Cleanup

"And probably I'm going to remember what we said, I mean, the dialogue, that moment lost in time."

"Like we're in a movie?"

"A book."

"But we're not in a book."

"Who's to say I'm not going to write about this?"

No, honestly, I'm not going to write a book about this, nor am I even going to keep this publication.

The aforementioned dialogue was the description of an Insta post I made back when I was still with my ex. It was the night I spent at her place. We went for a walk in the sunset that evening. I'm cleaning up a lot of my Insta account: taking off the pictures that date back from when I was at my father's, except when it's about the dog. 

I don't have pictures with my ex, as she didn't want to take pictures with me or have me take pictures of her, supposedly because of "body dysmorphia". Part of me just thinks she didn't want me to have any memories of her or just didn't want to be seen publicly with me, although she didn't hide me at all from real-life people and even referred to me as her "girl" while not allowing me to use that word if I was talking about us. (yeah, mindfuckery at its finest). But honestly, I'm tempted to say she might've been telling the truth: I didn't see any of her other exes on any of her pictures, either, back when I still had her social media. Makes me think the body dysmorphia thing is real. 

But I have pictures from the date we went on at the aquarium, and that walk we took during the evening I slept at her place. She had guilt-tripped me to sleep there only to be distant and moody the next morning. 

I think you could come on Monday?

Mmmh, Wednesday. I prefer to have an evening to myself, at least.

At the time, I lived at my father's. He wasn't yet going to my stepmom's for the whole week. He came back every other evening during the weeks my sisters were at their mother's place.

But you'll have plenty of evenings to yourself!

I caved. I accepted. We had been together for a month and sleeping at each other's place felt premature to me, but I thought that perhaps I was just going too slow. Ironic, because she was the one talking my ear off about "taking it slow". Only on her terms, apparently. 

I felt a bit weird the whole evening, as if "deactivated", as if my heart was numb and unable to feel anything positive, just a sense of disconnection and that I almost disliked her, and she was oddly silent, as usual, when I would try to make conversation. I would bring topics to deeper stuff, only to have her stare at me with dead fish eyes or just a silence that either said she didn't have the brains to go there or just was too lazy to bother. I sometimes am not sure whether she was truly stupid or if she just didn't make an effort. The depths I go to naturally are apparently inhospitable to most people. Apparently. 

The best thing is that during the breakup, she accused me precisely of killing the dialogue.

I try to make conversation but it always dies, it always goes back to you and your anxiety.

Excuse me? I was the one doing the talking most of the time because you would just lay there like a dead fish. The only time I felt I was actually sort of connecting with you was when we'd kiss or fuck, and even then, I had to constantly redirect you to where the sweet spot was, because you'd always go too low. 

And we sat there, next to a lake, in a park. The dialogue happened. I think it's after that I kissed her on that bench while the sun was setting. I had always dreamed of that, but when I looked back on it, I was just... trying to bring myself back from that feeling of deactivation. Of course it kind of worked. But I remember this dialogue like it was yesterday. And how blank her gaze went when she said "but we're not in a book".

Yeah, we're not in a book. No shit Sherlock. Can't you be at least a little imaginative? Try to perhaps read between the lines and see that what I meant was that I wanted to keep this in my memory? And that peeeerhaps you too would want to?

***

I scraped my knee on her sofa when we were about to go to bed after about two hours of going at it, in the middle of the night. I was about to go to brush my teeth when a part that was not stable just gave out under my knee. 

My ex panicked as if I had a bullet wound. 

...And had no bandages. There were so many things she was unprepared for honestly. A proper first aid kit, even if just bandaids, gauze, disinfectant, in other words the very basic stuff because you don't know when you're going to cut yourself up cooking or just doing something, should be in everyone's bathroom. None of it. It felt like she was living life without minding much. In a passive, unbearably passive mode. Something happens? Oh whatever. I'll go party anyway, get drunk, smoke weed and whack it off to porn (because that's indeed what would happen when she was high, she would get horny). 

***

Indeed, in our first dates, I was the one to decide for everything. She told me she basically was a "follower". That she didn't take initiatives. I told her that she could, that it was safe to do so, but that "anxiety" or "shyness" about it, when I think back about it, was just a cover-up for being a lazy ass. 

I honestly have no idea what she wanted out of a relationship. And I guess that's not my business to decipher now. I have nothing to do with her anymore and I don't want any of it back in my life.

***

We went to bed after cleaning the wound, and I remember that polyester fluffy blanket like those that are so common. The pillow that was not holding my head. And how much trouble I had sleeping. 

Those blankets are nice, but without a cotton sheet under... they're hell on you. They trap heat like polyester does. There's a reason why I hardly use them. I'd rather have a cotton or wool blanket. And goes double if you are two people in the same bed.

Needless to say, neither of us slept well, though her, obviously, a bit better than I. 

***

The next day, she started kissing my hand, my wrists... but I declined going further. I had enough last night. I felt that it offended her. Don't exactly know if it was the change in the air, or the fact she was distant all day after that, but I'm still sure, a year later, that she resented it. In her passive, fake-soft way. Never aggressive but with those little jabs hidden under "I didn't want to be rude or mean", or "I'm a nice person". 

Cupcake, if you need to say you're a nice person, you're probably awful to be around. Just saying.

***

Anyway... let's keep cleaning out this account of mine.