breaking hearts has never looked so cool [ 08.03.05 - 2:35 - ] I knew how I looked, but that didn't excuse that pitying fucking look on his face. This was a new one. I felt about ready to kill him. Even through a haze of alcohol, I could see all kinds of pictures in my mind - knives and blood and handcuffs, that kind of thing. But then he reached for the doorknob and something changed. We'd fought before but this time it was different. I knew he wouldn't be coming back this time. I pulled the photobooth photos from the fridge, tore them in half and handed him two frames of better times. Magnetic words from a romantic note rained down on me, but it didn't matter because all I wanted was for him to remember that I wasn't always like this, like we weren't always like this. Like I said, we fought. Not a lot, but sometimes. Once while he was in Hungary, I ended it through an email because I was crushed that he would just leave me and I wondered if I could do better. The other guy wasn't better and we got back together shortly thereafter. I moved to Calgary to be wtih him and we got a cat that I hated. He got a job at Walmart that he hated, developing photos because that's all he could get. After too long, he was offered a job that he actually went to school to do. It was in Victoria, his hometown, and again, we packed our bags and we uprooted to another city I loathed. We got rid of the cat. It was about this time that I got pregnant. Shortly after we arrived in our new 'home', a kind, portly nurse took us into her office and told me the last thing I wanted to hear and even though I already knew, I broke down. We had driven in his father's van in sweltering heat, the agonizing journey to that contemptible island on the west coast. On the ferry ride, it was as if I could see my entire life up to that point waving from the shore of the mainland. I really hated him for never thanking me for all this. We settled into our apartment downtown, glorying in the veranda outside the living room. We decided an abortion was for the best. I called my mother, never feeling more estranged and infinitely lonely. He kept it from his parents, although we'd borrow their van to go to my appointments. I took a long time to end. The medications weren't working. I spent weeks bleeding and nauseous, hating this parasite in my womb, hating him, hating myself. One day, he broke down and cried against my invaded stomach telling me he had to tell his parents, as if I had ever told him not to. The next time I saw his mother, she showed me photos of her unaborted grandchild. I spent the remainder of our relationship constantly feeling the need to apologize to her. It took less than one month for him to get sick of it and me. We fought one night - I forget what about - and that brings us full circle. He said he needed to go to his parents' to calm down and think. He said he'd call and he did but just to tell me it was over and there was nothing I could say. I broke. I raged, I hated everything, I wished that God would just erase me. A bottle of vodka and a blister pack of sleeping pills later, feeling justice had been aptly dealt to me, the police that someone called were hauling me from my apartment to the hospital. I was given a uniform (?) and put in a room with just a mattress on the floor. I was determined to stay awake - no way I was sleeping in that fucking place. A doctor eventually came in and spoke to me and said "What the Hell are you doing here, Ms. Stevens?" I came home, tired, my mouth thick with the taste of vomit, and sunk into a hot bath. He and his mother came by to invite me to her home for some kind of suicide watch slumber party, but I declined. Their presence disgusted me as much as I surely disgusted them. Almost one month to the day after the product of our fucking and idealizing had been flushed away, I was on a plane home. I really am sorry that you had to trust me. That night that I swallowed those pills and lay unconscious on the hallway carpet, I wasn't thinking of you at all. I was thinking of salty Nova Scotian air, a boy named Jared who treated me like crap, people who loved me that were too far away to tell me to stop it, a Sara who may have only heard of this years after the face. You and I were at the best of times, dull, uninspired and sedated and at the worst of times, it was all my fault. Let's say for the sake of something, that I never loved you. [ previous entry - next entry ]

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