Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Hitting rock bottom
Trust me, I'd love to do it for you, but I actually have moral standards. Remember morals? You know, thinking before you make choices? I don't know how I've managed to stay in this room for this long with you without punching myself in the face for putting up with you lately.
Do you remember what it was like when we first started dating? Because I don't actually even remember that person anymore. You used to give a shit when I talked. You used to, I guess, pretend? That you were remotely interested in what I had to say. You would look at me with these awfully convincing eyes and explain to me what you thought on the situation. Your half-assed solutions to my real life problems never really worked out as I hoped they would, but I always took your advice. Because I think you're smart. Also I think — thought — you had a pretty good philosophy on life. But most of all? I listened to you because you seemed to have my best interests in mind. You gave off the impression of someone who wanted me to succeed. Bu--
-I did want you to succeed.
Are you serious? That's what you tell me? That's the equivalent of consoling me about my dead mom by telling me that she was at one point alive. I fucking know that, Kelly. That doesn't change the condition of the problem. I'm sorry I'm unloading this all onto you now, but Jesus, you've treated me like a bag of some other couple's kid's shit that's been left under your pillow: by making me deal with it. I've been taking care of myself and doing everything I can to re-win your favor because it's so fucking obvious that you're tired of me.
At what point does it seem like a good idea to not tell me that I'm not keeping you satisfied? When does it cross your mind to maybe inform me that I'm constantly fucking up? Seriously answer, why didn't you tell me?
-I just ... -
-I guess I didn't want to hurt you. ... I knew you'd be crushed and this meant a lot to you.
Oh wow, great. Well let me tell you right now and clearly, Kelly, I'm fucking hurt. Stabbed in the God damn face. I would say "stabbed in the back," you know, if you hadn't made it so fucking obvious that you were cheating on me.
Yeah, maybe now that I'm having a traumatic fucking breakdown in front of you. But about five hours ago I bet you thought you were pretty damn slick.
-No, Kyle, I never felt good about what I was doing. I know this doesn't matter ... but I felt like shit the entire time.
Well you know what would've helped you out there? If you would have told me that you felt shitty instead of fucking around. Like a slut. That's what sluts do. They fuck other guys even though they're dating people. Maybe I should put that in a song lyric, see if you can relate it to your life at all.
-What the hell are you doing right now?
I'm hitting rock bottom, Kelly. I'm hitting it right in the fucking mouth because you've dropped me to it. Thanks.
-I'm gonna leave now.
Why the fuck doesn't this even make you sad? That's all I wanna know...
-Because you're clearly not the person I started dating. I don't even know you at all anymore.
Well this is what happens to someone when they try to handle dating you. They turn into this. Don't act like you didn't cause this. I am so stupid for considering a future where we could exist as a couple.
-You're making me feel really shitty right now.
Oh, excuse me? I'm making you feel shitty right now? Because I'm pretty sure I'm the one at the bottom of a fucking dumptruck. Because you put me there, by the way.
-Can I please just go? I feel sick. I can't take much more of this.
What're you gonna do, snap? Finally? Hey, maybe you'll start being honest with me!
-You want some honesty? You're furiously angry, which I suppose isn't surprising, but nothing I can do or say will help anything. I can't win. Why would I be here? Please let me leave.
Fine. Fine, go off and fuck you, by the way. We're done, obviously.
-I'm sorry. (Pulls a ring out of pocket) Do you want this?
Fuck you for what you've done to me. You keep that, all I'd want back is everything it stands for. And I can't have that. Go.
-(Puts ring back, exits)
(Goes to fridge, pulls out bottle of Jack Daniels, considers, declines, puts bottle back, hits countertop with fist, saunters into living room, falling face down onto couch.)
(Muffled into pillow) Damn it.