Strategies of a Sociopathic Ego-maniacPosted: August 1, 2014
Sugar Daddy texted me again. I wanted to just forget about it, but it has been 24 hours and I’m still ruminating, so I thought if I just got it all out here, it might help me to move on.
First lesson–on an HTC smartphone, you cannot delete someone as a contact and have them remain blocked. Once they’re out of your phone, they are no longer a blocked contact. Fail.
So his text is just sitting there, staring up at me whenever I go to answer another message. And I have his number, which I don’t think will lead to any moments of weakness or drunk-dialing, but then again, it is me–you never know.
His text was under the ridiculous pretense of updating me on some condo drama of his, which I was loosely involved in. There is no way he actually thinks I care. I didn’t write back, but I was highly annoyed–both at him, and at my internal response.
I felt confused–I had a couple seconds of unreality. Then I contemplated responding–either with chit chat, or with insults. So far, I have done neither.
I started to daydream. I had conversations with him in my head, wherein I told him he didn’t just break my heart–that is too weak a term for what he did to me. I don’t know if there is a word in the English language to convey the complexity and depth of my pain, but “destroyed” seems to be most fitting. I have been slowly, painstakingly, trying to re-assemble myself, but it’s no use. There are pieces missing, swept up in the aftermath, that I will never get back. There is fear where there used to be daring, doubt where there used to be confidence, insecurity where there was once self-possession.
I don’t know what he wants from me. I don’t know why it isn’t enough. He lured me into loving him. He siphoned my worship, along with everything else. He diminished me until I was willing to kiss the ground he walked on, if he would only love me back. I would have walked on hot coals, I would have crawled across broken glass, and he knew it–but once he’d won, he lost his desire to please me. He regarded me as pathetic. And I couldn’t take that look on his face, I couldn’t take his dismissive words, I couldn’t watch as he poured his time, affection and efforts into another girl and left none for me. I would have done anything for him to love me but he couldn’t. . . so I left. And even then, he got me to admit that I still love him–worship him. He got me to admit that all I wanted from him was to understand my pain, to say that he was sorry. To treat me like a person. Instead, he turned the knife, so he could pull it out and watch me bleed.
He won. He wins. Why isn’t that enough?
I know he doesn’t want me. This isn’t about me, this is about his ego. If he wanted me–missed me–he knows where to find me. He knows where I work. He knows where I live. He knows how to pick up a phone and dial a number. But instead, he sends this ridiculous, offensive text–emblematic of his behaviour throughout our entire entanglement.
Minimum effort. Zero vulnerability. No sacrifice.
And then I wondered–why the hell would I want him to meet me after work? What would I possibly gain from a phone call, an admission of love and regret? Validation? He is a liar. He would say anything, do anything. Whether or not I hear that he is sorry makes no difference, since I can’t believe a damn word he says. And regardless, I am a different person now. There is nothing he could say or do that would make it possible for me to go back.
He is just an ego-maniac who wants to hurt me as much as he possibly can. It’s not enough to have mortally wounded me–maimed me beyond repair–he wants to go in for the kill.
Just like in the song I wrote (which I sent to him the morning after the second Jailbait fiasco), he wants to keep coming until I bleed out. He won’t let me forget, until he has added me to his pile of dead bodies and toasted his newest prey with a cup of my tears.