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Another rant for another ex

April 25, 2013

(I’ve got a lot of them [exes], although to be fair, we’re mostly on good terms.)

I have an autoimmune “condition.” I thought I’d say condition here because it sounds less severe than disease, but I’m starting to regret that. So go ahead and assume I have HIV. I don’t. I likely wouldn’t tell you if I did, but I don’t. I have, simply put, a “condition.”  My body keeps trying to eat itself, more or less. You know how parents tell their kids that if they make a stupid face, they’ll get stuck that way? Apparently, if you hate your body enough for long enough and spew enough self-deprecating comments at yourself in the mirror, your body will try to self-destruct. Damn you, self-fulfilling prophecies… Harumph.

I would like, henceforth, to call the ex in question “Too little too late” for his uncanny ability to creep back into my life at the least opportune of times.

No, that’s not fair. The time isn’t inopportune. No matter his timing, he will always have been “too little too late.”

“I was just going to break up with my (now) ex, but then you started dating someone else…”

“I just needed time to get my head straight, but you didn’t have a place for me in your heart…”


So he once told me, in the midst of a night of soul-bearing drunkenness after our (first? second? third?) breakup that my “condition” was, at least in part, what ruined our relationship.


Mind you, this is not a contagious condition. Oh, no, I’m one of those lucky sonsuvbitches who come down with an incurable and mysteriously caused illness that people, doctors included, apparently, can’t pronounce.

Ah, beer, you nasty truth-bringer, you. (One of these days, I’m going to create a brewery and call it “Soothsayer Ale.”)

Ironically, I had taken off any visible braces (my knee brace and wrist brace at the time) before I met up with him that night. I didn’t want him to know how much pain I was in. My ex, all other things being equal, is not a stupid man. I’m sure he knew I was in pain. The problem is that his mouth and brain aren’t always connected. To be fair, neither are mine.

He told me he simply couldn’t handle the fact that I was sick all the time when we were together.

Right, like I rejoice in it.

Mind you, this was the man I devoted myself to in a way I had never done before. But I was often in so much pain while he and I were together that I struggled to even walk. And then he was pissed because I couldn’t screw him. Amazing. I cried right there at the bar, and of course he apologized. He was awfully good at apologizing, but I don’t think he was insincere. I’m sure he really did feel badly about the truth.

Recently, he liked or reposted (I don’t remember which now, maybe both) something I had put up  on facebook regarding the condition. “Oh, so now you have my back, huh?” I suppose I am supposed to appreciate the sentiment, and to a certain degree I do, but liking a post on facebook isn’t quite going to mitigate the fact you told me that my illness is what destroyed our relationship. Too. Little. Too. Late.

Nice try, though, sunshine. Blow me, facebook. Srsly.


From → rants

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