Real Life: Diary of An Addict: Detox Week #2
Pocahantas started her real life tale of freeing herself on her addiction to the very prevalent, unavailable man in her life. The first in this series had her choosing between staying in a city which she doesn’t like, doesn’t feel that there is any future for her, but did have her the man in question residing there, or upping sticks to a better paid job, in the big smoke NYC to start her life afresh with new opportunity. Last week we were left uncertain as to what her choice would be despite her appearing to be resolute about leaving him behind. Did she make the big decision?
I choose my life. My future. Everything has been such a whirlwind since the interview; quitting my job, subletting my apartment, storing my furniture, it’s been a royal nightmare.
I can only hope to God that I’m making the right choice and I won’t have to do this all over again in six months.
I’ve lost my mind. I hope to God I find it in New York. I know chances are….
You called. I knew you would. You spouted more empty promises, you whined, you wheedled. You simply can’t understand why I would choose to live a thousand miles away from “everything [I] hold dear.” You offered to come over, said you would come to help me pack up the remnants of my life; a life that I am, more than ever, looking forward to leaving behind.
You promised you’d be here at six, it’s now ten-thirty and I have too much pride to call and ask you why.
Why you choose to lie when the truth would be so much simpler.
I’m not psychotic, unreasonable, imbalanced, like so many of the people with whom you profess to be acquainted, and yet you still choose to unnecessarily misrepresent the truth in situations in which it’s completely unnecessary.
The funny thing is that I didn’t ask for your help. Didn’t ask you to be here. Don’t really need you. It’s just that when you heard I was leaving from my cousin—damn him and his meddling mother—you immediately called to find out why, when, and how you could help.
I instantly fell into my old pattern of relying on you; why, I don’t know. Truth is, it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to rely on you without the ground crumbling from around my feet so I should have known better. It’s my fault.
NO. I will no longer excuse your behaviour. I will not blame myself for your stupidity. It is not OK. Just because you offered doesn’t mean that you should be able to renege without so much as a phone call, a word. I mean you could be anywhere, lying in a ditch robbed & dead—you expect me to be okay with this? Well I’ll just finish up myself. I’m leaving this god-forsaken state and I’ll never have to see your face or be reminded of you in anyplace that I… “rrriiinnnggg!”
Oh, NOW you want to call. Do you realise that you’re five hours late?… and now you ….AAAAH!!!
Oh, I’m sorry you jammed your finger on that lay-up dear…Now I guess you’re too ‘hurt’ to help me pack, I guess you failed to remember that I worked both jobs all week long, and took off tonight simply to pack, while obligating myself to a double shift on Saturday & Sunday to make up for the time that I took off? I guess you wouldn’t realise that, or, more importantly, you wouldn’t care.
Oh sure you can still come over. Yes I cooked, why? Oh well it doesn’t matter… What am I wearing? You know what, I don’t like where this conversation is going. So. Well I cooked so hurry on over, I’ll go ahead and unpack a plate so you can have some dinner, I wouldn’t want all of this to go to waste. I cooked your favourite you know, escovitch fish, rice & peas, fried plantain, broccoli, and for dessert….well, we won’t go there, but I think you would have enjoyed… but now, <exaggerated sigh> it’s much too late for sweets.
What? Oh so now I guess you’re far too tired to drive ALL the way over here, and suddenly you’re not hungry anymore. Well, I guess if you brush your teeth sweets wouldn’t be so bad. Ok, well I’ll see you later.
It’s already eleven, by the time you get here it’ll be midnight and the oft-repeated pattern will continue. You’ll come in affectionate and apologetic. I’ll melt. I’ll wait on you hand and foot until you’re well fed and content and then you’ll turn those eyes on me. You know those eyes, the ones you make when you’re going to ravish me in every imaginable and unspeakable way that I could possibly enjoy. I’m not ready for this. I’m tired, grumpy, and have to pack my entire house and drive to New York after two double shifts. Nope. Nope. Nope. I’m not going to allow this to happen. I’m just going to finish packing, clean my apartment, and, when you finally do arrive, I’ll have you put these boxes in the U-Haul and bounce. Good. A plan. Now we’re just going to have to find a way to stick to it.
I’m so angry with myself right now. You’ve put me an hour behind schedule. I just unpacked two bathroom boxes to ‘prepare’ for your arrival. I’m so damn predictable. It’s now 12:15 so you’re running late, also predictable, but I have supreme confidence in you getting here…eventually. Well I only have the kitchen, and now my bathroom left to clean so it won’t be that bad. I left out my mattresses with the sheets you like—you know the green Egyptian cotton ones that feel like heaven—I had to unpack three boxes to find them, but I want you to be comfortable. I know you’ll be tired after playing ball all evening. God I hope you won otherwise you’ll be intolerably grumpy.
Where are you? I just won’t abide being stood up. I’m getting sleepy. I knew you’d show up, and you did, sweaty, ridiculously hyper, and so damn sexy in that god-awful mesh wife-beater that I spent years trying to make “disappear”.
Please don’t try to play mind games with me tonight I just can’t take it. God I’m so drained. Just eat the food. You’ll love it, I slaved over it for HOURS knowing that you’d be the only one eating it. I guess it didn’t make sense, but then what does when it comes to me?
All I really need is to finish getting these boxes loaded in the truck, I hope we can do this and just…Oh please oh please, please don’t touch me….
Gawd, what you WON’T do to get out of doing any work. Jeez. I swear I couldn’t feel my legs. Now you’re sleeping. Peaceful as an angel. I want to bash your head in with my tape gun. I wonder how you’d like that. With how I feel right now…So foolish. So stupid. So alone. Ten minutes ago, I felt as if I’d be loved, cherished, respected, and appreciated forever.
Unfortunately it only lasted until you came and you were disappointingly prompt.
But that’s what you do.
At least that’s what you did.
I stopped believing you a long time ago.
More importantly, I stopped believing in you.
Ok. Time to get up. I know, I know it’s the ‘last thing’ you want to do right now.
“Just get these boxes in…yes there are ten of them…of course I left the heavy ones for you. You wouldn’t want me to strain myself?”
You probably did. Asshole. That’s a good boy.
And no, I don’t have any juice. I gave it to my brothers –you know the people who did all the hard work. But you needn’t worry there’s plenty of water; and of course I’m being sarcastic you self-important twit.
God I’m glad this is almost over. All I have to do is vacuum, mop, clean the windowsills, and…wait, what do you think you’re doing? You can go now. Oh now you want to enforce our no ‘poking and leaving’ policy…Too little too late. I know you’re tired. Enjoy that 45-minute drive home.
“Good night sweetie, thank you so much. I could NEVER have done it without you…” [Necessary lies]
Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. NO YOU CAN’T STAY (as much as I’d love you to)…
“Call me to let me know you got home safely.”
[I won’t pick up]
Thank you for preparing me for what lies ahead.
I guess. I hope. NOT.
Jaysus I hope I miss you next lifetime.
If you’re into unavailable men, why not check out our new blog dedicated to the subject
Have you read:
Real Life: Diary of An Addict: Detox Week #1
Pocahantas is a 23 year old fiesty female with loads of common sense and yet an unstintingly healthy dose of cynicism when it comes to men and relationships. Tune in weekly for her reality check on single living in the great US of A.
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