I’ve done a pretty good job of wiping my ex out of my life in the past few years. Phone number & emails deleted. Blocked on gchat. Blocked on Facebook, which is the best thing I could ever have done for my sanity, considering we have so many friends in common & I hated seeing his name pop up in comments on a regular basis. So, with some work, in the world of digital media, he does not exist to me. He hasn’t for two years.
Till he emailed me today.
The tricky bastard emailed me from his school account, bypassing the Gmail filter I’d set up sending any of his emails directly to my trash folder. The reason? He had some things of mine and wanted to return them. After over two years of me living without said things.
I tried to be cordial but not friendly. I tried to refrain from saying what I really wanted to say, which was, Fuck you. How dare you even try to come back into my life after two years, how dare you call me Bren, which is something only people I care about should call me, how dare you say you hope I’m well when all you did was wreck my life and everything I believed in, and two and a half years later, I still haven’t put myself back together.
I didn’t say this. Not entirely, at least.
The ex is incredibly difficult. My theory is that he still thinks he’s a good guy. He thinks that if he takes a friendly tone that I’ll be more willing to cooperate with him. He continues to not see that calling me immature or trying to claim he’s the more decent person here does him no good whatsoever in my mind. He also neglects to realize that, above anything, I want to avoid my family experiencing any pain or discomfort; none of them have seen him since before he admitted to cheating, and I’d like to keep it that way. Me dealing with him face to face is one thing. I managed to get through that many times during and following the divorce proceedings. But I don’t want my parents – my parents, who adored him and welcomed him to our family and who threw a gorgeous, expensive wedding for us – to ever have to willingly see him, ever again.
If I lived in Pittsburgh and could meet him to get my things, fine. But I don’t. So my family, as a necessity, needs to get involved.
I won’t get into the nitty gritty content of the email exchanges. But what I will say is that there’s no easier way to ruin a day than a man inserting himself back in your life after you spending two years of doing everything you can to delete him.
I’m still angry. Really angry. So far, I haven’t found an easy way to get over your husband cheating on you. I’m not to the point of cordial conversation and “I hope you’re well.”
I’m not fucking well, ok?
I don’t know if or how I’ll get my things. I don’t really care right now what happens to my stuff. That’s secondary to me trying to put myself back together after being reminded of this guy’s very real, unavoidable existence in the world. The world I created in which I’d erased him was a world I could deal with – precarious, unstable perhaps, but acceptable. And now that world has come crumbling down again.
All I want is to go back to the world I created where he doesn’t exist. Because I was fine there. I may have been in denial, but I was fine.
I need to be fine again.