Every time I've tried to talk to my ex about it, he throws it back at me and tells me it was all my fault.
I guess so; I put up with his bullshit for that long, so I guess I deserved it...
Wait. No. I didn't.
So it's a one-year anniversary of not setting foot in the local steakhouse, because we ate there about every couple of weeks. It's the one year anniversary of me going to a movie here in town. In a couple of days, it'll be the one year anniversary of receiving disconnection notices for three utilities at once, due to the thousand dollars I didn't know that I owed, because that's what he was supposed to pay in lieu of rent (it was less than half the total household costs, by the way).
I should have known. He was still so angry at his mother about his childhood that he wasn't there for her when she was dying, until the shit totally hit the fan. It wasn't entirely without reason, but you know, he's not the only person who had a parent who wasn't straight up out of a Leave It to Beaver episode. Some of us still suck it up and do our duty.
A year later I'm still sore. I'm still hollow.
He got to move on. He got to have his revenge, like some schoolyard bully. I paid for every woman who ever took a dump on him before I came into the picture. I am now the most recent Evil Bitch (by his definition) about whom he will tell sob stories to any woman stupid enough to buy his line.
Here's the catch: it's not the truth. I knew, long ago, that although some of their motives were questionable, he probably drove every woman who kicked him out to their wit's end. I tried to tough it out and it blew up in my face.
It's hard enough. I'm not young anymore. I never had a decent body, being a 'such a pretty face' fat girl. My IQ is too high, I have too many degrees, I assert my opinions, and I don't like games. I guess I'm through with dating. In retrospect, maybe my parents should have let me join the convent way back when. I'd be just as lonely inside as out.