If ever anyone should read this, I don't advise it be taken without scrutiny. Everything I write is based solely on personal experience and, as such, is limited by its singular perspective. My life may not complement anyone else's; my truths may be mine alone. The best I can hope for is that any reader will recognize something familiar my life that possibly reflects their own. I cannot stress enough the importance of critical thought. In the end, the course of self discovery is a solitary journey and we ultimately find ourselves on our own. Even our most perfect and absolute findings are perfectly, absolutely subject to change. Though it's not a particularly comforting notion, I'm doing my best to make peace with it. I'm not sure there's anything else I can do.
-----
Andrew is the angriest person I've ever met. He's a tall, handsome, 100% Sicilian with the most stunning green eyes you'll ever see. I met him earlier this year through my travels in Southern California, attracted instantly to his fire and intensity. One might go so far as the say he was... hot. In my experience of Italian men (which is extensive. I'm 100% Neapolitan on my mother's side), their passionate natures tend to verge on the side of volcanic. Utterly confident, undeniably sexy, heat boiling up from the earth like lava, they can create new ground, move mountains, and completely destroy anything in their path. Put two of these men in a relationship together and they can make the burning of Pompei looks like a quiet candlelit dinner.
My romance with Andrew sparked and self-conbusted in no time at all. We broke up and got back together three times within the span of three weeks, as melodramatic as we were short-lived. Eventually we were forced to acknowledge that the intense physical attraction did not outweigh the jealousy, selfishness and bitter arguments, and so we pulled the plug. I willfully admit my own part in this relationship's demise (after all, it takes two opposing forces to cause friction), but have I mentioned that Andrew is the angriest person I've ever met?
To be fair, given the stressful circumstances at the place and time where the course of my life intersected his, anyone in Andrew's situation might be just as ill-tempered. A few years ago Andrew had everything he could want, a well-paying job, his own apartment, a car he loved, good friends, his health. Then in an instant, with the blunt impact of an out-of-control UPS truck, Andrew found himself with no car, no job, and medical bills that far outweighed his lawsuit winnings. He fell behind in the rent, lost the lease on his apartment, and was forced to move back to Missouri while he recuperated. Broke, broken, and in desperate need of a helping hand, Andrew's "good friends" were finally tested and only a few proved themselves genuine. On top of it all, through an act of negligent drunken depression, he contracted HIV six months later. Not even his health would serve him now.
When I say Andrew is angry, I say it as objectively as I possibly can. Frankly, I'd probably be angry, too.
I tried to weigh all of these things into consideration every time Andrew would follow me to work (I was a waiter at his favorite bar), or accuse me of infidelity (my overt friendliness has at times been mistaken for flirtation), or call me six times an hour, text me thirty times a day, constantly tell me what "my problem" was, or flat out call me trash. Andrew had a right to be angry; the world was unkind to him. He needed my understanding and so I understood.
Last night at 3:35 AM I received a text from Andrew saying simply, "FUCK YOU." It is now four months passed our three-week relationship. Enough is enough.
The world can be unfair, the world can be unkind, well boo hoo. Move forward Andrew, make amends, change again, only this time do it for the better, blaming the world only makes you more miserable. The happy learn to love in spite of the world's callousness and when fate tips out of their favor the happy do not fall to pieces. Anger is a choice. Misery is a choice. Andrew is the angriest person I know, and it's his own fucking fault. He could have chosen dignity, he could have chosen change, he could have chosen to smile and let the rain roll off his back but Andrew is choosing misery as we speak.
I choose to pity him for it.
-----
Day 21. I refuse to let one bitter, world-hating ex ruin a perfectly good day.
TFR. SYT.
-----
An Addendum:
Andrew contacted me earlier today with an apology. He said he was having a hard time not having me around. It was loneliness and a poor excuse, but we lash out at the ones we love.
No comments:
Post a Comment