How I fell, part seventeen.
June 27, 2013
Note: the following was written word-for-word, character-for-character, from Facebook messenger. Typos, misspellings, and other nonsense are due to the present drunk-ass.
ME (3:56 a.m.): What? I’ve been asleep.
D (3:56): u suck]
ME (3:57): Okay thanks.
D (3:57): really?
ok t;hanks bye. im sure ur man can deal with it
wish i was yur man’
D (4:37): come over
ME (4:37): No, you are drunk and said some really mean things to me. I don’t appreciate you saying you’re going back to someone else.
D (4:38) it was a misunderstanding but ok
ME (4:38): How is that a misunderstanding?
D (4:38): the pic was
Time out: at this point, not only had D earned his third strike, but he’d also introduced the idea of cheating on me. Now there was a trust issue. I sent D an email right then, telling him it was over, and to let me know when he’d like to come get his things.
Me (4:38): Oh yeah, I’m not mad about that
D (4:39): K then i guess we are done
ME (4:39): yeah since you are going back to someone else
D (4:39): im sure u are happy now]
ME (4:39): you too
D (4:40): really? i would drop anyone fpr u
ME (4:40): Enjoy whoever you’re going back to. You told me you were going back to someone
D (4:41): ok
ME (4:41): That’s what you said, it’s in this chat, I’m not making it up
D (4:41): k
ME (4:42): [pasted from previous chat]
figuredim not im going back to someone else
D (4:42): ok
ME (4:43) Alright you have fun with that!
D (4:43): k
u messed up.’
just ask me
ME (4:50): ?
D (4:50): ???
ME (4:50): What? Just ask you what?
D (4:51): what
how many times did u do what u do what u want bc of ur friends]
ME (4:54): None.
D (4:56): i love u scared
ME (4:56): Scared?
D (4:56): yes
ME (4:57): Why?
D (4:58): bc u wpmt love me
ME (4:58): Idk what that’s supposed to say. You should get some sleep.
D (4:59): come
door is unlockee=d
ME (5:01): I have to be awake in an hour. We can talk later today. Sober.
D (5:06): ok then forget it
ME (5:07): Stop being so mean. It’s 5 am.
D (5:08): ok bye
dont sau bye
plz fi[‘=-o;;;;i esnnsciuuffli\
D (5:35): guess bye holly
June 27, 2013—Later that morning
D (10:07 a.m.): look i cant see my email bc my phone is messed up but i cant do this anymore
ME (10:07): Yeah we broke up last night.
Just let me know when you want to meet and exchange things
D (10:09): k well im sure ur happy so i’ll leave u be. I need my clothes though
ME (10:09): I cant meet today, but i can gather everything if you want to meet tomorrow.
I just need my key and the movie
D (10:10): glad its so easy for u
ME (10:10): you too! we both have to do what’s best for ourselves, and you said you can’t do it anymore… not going to fight with you about it. I gave you everything I have and that obviously wasn’t working.
* * *
And then he promptly deleted me from Facebook, because you know, I am such a bad person.
When D wrote, “I can’t do this anymore,” I thought he meant the relationship. I thought he was trying to turn the tables on me and dump me, so he could feel better about himself.
I posted on Facebook that I was dumped, and the comments came—telling me how great I was, that I deserved better, that D was a coward.
While it was all true, my Facebook friends, and most of the people in my life, didn’t understand that this breakup was the result of a serious drinking problem.
My dad called me at work, asking to see if I was okay. I unleashed the floodgates, crying hard—something I never did in front of my dad. He did his best to comfort me and asked me what happened. I told him about the three strikes and needless to say, he was shocked.
After talking to my dad, I realized it probably wasn’t the best idea for me to meet up with D to exchange things. My safety could be in danger.
All D had was a key to my apartment and a movie. Granted it was a good movie:
I could always buy a new copy. My dad suggested seeing if my apartment complex would be willing to change the locks.
“Even if you have to pay for it, just pay,” he said. “It will give you peace of mind.”
I went to my leasing office, sat down, and asked my leasing agent if I could get my locks changed. My voice was trembling as I held back the tears.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “It’s just that my boyfriend and I broke up and he has the key, and I am having a difficult time getting it back.”
“No, it’s okay,” she said. “We want you to be safe and you could use a new lock anyway.”
$35 later, the apartment handyman was at my door, putting on a new, beefy lock. He handed me two keys.
I packed up D’s things—dress shirts, socks, boxers, undershirts, toiletries, cards we’d exchanged, pictures his daughter drew for me, the program from his grandfather’s funeral—I wanted it all gone.
The only thing I couldn’t pack, or pickup for that matter, was a near-60-inch television D had brought to my apartment.
I took the bags of stuff, locked my apartment with my new key, and drove to D’s house. I knew he was still at work, so I wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him. As I pulled into the driveway—I started to get emotional—I recalled the night I had arrived at 4 am, thinking this was just a fling, not anticipating these last 4 short months.
I left the bag on his porch and drove back home, meeting a girlfriend for a margarita at a local bar. The bartender was a friend of D’s, and often saw us together. When he asked me about D, I told him we broke up.
At first, a look of shock came across his face. But then, he leaned in.
“If I would’ve known that, I’d have added an extra shot in there,” he said. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”
I headed out of the bar and drove across the street to a girlfriend’s house for a designated “Craft Night.” I was really just there for the wine and the company.
When I arrived, I quickly told the girls what happened, just to get it out in the open. And I mentioned changing the locks.
“Damn, you do not mess around,” one said.
It was a little premature, I thought, D wasn’t going to come over. However, I felt better that it was taken care of, and I was heading out of town the following week, which D knew. I didn’t want anything to happen to my apartment.
I downed a bottle of wine, painted my “craft,” and headed home. I was so happy to have friends to distract me, but I cried myself to sleep.
The next day, all I wanted was for things to get back to normal. So, I went to work, got a few things done, and joined my friends for margaritas. I went home around 10, watched a few episodes of The Hills (Starring Jason Wahler as D) and fell asleep.
In usual form, I dreamt in color that night, snapping out of sleep when I thought I heard a loud noise.
No, it was just in my dream, right?
But I turned my head to look at Blanche, who was wide-eyed, ears perked.
Bang, bang, bang! I heard from my front door.
My heart clenched, and I tip-toed to the door, putting one eye to the peephole.
Complete with styrofoam cup of Crown.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Posted on August 28, 2013, in The Squeeze and tagged alcoholic, dating, drinking, ex boyfriends, fighting, heartbreak, Holly A. Phillips, How to Make Lemonade, life, love, relationships, The Bitter Lemon, writing. Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.