I’m beginning this blog from the women’s locker room of my gym. I might keep it short and then go shower as I stink after a Body Pump and a Body Combat class to vent my anger, or I might start it and finish it at home. However, during Body Combat as I roundhouse kicked the virtual shit out of my ex, I told myself I’d leave my fury here and be done with it. When I go to the shower, I’ll wash the day’s toxicity off me and leave it to be diluted by the suds of all the other women who have no doubt tried to flush out their demons with a high intensity workout here before me.
When my ex contacted me last week about a small loan he had taken out for both of us (mostly for me) while we were together, I tried to be cooly accommodating in reaching an agreement on repayment. It unsettled me to hear from him but I have too many good things in my life now, including a stronger sense of myself and a relief to be free of him, to let him linger long in my head.
You can imagine my shock this morning to find a message request from his current girlfriend (who, according to her, is very happy in their relationship except for the fact that “my” loan is upsetting him and causing a problem between them (according to him she broke up with him because she’d had enough of him – go figure), accusing me of all sorts and generally blaming me for everything wrong with him and them.
Now, I’ve held my hands up about damage I caused in my hysteria, apologised to him and her and offered to pay for the damage (which he declined) and I fully accept responsibility for my actions. And the shame that goes along with it. But the fact that their relationship is going to shit is not my fault as I’ve had practically zero contact with him for over a year.
He wanted to know if what happened with first us, and now them, was all his fault: if he was the common denominator in our and their relationships going tits up: yes, I expect it is, it told him. I did all I could to make him happy over the years, it was never enough.
I tried to be reasonable in my response to her (I’m so tempted to publish the messages without identifiers) and my cousin, the wise Marchioness commended my responses (of course, I screen grabbed the correspondence to show her) but still New Girlfriend felt the need to explain how perfect their relationship is apart from the huge cloud of €800 hanging over them (my fault, of course) and go on to throw insults and sly digs around. Should I email her a link to my blog? Maybe then she’ll think before she gets involved.
Again, I’m not blameless in the breakdown of the relationship. Christ, I was a basket case, with a screw driver and a large vault of unresolved sexual trauma, hurt and guilt. But don’t fucking blame me for this. I tried to make it right.
I’ve never enjoyed a Body Combat class as much as this one – I needed to visualise that fucker’s face as I pounded out those uppercuts.
The one thing I can say however, as I let my fury dispel, is that I am so fucking glad I got away from him, as protracted and awful as it was at the time.
He’s not my problem anymore.
PS Get your runners on and run, kick, punch it out. Hence the cover photo. X X