Pressing the Fuck it button....
- By girly-d
- On 12/01/2018
- 0 comments
He came back for his things; Once it was established that "Peace talks" weren't happening. Mainly because he couldn't keep it in his trousers.
I found the e-mail.
I don't remember the day or the date he came back, I made sure that I was working. I didn't want to have to see him. Or say goodbye to the dog - our stupid, loveable, traumatised sheepdog who was scared of sheep as well as her own shadow.
He was supposed to text me when he was done packing. He didn't. He'd found a jumper in the laundry basket that didn't belong to him and got a bit "upset". Good. I wanted him to find it. What's good for the goose and all that....
I'd advertised for a lodger so that I could afford to stay in the flat. A guy we both knew got in touch. He'd had a messy break up, so had I. We swapped our break up stories, drank wine. He came over for dinner. We swapped saliva - then bodily fluids. His jumper was on my bedroom floor. It ended up in the laundry basket for my husband to find - A revenge fuck seemed appropriate after all that he'd done...."Karma" I like to call it.
Obviously I decided against letting the room.....
Anyway, my ex was gone when I came home from work. He didn't leave a note. I don't remember the rest of that day, although I'm pretty sure that wine featured heavily.
I kept it together for a while. A few months. Nine I think - As the contents of my life got smaller, and my debts got bigger. There was nothing left when I handed the keys back. Just me, Little man and a bin bag full of clothes and shoes. The landlords kept the deposit.
And that was that.
We moved into a caravan. Little man and me. On the worst campsite in the world. It was all I could afford. My friend paid for my caravan. I could barely afford a carrier bag.
I couldn't settle. Random people came and went around me pretty much 24/7. It was hard to sleep. Some more of my things went missing. "Liberated" by party goers.
Little man cried to go out but I was worried sick that he'd be attacked by a dog or hit by a car. My heart was in my mouth every time that I opened the caravan door. He never went far, but that wasn't the point. My world was a scary place now that I was on my own. So his became scary by default.
And then he died.
And that was it for me.
My wobbly little jenga tower came crashing down in a second. And time literally did stop.
I had him put to sleep.
His poor broken body stayed at the vets and I took my poor broken heart back to a field in the middle of nowhere. I remember just sheer devastation and my tsunami of tears. I'd lost my husband, my home and my pets and my posessions had been sold to strangers for peanuts. And now little man was dead. And my dam broke. Any resilience I had was now gone. I was sick of fighting to keep it together. There was literally nothing left for anyone to take.
Everything had gone. Little man was dead.
That was it for me.
I was done. I wanted out...Time to press the "Fuck it" button.