I’m shaking because I just did something that I haven’t allowed myself to do all summer, I looked at his Facebook page. See memories have been popping up from our engagement and I have been waiting for the one post that got the most likes ever, my rose gold, 1.5 karat diamond ring photo with freshly manicured nails. I think I deleted it last year. It’s not coming around with all the other wacky stuff I have posted through the years. The first ring, the one he used to propose with did but not the picture of the one that I picked out after. I loved that ring. It was pink. Shiny, dainty and fit on my finger nicely, too bad the relationship didn’t match it.
He proposed in a Mexican restaurant while I was crying about wanting to move home and I was stressed out about money and having to do everything myself for my house and yard. I was seriously hung over that day. I was having a Margarita to ease the pain and crying on my taco when he starts in on what I thought was a pep talk but turned into him pulling out a ring. I was stunned. A little embarrassed, not wanting anyone else in the restaurant to see what was going on at our table, so I ordered another couple of drinks and we finally left, I had meekly said yes. I think it was four years ago. Timelines are fuzzy now.
We called our moms that night with the good news. I don’t think his mama was that on board with it because it was a very long drawn out discussion in Spanish while he paced outside in the dark. She did send me a dozen yellow roses a few days later but I could tell from day one that she was fighting to be number one in his life. She’s a whole other gambit to the story of the breakdown of our relationship. He’s her only child, she never married, he grew up in a house with his mother, two aunts and grandmother in Virginia. She’s an immigrant from Columbia and she stopped speaking English in front of me shortly after that first Christmas. He didn’t speak to me for two weeks when I told him “to get his balls out of his mother’s purse” so I hope that gives insight to their relationship and how it impeded ours.
I had just completed two months of intensive outpatient treatment for Anorexia and he had come to all the family support meetings. I was still drinking because I thought I was winning the recovery thing when I had gained weight and was starting to deal with my dangerous ways of starving myself. Looking back now, if I am honest, I was drinking to cope in the relationship. But then, around Thanksgiving he announced that he was going to Al-anon to deal with my drinking and I lost it. I was home, having some wine and he called and told me over the phone. I was so pissed. So angry. Really? My mother went to Al-anon and it saved her life from the narcissistic asshole of my father. I was not my father and he was putting me in that category and he had just fucked with the wrong thing.
And so what do I do? The next smartest thing I could possibly do, I called my ex boyfriend that I still wasn’t over yet. (I don’t know if I will ever really be over him but I am ok with it now) I didn’t think he would answer the phone. He did. I asked him if he had any weed and told him what had just happened and he invited me over to get high. We ended up having sex that night. I took my ring off, put it on the night stand and proceeded with one of the most shameful things I have ever done. (I might barf right now just typing this out) Shortly after this incident I went to Las Vegas to visit my dear friend whose partner had died the Sunday after Thanksgiving in his sleep and I felt that I needed to be there for him. I thought I could sort myself out and decide what to do but all we did was drink and lay around with hangovers and watch bad TV and occasionally visit the casinos. It was just before Christmas and I returned to Tennessee to have Christmas with the fiance and secret pot smoking sessions with the other ex.
In January, the fiance and I broke off the engagement. He demanded the ring back. I spent the next six months going back and forth between the two guys. I started therapy. I had an awful bout of depression and suicidal ideations. And then in June my first attempt at sobriety, I got almost 200 days in a row. The ex fiance and I were trying to work things out and the other one was slowly circling the drain with cocaine use that I had no idea he was using. It was normal for him to disappear and reappear and I knew I couldn’t rely on him. On Christmas Eve, at day 198, I drank a bottle of wine because the ex fiance’s mother had changed our plans because she needed a refrigerator for the house that she had bought but wasn’t going to move into because she would rather rent it out and live with him so of course, that’s what he had to do instead of considering my feelings or honoring the plans we had made. I only had one day off during that time, Christmas and I spent it in bed, hung over, isolating and seriously contemplating the noose that was hanging in my attic. I’m sorry to say but it hung there until I got my house ready for the listing, just in case. There were a few drunken nights that I would climb up there and put it around my neck and cut off my oxygen just to see if I had the guts.
That January, I went back to my therapist. I had fired her for a while. I went back to treatment for the eating disorder but was in a less intensive program. I only had to eat three meals a week with them instead of ten and twenty snacks. The cocaine boyfriend started coming to the group family nights. He entered therapy and NA and I don’t know what I was doing, I had this blog. I was attempting sobriety. I was drinking. I was feeling better. I was in therapy. I was working. I was contemplating changing my life by selling my house and moving back to Utah. I was trying to fix relationships.
I started this post shaking from looking at his Facebook. He has remained in my life. We chatted with whatsapp while I was in Spain. I thought for some reason, maybe, maybe we could be something again because he was flirty and interested and caring about what I was up to. But, shortly after I returned from Spain he told me had met a girl that he really liked. A fat girl. I saw her picture. He hated fat girls and would tell me about it a lot while I was in treatment. I think he secretly liked the fact that I was anorexic because it was some sort of guarantee that I wouldn’t ever gain weight.
So, I unfollowed him and refused to look at his posts and told him that he was welcomed to look at mine but please don’t like or comment anymore. He stopped. And in the back of my mind, I would imagine him putting her on a diet, like he did with me and my drinking. He told me I mustn’t drink but then he would drink in front of me but he could stop- I was the alcoholic. We argued about that a hundred times. So, my sadistic self would image him eating fatty foods in front of her and ordering her a salad out of the love he had for her. By the way, he only went to like five Al-anon meetings in total, just enough to give him fuel but not enough to work.
So, why did I look at his page? Curiosity and Irma- he has family in Florida and sometimes his mother stays there. I wish I could say that I wasn’t hoping she had been water-logged. The girlfriend hasn’t been in any posts since July. I do owe him for opening my eyes to how much I was drinking and looking back, what a shit show. And there is a soft spot in my heart for him. That’s not who I want to be, I’m horrified that I thought that any of it was ok. I know my drinking ruined things for me and others. I don’t know what my life would be like if I hadn’t been a party girl. It shaped my life. It is what it is. Would I go back and changes things? Yes, but that isn’t an option and a waste of energy and brain space.
I’m in a much better place. Right this moment I really want to drink. It’s day 22 but I am not going to because I am moving on… to better, happier and healthier places and relationships. It’s lonely but at least there isn’t a noose hanging near by – I call that progress.