All that is
the red dress
I hate him. I think this is the first time I'm saying it. before I've tried to take the high road. the emotionally mature road, the aspirational road - what can I learn from this? what has this taught time about myself? this is a blessing in disguise because if it weren't for my experience with him i wouldn't have embarked on the journey that i have and have a more sophisticated sense of self awareness. to be able to feel something and not spend too long wallowing in it but to call it what it is, and try to take responsibility for it. to recognise that 'its just happening again'. while all these wonderful side-benefits of the tby train ride still stand, it doesn't negate the fact that I fucking hate his guts. and i want him to suffer for it. for everything he did. for how callous he was to me. i want him to suffer long and slow. and to be humiliated. i don't know how I'll go about doing it or even if i will, but for the first time last night, i thought about it in this way. i had some dark thoughts fantasizing about his ruin. i remember he once joked about how getting infected with HIV was not his portion. Well as i was lying in bed last night, starting at the shoe shelf in front of me, dripping with a late rage and sense of betrayal, i thought how fitting a punishment it would be. and damn the consequences, i wouldn't give a shit about who he gave it to. I hate him so much. and the worst part is that i know this sudden sense of hatred has only come now after realsing that the girl he highjacked my viewing with that time back in October, the same girl i saw him with a week after new year, is probably who he's actual girlfriend now and will probs end up with. I came across her profile on IG. well i say 'came across' more like searched for it using the little info i had. and honestly i cant tell you how i went about finding the fcuking profile especially given the fact that i didn't even know her name or the spelling. i only knew that it began with an 'S'. but go figure for the determined, rejected and secretly scorned woman, an S and a face is plenty to go by. i searched for those he followed - hoping to recognize her photo. he only follows about 400-500 so it wasn't heaps to search through. her profile didn't come up. i thought maybe he didn't follow her - i mean it was likely, he was stooshe like that. then i searched through the profiles that follow him. and voila i came across her photo. staring at the camera, with that smile i remember on the day he dangled her in my face at that viewing. the kind of child-like eyes crinkling, her hair was on point too. but her profile was private so i couldn't see anything. interesting;y his profile was no longer private as it was the last time i checked (which i guess is how i was able to search through his follow list). i noticed there were no photos of her posted anywhere. being the more enlightened individual that i am now (LOL), the question of why did this even matter to me was never far from my mind, obvs. it mattered to me because of the usual cliche questions that women in my position have - i wanted to know who she was. what is it about her - and not because I'm interested in her in the least, no. but because i ultimately i needed a reference point to define myself against. how did he see my in his mind. if i know what she's like then that'll tell me what I'm not, in his eyes? ultimately, 'WHY NOT ME?'
But last night, and i can't even remember what prompted me to go and search for her profile. but i did, and as i navigated to my IG, curiously i did so with a sense of positivity for the possibility that this time i would yield results (i.e. i would see her profile). and lo and behold, i did. (a part of me now realises that i probs wasnt going to stop checking her profile until i arrived where i am now - cos lets face it, it wasn't a closed book, not yet.) i was excited to see that her profile was no longer private. i went through her photos, enjoying the feeling of being a voyeur in a way, knowing that i had an agenda and she and everyone else were none the wiser. and it really was an exercise in consumption. really looking at the photos, looking at the comments, and with each photo, pausing to conduct a quick search to see whether he had liked it, and finding that he had, most of the time. then i saw a photo of her in a red off the shoulder elegantly draped dress standing in the threshhold of a very beautiful arched ancient-looking doorway. she was not looking at the camera. she looked stunning. then i say the caption. it was shot in Italy, the same city where tby's brother had gotten married that same summer. what were the chances that she would be there holidaying at the same time? zero, in my mind. i had every now again wondered to myself whether she got to go. whether he invited her. and when i didn't see any photos of her on his page, i'd concluded that she hadn't. maybe because they hadn't met at that point, but also possibly because he hadn't wanted to (id liked to think). well there was my answer. he had invited her to his brother's wedding. and she had accepted the invitation and gone. and she looked stunning. i bet they were quite a sight together.
now the image of her standing there all demure, in that red dress was emblazoned onto my mind (though the fabric did look a little cheap even from afar she looked a vision) captioned simply: 'beautiful wedding in Puglia'. i think that's what did it for me. that he took her to the wedding over the summer. not that i expected to go myself or anything, although i had enteretained the (very far away) possibility in the early days back in January... But it was more that here i was thinking they'd just met recently when i saw them in October. that they'd met during his trip to London over the summer and she had come to visit him and he was just flaunting her, being an opportunist. it's funny how you create stories in your mind that is less of an assault to your ego and sense of self. it was more convenient for me to think that. and yes I'm being kind to myself with my use of the word 'convenient' but who even am i kidding anymore? these stories made it EASIER for me to process what i was seeing. less hurtful it's a lot you have to admit. after what he put me through, to bring this other girl and dangle her in my face. why did he need to do that? what had i done to him? he hurt me incredibly, in ways that I'm still feeling now and for what? he should pay savagely for that. and i know I've brought this on somewhat. who sent me? why did i have to go and stalk him and her? maybe if id just let it be, i woulnd't see any thing and by the time i eventually did see a photo of them together or some indication of their serious involvement i would be so far away from that place where i once was. it would be more like a keloid scar and less like a wound where the scabs keep coming off.
And i think that part of the anger that i feel is in finally having to admit to myself that I played into it. the stories i told myself, which in my mind weren't stories at the time but feasible explanations (never mind that all the explanations had a similar narrative of 'it was a short term fling and he wasn't that into her') were nothing but self-deception in its most focussed determined form. not that i didn't know at the back of my mind, of course the mind always knows what it knows whehter or not you reveal it to your consious mind. but now that it was out in the open - the self deception could no longer continue, i was forced to admit that he had chosen another girl, over me (and sure, possibly over several others but that's not the point). I think the story i was telling myself was that he was just a player who wasn't interested in anything serious with anyone for that matter. and when i searched for her on his following and didn't see her there it made perfect sense. of course she was following him but he wasn't following her. she was the one who wanted him more, obviously. and it made even more sense when i think of that brief instance at the bar as i watched them leave him in front and her tailing behind with her friend. not hand in hand. he looked bored or distracted and uninterested or something. and it made sense. everything made sen`se. now to see that he's liked over a dozen of her photos (something that he's typically too stooshe to be seen doing) suggests that he's been the one chasing her and he's making quite a bold play at that. something i never got. it hurts me to know that.
i can literally feel the bile rising in my stomach as i write this. then again it could be the yam chips i just ate.
i could adopt that same didactic, journey-to-self-enlightenment tone that has become a kind of default voice in my mind. the one that says 'be grateful for another revelation' and 'facing it head on is the only way to move past it and heal' etc etc. and im sure i will soon enough since i largely believe that to be true despite by sarcy tone. still that doesnt take away from desire to see him in pain. i want him to suffer. not break his legs iwth a pipe suffer. no. the kind of suffering and pain that'll amount to several suicide attempts and years of on-off therapy to even begin to scratch the surface of. The kind of pain and trauma that is contagious and robs the joy from the lives of his entire family. the kind of trauma that he can't help but pass onto his children. the stuff generational curses are made of. I hope that he feels what I'm feeling and have felt 100 fold. i hope that one day years from now someone exactly like him captures his daughter’s heart for long enough to make her feel enamoured and then slams it with a sledgehammer destroying her irreversibly as he rolls his eyes to himself. that is my wish for this man.