I had something happen last night that has left me in a bit of a quandary, and I am not sure how I am supposed to feel about it. I went through this period where I was angry and I threw up in my mouth a little, and then I went through the whole… introspective, could-I-have-handled-that-better type of feeling.
Every time I think that I have closed the book on my sordid past with my ex-fiance David, something always comes up the make me re-hash that waste of four, almost five, years of my life. Now that I am approaching 30, I know that, like high school, it really was an infinitesimal part of my life. That being said, it was a very intense part of my life. David was my first real love, how could it not have been intense? I loved that scum-sucking sack of filth in a way that I never will love anyone else, and the pain and the misery that he put me through… I have carried that load of garbage with me into every relationship sense. Because of David, I am insecure in my own ability to love. I don’t trust others when they tell me that they love me.
David had a problem with drinking. He was a functioning alcoholic when I met him. I remember being 14, 15 years old, talking to him on MSN Messenger, and he would come on cam drinking a giant bottle of vodka (I don’t remember what size – bigger than a 26 but not as big as a Texas mickey). By the time we started dating when I was 18, most of his drinking was done on the weekends and I didn’t really see it. When we were together, unless it was a party, he respected my wishes for the most part and didn’t drink around me.
I have always been very chill. Even during what most would consider my “party days,” I wasn’t a big drinker. I did some hard drugs when I was 16, but that phase ended very quickly because I realized that I quite like to be in control of my faculties. Once I got out of high school, I didn’t really drink, I didn’t do drugs aside from the occasional marijuana, but that was really it. David had a lot of friends that were really into drugs and drinking, and he had a very hard time saying ‘no’ to people, so there was more than one weekend where there would be a party at our house. I say party because for them it was. For me, it was more of a “babysit drunk and high idiots instead of getting a good night’s sleep.” Don’t get me wrong… there were a few of David’s friends that I liked, and still to this day like. Some of them were good people with personal issues, and I wish them all the best in the word. I did then, I do now.
There was the occasional one though… that let’s just say I wouldn’t have been too broken up if they had been hit by a bus. There was one, who went by the charming moniker of “Lester the Molester,” who used to help himself to my DVDs. He got caught stealing my Slipknot wallet, so he was out. Crazy Tracey, who used to take MDMA and sit on my roof all night until I told her I was going to call the RCMP. She also lied to us about her age… she told us she was legal age… turned out she was 13. I only found this out because I came home from work to her “handlers” from the Ministry sitting on my couch and David looking like he’d just swallowed barbed wire. There were a few others that I don’t really care to talk about, but that brings me to the main point of this story. Let’s call him… Jason.
There was always something about Jason that set me on edge. I didn’t like him from the moment we were introduced. He was really into Insane Clown Posse and was very much into the juggalo lifestyle. When I say that he was into it… he was into it. That was his entire identity. He was always talking about it, to the point where I would get nauseated. I have nothing against juggalos. If you’re down with the clown ’till you’re dead in the ground, that is totally fine with me. Nothing wrong with that. The difference between every juggalo that I’ve ever met and Jason… was that there were other things that they had going on in their lives. They had other interests, other facets of their lives and personalities. Jason didn’t. Being a juggalo was his entire identity. Once you scraped the ICP frosting off of the Jason cake, you’d scraped down to the plate. There was nothing else there.
When he came over to the house, he was always either buzzed, high, or intoxicated, and it got old very fast. I didn’t like him. He was rude and in-your-face, and he would always invade my personal space and exhale his awful alcohol breath into my face. I didn’t want him over to the house anymore because he was just intolerable. David, of course, even though he hated Jason too, was unable to say ‘no’ to him.
The night in particular that I want to talk about, started like all of our house parties did. A couple of people would come over with alcohol, the stereo would go on, drinking would ensue… someone would text someone else, they’d bring their friends over, someone would have weed, then more people would show up. My favourite thing to do was sit in the kitchen with a few drunk people, nursing my drink, and have elaborate discussions about religion and science and ethics… they would always be too drunk to take part, and I would end up blowing their minds with some useless knowledge (I miss it – messing with drunk people was one of my only joys during that hell I was living in). This particular night, I was in the kitchen, trying to keep as far away from the festivities as possible. Jason was staying at the shelter (he had just come back to town after being released from prison in Regina, SK – he bragged about how when he was arrested, the officer cracked his skull open with a flashlight), and he kept nagging David about bringing his friend over who he had just met that day who was also staying there. David, as he did many times during those times, deferred him to me, saying that he was fine with it as long as I was. Which was his way of throwing me under the bus – making me the bad guy if I said no. I told Jason that if he wanted to bring his friend over, that was fine, but that he was going to be completely responsible for him, and he would be liable for any damage or clean up that his friend caused. Jason was agreeable to this.
Fast forward. Jason’s friend, in a drunken rage, has destroyed some things on the back porch and has vomited all over the stairs and side entrance of the house. The party has pretty much stopped in its tracks because I have asked Jason to take care of his friend, as was our agreement. He proceeds to tell me that there was “no fucking way” he was going to do that, and he proceeded to call me many vulgar obscenities, including the always colorful “stupid fat cunt,” among other slurs against my weight and my looks. He then proceeded to tell me that he was going to beat me down to the ground with my landlord’s shovel, break my teeth and “make me eat them,” and after he had me on the ground, he was going to use the blade of the shovel to stab me in the neck.
David, in his usual fashion, stood there like a moron and allowed him to threaten me. He didn’t step in until his other friends came to my aid, getting Jason and his friend out of the house. On his way out the door, I told Jason that he was no longer welcome in our house and if he came back, I would phone the RCMP. His parting words to me: “The cops aren’t going to stop me from killing you, bitch.”
For several months after that, Jason stalked me. At the time I was working in the mall, and he used to hang around and watch me while I worked. After I reported him to the mall security, he stopped showing up at my work, but instead, I would arrive home and he would be sitting on my front porch. He would wait until I was almost to the gate, then he would curse me under his breath and take off.
It was terrifying. It was traumatizing. I tried to file a report with the police, but I had no information that they could use. I was basically told to not go anywhere by myself, to make sure my doors and windows were locked, etc and so on, and to call them if I saw him again. Which, thankfully I didn’t because as soon as I went to the RCMP, he skipped town soon after. If he actually did or not, or if he just moved on to some other fixation, I don’t know, but he left me alone.
This entire debacle I think, looking at it in hindsight, is where I started to fall out of love with David. The fact that he didn’t defend me, support me, or have my back when his friend threatened my life… what kind of man is that? Anyway. That’s something for another blog post.
So… what’s the point? Jason reached out to me on Facebook last night. He started dating a friend of mine a few months ago. She and I are not close enough that I would have something to say about it, so I didn’t. None of my business really, if he makes her happy, who am I to throw a wrench into that? But he reached out to me, asking if I “remembered him.” Which, of course, I did, because he traumatized me.
And he apologized. Tried to give me some bullshit about he was “fucked up” back then, he’s been sober for 2 years, and he was sorry. Proceeded to blame it on alcohol and drugs and yadda yadda. I told him that I wasn’t interested in his apology, it didn’t mean anything to me and I didn’t want it. Which is the truth. I don’t want his apologies. I moved on, I don’t care about him. I wouldn’t piss on him to put out a fire and I am indifferent to whatever he is/has become. A garbage person is a garbage person, and he is a whole dumpster. I proceeded to block him on Facebook.
As I sit here now, though, with my Dresden Dolls in the bathroom and nursing my cold coffee… could I have handled it better? Should I have accepted his apology? Even just for the sake of closure and moving on, etc? I feel that I have moved on. I have finished the chapter, ended the book, thrown it away. I feel that I have. I have changed so much from who I was a decade ago to now – I have cleaned that shit out of my life. I am better off now than I ever have been. I am in a good place. I’m single, sure, but I’m happy and I am working on the relationship that matters at the end of the day – the one I have with myself. I don’t need apologies from scum like Jason. Just like I didn’t need the apologies from the boys that used to beat me up in high school. I am fine with who I am – and I feel that that is enough. The past has shaped me, it’s helped me become someone that I can live with. I feel like accepting his apology would give him power over me, or make him feel like that the way he treated me was acceptable and we can be amicable. Am I wrong in this? Is there a point to draw the line – where you should just say “fuck it” and disregard?
Would you accept this waste of carbon’s apology?