothing. mostly i’m just irked that the shackles of my emotional servitude still dig in to my wrists so keenly. i suppose i’ll never feel completely free while he’s still so angry about our past.