A Breakup Tale in So Many Parts
By Adrianne Frost
Parts 11 & 12

Part 11: 13 days, 20 hours and 55 minutes since you left me...

Today, I felt more sick and sad than I have through this whole thing.
-- Sad because the cruel and angry things you said to me the night you left still play in my head.
-- Sick because I don't know who you are and I don't like you very much.
-- Sick because I wasted so much time and energy trying to love you.
--Sick because I should have left when I found out your dick was broken and you had no intention of getting it fixed.
I thought that I had bypassed any more major malfunctions in my life. I almost, almost, had a clean getaway. I survived abuse, addiction, depression, PTSD, more depression, more addiction... bla bla bla, but I thought it was done. Now was the dealing part, now was the part where I got to heal.
But no, Mr. Screw Everything Up, you had to add another shit stain to the underwear of my life.
Today, my therapist told me, "You know, you weren't particularly happy, either". Huh. Whaddya know? She was right. Good gravy, I spent more time trying to make our life happy, when you didn't care at all, instead of being happy. And I wasn't happy with you. How do you like that? I did my darndest, but you didn't want it. The End. Except the epilogue includes me going out and finding a guy whose penis functions.
My Mother told me about the conversation you two had the day after you left. She asked you, as any worried Mother with a medicated daughter, who was suddenly abandoned in the middle of the night after a losing a bonus round of "The Blame Game", would, "What if something happens to her? What if she tries to hurt herself?"
Your answer, "I don't care. It's not my problem anymore".
Like those people who don't recycle. Ahhhhh... let somebody else do it. I'm not wasting my time separating plastic from glass. Not my problem.
You are the cause of both Global Warming and a broken heart. Al Gore would flog you.
Good gravy. What a mess.
There was a part of me that didn't want another failure on my hands, another blemish on my already unholy record of misfortunes.
"Oh, she and he are getting divorced? I knew that would happen eventually. It was only a matter of time before he (the sweet and unsuspecting good guy who got roped into a relationship and marriage) got sick of her (five kinds of crazy, morning cocktail of meds, needy, wanty, chubby who hog tied poor, poor him into a relationship and marriage). Good for him. Cheers! FREEDOM! Shout it across the lands, brother, you are FREE from that crazzzzzy bitch! Lemmee hear ya'! You have escaped the shackles of the Great Manipulator who snatched your youth and stole, I said, I said, I said STOLE ten years of your life, my brother! Can I getta AMEN?!!?"
And then you and your family and friends bang your tamborines and the sun glistens off of your shiny, powder blue choir robes. I sit, shameful, in a bog of mud and feces, watching you all go down a righteous path towards true and five kinds of crazy-free love.
Amen.

Part 12: 14 days, 19 hours, 30 minutes since you left me...
I wonder if my cocktail of pills is frightening to the average bear. You were used to it. You were used to all of my neurosis and problems and history and everything. I feel damaged, like damaged goods. No normal guy's gonna go for some freaked out, fucked up, pill popping, scarred, chubbette who can't remember what her natural haircolor is.
I blame you for this feeling. I blame you and my Father. I think I married my Father. I think you were him.
Oh Gawwwwwwwwwwwd. I married my Father!
Except my Father had sex with me more.
SCORE!
Zing. Bop.
These are the things you ruined for me:

• Pugs
  
• 80's Music
  
• Dog Runs
  
• The Sunday New York Times
  
• CBS Sunday Mornings
  
• Sunday Mornings
  
• PB & J's
  
• 80's Teen Movies
  
• The Tower Diner
  
• Stopping and talking to dogs
  
• Otm Shank
  
• "We can't have nice things"
  
• "You ruined Christmas"
  
• Wrist restraints
  
• Riding crops
  
• Sex

But most of all, right now, my faith. My trust.
My hope.
My home.