I feel like having a bit of a rant today. I'm in a positive mood but some things are just bugging me a bit, maybe if I spend a little time now getting pissed off about them then I can get on with the business of enjoying life (and maybe doing something useful along the way too).
Firstly, I know how silly this will sound, but I don't really want to turn 22 on Saturday. It feels like the number that bids farewell to youth when I've only just found out how to enjoy it! I can't act like the carefree teen I feel like inside....actually, sod it. I missed out on all that 18-21yr old partying and I'm going to make up for it in style! Get me some glitter I'm going to make this zimmer frame bling innit mate (that's what the youth of today are on about, right?) . I am more than a bit annoyed with myself for missing out on all this growing up stuff, I think the entire experience after about 8 or 9 just passed me by a bit without me having the fun I should have....then of course getting in to a serious relationship at 17 that turned sour within a year and a half really didn't help anything....
Ok, so here it is I'm going to have one final big rant about Dean (my ex) then I promise to shut up about him for good (well, at least for now...we all know when I pick up the last of my stuff there will be a rant like nobody has ever seen...). If you get bored easily, and happen to be reading, skip the next section marked with **** top and bottom, it's probably for the best this kind of rant could take a while!
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Where to begin? Maybe when we met. I was 16, he was 15, we were in school still, me having just started my first (terrible) year in 6th form. I knew Alex, a friend of ours, from the year or so before, went to his 16th just before we went back to school, and it was there I met Dean's best mate Sam, who I accidentally stabbed through the ear with wrist spikes in the middle of a small mosh pit in the top room of a dingy pub in backwater Tisbury. I was 16, ok.... So a couple weeks later, I found myself spending my time with this motley lot in the music room. This lead to eventually in the springtime, myself and Twag (another ex, who I'm now completely platonically friends with, bless him he was a shit boyfriend but now he's older he's a thoroughly nice guy to have as a mate) and Dean and his little bitch of a girlfriend Emma wandering around in the sunshine on weekends.
By the time we were both single next September, Emma had dumped him, and I'd just been ditched by my crazy fling of a rebound boyfriend in London (rebound is not somewhere I'll ever go again, fear not gentle reader I learnt a hard lesson from that mistake and now know the difference) so there you have 2 miserable and lonely people moping and seeing as we were now both in 6th form, we ended up with a few free periods together every week when nobody else was around. I didn't know him well, but he intruiged me, and I was desperately looking for anything to cling to that would help me forget about my own problems at the time, so I comforted him. We got close, spent a while both chasing after the same girl (Charli dear I'd still chase you to the ends of the earth you crazy pretty straight girl you) and eventually ended up going out. Fantastic, yes, it was for a while. But even then he managed to piss me off (I once broke a chair when he upset me in the common room, I was extremely pissed by something he said and kicked it on my way past, he happened to be sat on it at the time I think so it nearly ended in early castration....) and I pissed him off equally. But then, being a young new relationship, this was happily ignored for a while, and a year later he proposed and at the time it seemed like the right thing to do to accept.
Time went by, I had left 6th form and started a job in the cafe down the road, he and Sam used to visit all the time for food, tea, and to distract me from my utter bitch of a boss (I had 2 bosses, one was great the other treated me like shit, there's a rant for another time though). I didn't feel too lonely, because people were close by and I saw them often enough. When everyone left for Uni though, the isolation started. I hadn't seen my best mate in Blandford for a while, but then we'd both been busy and not thought too much of it. I didn't go out any more because there seemed no point, nowhere to go, nobody to go with but Dean and we used to hang out at his place all the time. Eventually, after I'd changed job again to the pet shop still in the town centre, his stepmum left with his stepsisters and there was a little room for me to move in. Great, you'd think, you're young, engaged, and you can surely share a room together, you practically live there anyway already....
Have you ever, dear reader, shared a room with someone? I didn't, when I was growing up I had older half-brothers, so they were forced to share and I got the best room all to myself (it was their choice to move in, they had other rooms with their other parents elsewhere, and I wasn't giving up my room).....so basically I had no clue what this can do to people. I used to think sibling rivalry and fights between my brothers was stupid, but I tell you now sharing that room permanently made already fraying tempers blow out of proportion. He got possessive, and jealous of anyone I would talk to even online, there was a time when I tried to help a friend run a new discussion board forum he was setting up (it turned into a massive community in the end but was eventually shut down when he couldn't keep it up any more) and it was going to take some of my time obviously moderating, and it was fast expanding needing all our work until a bigger better moderation hierarchy could slowly be put into effect. Because of Dean I ended up falling out with this friend for a good year or 2 because I found it difficult to explain why I couldn't keep up. Every time I even opened the homepage again it was "oh you're on those fucking forums again aren't you they're so much more important than me" - and that right there is a direct quote. I shit you not. Oh here's another, any time I talked to a guy on msn "he obviously just wants to get in your pants you want to fuck him don't you" and several more graphic descriptions of things I'd apparently do.
So this went on, and on, and eventually I was invited out a couple of times in Blandford. Now it's not easy to get there from where we are, there's about 2buses a day which don't always decide to turn up at all, and getting back is just as hard. Neither of us drive, though I had my 100cc 2wheel deathmobile to get me to my best mate's where I could stay. She wasn't happy about having someone she didn't know well stay there, so it was a case of if he was going to come we'd have to arrange a lift for 1am ish which is bloody annoying. I ended up a few times going on my own. But he was so paranoid, he thought I had done stuff with other guys which again was described to me in great detail when I returned (completely untrue, I'm really not that kind of person and the thought of it actually kinda makes me feel sick). Once or twice, I got him invited to come with me, which went along a pattern of 3weeks before, it's all cool, 2 weeks before, good to go, 1 week left and I'm just starting to let myself get excited about going out (yeah it was that infrequent) and he'd decide he wasn't going to go. Then he'd say he didn't want to go, but would go for my sake, but would hate it, thereby guilt tripping me into saying I wouldn't go, then he'd say go without him but at the same time saying he'd stay home on his own depressed without me while I did whatever to other guys (see where it's going here?) so then I'd either end up staying home, or making the stupid mistake of going with or without him.
Thinking about it, any time I went anywhere with him, even if he really enjoyed himself when he was out, sometimes before we even got home all I'd hear is how shit it was. I ended up going out a couple of times on my own, but was so depressed and anxious about him I'd get drunk and upset, so nobody invited me any more. I didn't know many people so it wasn't doing me any favours being so down every time I was out, nobody likes a killjoy at a party after all.
I went a year. I whole year, seeing nobody but him, whoever was on the checkout at the supermarket, work, and my mother who I saw once a week (though sometimes he got paranoid and thought I was seeing someone else, especially if I was but 5 minutes late....there were times I had told him I was going to the shop after work for milk or whatever, and I'd get a call saying "where are you, you should be home by now, what're you doing I'm worried" and I'd have to apologise to the shopstaff trying to give me my change and tell him again that I'd be home in 10mins......) so yeah, a whole year passed, seeing nobody, spending every spare damn second in his room. 4 walls. Just 4 walls. Like a freaking cage. And the worst bit is, I was supporting him because he didn't have a job, refused to go to the jobcentre and look for one or claim any benefits, so I had to lie for him, pay his rent, constantly buy him stuff or he'd only get more depressed and not even do anything I wanted to without getting crap about it.
I used to love music, but then, I couldn't play any more because it'd only make him depressed and moan because he couldn't play like I could and didn't want to let me teach him either. I couldn't listen to music, because it would interfere with whatever he was doing, and headphones are antisocial apparently.
The other thing I had always liked, but never got enough of a chance to explore was gaming. I love it, but with older brothers my turn usually took a while to come around. And with Dean, well we built a huge collection, mostly what I bought of course, but I couldn't play often because even if he was doing something else he didn't want to see me playing because I wasn't good enough apparently. Well, duh, it takes practice to be good asshole so why not let me have some?! I hear even now he bitches about himself being the only reason I got in to gaming, oh sod off, I was reading OPM before you were, I just didn't have the money to get in to gaming early enough I was stuck with a dodgy PS1 and not nearly enough games.
Right, where was I? Oh yes the year of isolation. It ended with my 21st. I planned it for ages, booked a hall, mum helped get loads of food for it and gave us the lifts there and back, I bought a great costume because we tended to do fancy dress themes to make it more fun for birthdays there. I chose a retro theme, with a brilliant flares and shirt 70's combo (oh hell, why not, I'll give you a pic or 2!)
Now, I felt great when I left mum's with the food in car (I got ready there so she could sew the flowers into my hair) but when I went to the door to get him out not only was he looking particularly like he hadn't bothered he made particularly nasty comments about what I was wearing because, god forbid, the top was loose and open (it did up at the middle, loosely hung down possibly showing a bit of stomach when moving, hardly looking sluttish). So when we arrived rather than helping my mates who turned up early to help me set up, I had to ask the bar staff for a safety pin to hold it together. Yeah. Not happy. I simmered down a bit, relaxed, started having fun, but because one of the people I was dancing with happened to be a lesbian (lovely girl, great fun dancing, and I may be bi but when I'm actually with a person I'm loyal regardless) and I got his pissy mood at me all night for that. He had a go at me, and proceeded to look pissed off, and was still angry about it months after too. Grr.
So, that's a rant about how shit things were. I won't say there weren't good times, because I guess there were, but after I moved in they became so few and far between, he was more pissed off with me more of the time, I blamed myself and lived in denial telling myself it was fine and it was all worth it while my heart slowly broke and my spirit was crushed beneath his heel time and time again. I even let him blame me for when he got angry, and as time went by I believed it was my fault. I guess even now I still do, I rubbed him up the wrong way, but then sometimes I just couldn't sit there and take it. Stupid thing here, he used to tell me to stand up for myself, but when I stood up to him suddenly it wasn't the best advice any more. Eventually, he did get a job, part time, and had no intention of looking for full time alternatives...we had a bit more money, his dad moved leaving us to rent the house alone while it was up for sale. He took to drinking, I eventually took to it too because I couldn't cope with him being drunk all the time. He drank whiskey, which as most people know when you're depressed is one of the biggest depressants you can choose, and has a nasty habit of making people angry. And apologies are worth fuck all when you're just going to drink again that night, wasting my goddamn money and making my life like being a prisoner with the worst fucking inmate there......sorry I'll calm down. It just make me angry to remember so many days and nights, driving home from work half hoping I'd get squooshed by a van of some kind so I didn't have to find out what I was going home to. It'd either be the sweet apologetic one, who'd last maybe a couple hours before getting angry about something, or the one who was already drunk holding a bottle laying on the bed almost incoherent but apparently not incoherent enough when I tried to take the sodding bottle away.
Eventually I started to let go. Every night being told that it was all a sham, the ring on my finger was a lie, sometimes having him try and tug it off my hand (it was a tight fit, I had it resized for fear of losing it and never took it off), spending nights alone in another room drinking to cope with the denial I was in, telling myself it was worth it for those maybe few hours a week when things were fine again, trying to lose myself in those very precious close friends I knew I could always talk to online....I know how sad that sounds, but it was all I had, and I just don't care because the people I feel closest to are so far away even now......but it got to the point where I was drunk every night, just because he was, I wasn't sleeping, wasn't eating much at all (I've lost a lot of weight, still losing some now and probably shouldn't much more), and I eventually had a week off work. I had one plan to go out on the friday of that week and stay with my best mate after, I had the usual crap from him all week, so I spent the entire time downstairs as much as possible sleeping on sofabed so I didn't have to see him at all. I barely left the house once til I went out. When I left I had the usual sendoff, so went out forgetting about him. I think by then I was already over him, I'd done all the hurting, I was just figuring the way out. Anyway, the party was great fun, and the next day we ended up wandering out to the pub with friends, and I didn't leave until about 9pm by the time I bought fuel etc. So I got home late. He was in a pissy. I left him to it, but he wouldn't leave me alone. By the Sunday, I had really had enough of him being such a twat all the time, and told him where he could go shove it. I had actually taken the ring off the week or so before, telling him that at the very least I was not going to marry him in the forseeable future, so he had been trying every now and then to convince me otherwise, but I told him if he couldn't just leave me alone for a day without finding a reason to disturb me, spy on me, have a go at me etc then I didn't want to know. He couldn't do that. Too possessive, too clingy, I used to think I was a bit clingy, maybe I am but I don't cross that line of OTT I know when to give someone space even if I feel lonely. I snapped. I was half drunk, so was he, I told him where to shove it. Told him I was going to leave at the next given opportunity. Ohhhh mistake, never say that to a drunk depressed suicidal idiot with a litre of scotch and an air rifle. He tried to take away everything I had to contact anyone, I just managed to keep my phone in my pocket but the router was unplugged and taken away. I was drunk and stubborn, tried to get it back. Then decided the better thing to take back was the alcohol so he couldn't drink any more. I ended up with my back against a door not knowing what the hell to do....Eventually I had to admit my weakness (never again, ever, will I let myself be so weak....too many times I tell myself that but now I really am getting stronger) I had to resort to calling the police, but then had to hang up right away again because of what he was saying. They rang back, they came around, he hid in a cupboard like an idiot and had to tell them he was doing DIY to cover for it. I stupidly went for what he made up and told that it was just an argument and that I had a panick attack and that's why I called. When they left he went upstairs. Things calmed for a while, I had the air rifle safely hidden and he'd stopped trying to get it back. Then I realised why it had calmed, that much strong alcohol and no food equals fucking alcohol poisoning. I got upstairs to see him puking pure whiskey into a bucket and swearing at me, still drinking more. I got worried, and caled the ambulance, the crew of which had to call the police because they didn't want to go near him, he was shouting and swearing at them periodically when he remembered they were there, and I was kept well out of the way because he kept asking for me. The time I spent waiting for the ambulance to arrive, then later the police, was probably the longest minutes imaginable. It took 3 officers to drag him out and shove him in the ambulance to go to the hospital. I was glad he had to wait in the waiting room 5hours before he could be picked up. He doesn't remember most of that night. So I'm blamed for being an absolute bitch for leaving him.
You know, I didn't say all that much about stuff to our mates, he'd already moaned that I'd turn everyone against him and lie to them, so I didn't bother telling the truth. Heck I haven't even mentioned that much in the above. I wasn't perfect, I'll admit, but now he's being a total cunt telling everyone that I am a bitch etc etc. So fuck it. I hope people that know him find out someday how miserable he made me and how he never did anything to help himself. Or about how I fucking paid for him to live for over a year while he sat about doing fuck all, or how he denied for years he had a problem then oh all of a sudden he's getting the help he needed all along. You know, the next time I speak to them, they're going to find out the truth. I don't need to twist it like he no doubt is right now to put it in my favour. I can admit my flaws, my faults, and they are nothing compared to his. Anything I'm putting him through now by leaving is only what he deserves and barely a half of what I lived with from him. Fuck him. Fuck his fucking fuckery. I tried to be civil when I last went to collect a few things, and I got nothing but bullcrap from him.
END of ex boyfriend ranting. I've been typing for an hour and a half about that. Time to say fuck him, it's over, and that rant has really made me feel so much better. Now for something completely different.
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I hereby promise not to rant about Dean again, at least not for a long time. Now on for something much more important - breakfast!
Jenivere Out
Right, where was I? Oh yes the year of isolation. It ended with my 21st. I planned it for ages, booked a hall, mum helped get loads of food for it and gave us the lifts there and back, I bought a great costume because we tended to do fancy dress themes to make it more fun for birthdays there. I chose a retro theme, with a brilliant flares and shirt 70's combo (oh hell, why not, I'll give you a pic or 2!)
Now, I felt great when I left mum's with the food in car (I got ready there so she could sew the flowers into my hair) but when I went to the door to get him out not only was he looking particularly like he hadn't bothered he made particularly nasty comments about what I was wearing because, god forbid, the top was loose and open (it did up at the middle, loosely hung down possibly showing a bit of stomach when moving, hardly looking sluttish). So when we arrived rather than helping my mates who turned up early to help me set up, I had to ask the bar staff for a safety pin to hold it together. Yeah. Not happy. I simmered down a bit, relaxed, started having fun, but because one of the people I was dancing with happened to be a lesbian (lovely girl, great fun dancing, and I may be bi but when I'm actually with a person I'm loyal regardless) and I got his pissy mood at me all night for that. He had a go at me, and proceeded to look pissed off, and was still angry about it months after too. Grr.
So, that's a rant about how shit things were. I won't say there weren't good times, because I guess there were, but after I moved in they became so few and far between, he was more pissed off with me more of the time, I blamed myself and lived in denial telling myself it was fine and it was all worth it while my heart slowly broke and my spirit was crushed beneath his heel time and time again. I even let him blame me for when he got angry, and as time went by I believed it was my fault. I guess even now I still do, I rubbed him up the wrong way, but then sometimes I just couldn't sit there and take it. Stupid thing here, he used to tell me to stand up for myself, but when I stood up to him suddenly it wasn't the best advice any more. Eventually, he did get a job, part time, and had no intention of looking for full time alternatives...we had a bit more money, his dad moved leaving us to rent the house alone while it was up for sale. He took to drinking, I eventually took to it too because I couldn't cope with him being drunk all the time. He drank whiskey, which as most people know when you're depressed is one of the biggest depressants you can choose, and has a nasty habit of making people angry. And apologies are worth fuck all when you're just going to drink again that night, wasting my goddamn money and making my life like being a prisoner with the worst fucking inmate there......sorry I'll calm down. It just make me angry to remember so many days and nights, driving home from work half hoping I'd get squooshed by a van of some kind so I didn't have to find out what I was going home to. It'd either be the sweet apologetic one, who'd last maybe a couple hours before getting angry about something, or the one who was already drunk holding a bottle laying on the bed almost incoherent but apparently not incoherent enough when I tried to take the sodding bottle away.
Eventually I started to let go. Every night being told that it was all a sham, the ring on my finger was a lie, sometimes having him try and tug it off my hand (it was a tight fit, I had it resized for fear of losing it and never took it off), spending nights alone in another room drinking to cope with the denial I was in, telling myself it was worth it for those maybe few hours a week when things were fine again, trying to lose myself in those very precious close friends I knew I could always talk to online....I know how sad that sounds, but it was all I had, and I just don't care because the people I feel closest to are so far away even now......but it got to the point where I was drunk every night, just because he was, I wasn't sleeping, wasn't eating much at all (I've lost a lot of weight, still losing some now and probably shouldn't much more), and I eventually had a week off work. I had one plan to go out on the friday of that week and stay with my best mate after, I had the usual crap from him all week, so I spent the entire time downstairs as much as possible sleeping on sofabed so I didn't have to see him at all. I barely left the house once til I went out. When I left I had the usual sendoff, so went out forgetting about him. I think by then I was already over him, I'd done all the hurting, I was just figuring the way out. Anyway, the party was great fun, and the next day we ended up wandering out to the pub with friends, and I didn't leave until about 9pm by the time I bought fuel etc. So I got home late. He was in a pissy. I left him to it, but he wouldn't leave me alone. By the Sunday, I had really had enough of him being such a twat all the time, and told him where he could go shove it. I had actually taken the ring off the week or so before, telling him that at the very least I was not going to marry him in the forseeable future, so he had been trying every now and then to convince me otherwise, but I told him if he couldn't just leave me alone for a day without finding a reason to disturb me, spy on me, have a go at me etc then I didn't want to know. He couldn't do that. Too possessive, too clingy, I used to think I was a bit clingy, maybe I am but I don't cross that line of OTT I know when to give someone space even if I feel lonely. I snapped. I was half drunk, so was he, I told him where to shove it. Told him I was going to leave at the next given opportunity. Ohhhh mistake, never say that to a drunk depressed suicidal idiot with a litre of scotch and an air rifle. He tried to take away everything I had to contact anyone, I just managed to keep my phone in my pocket but the router was unplugged and taken away. I was drunk and stubborn, tried to get it back. Then decided the better thing to take back was the alcohol so he couldn't drink any more. I ended up with my back against a door not knowing what the hell to do....Eventually I had to admit my weakness (never again, ever, will I let myself be so weak....too many times I tell myself that but now I really am getting stronger) I had to resort to calling the police, but then had to hang up right away again because of what he was saying. They rang back, they came around, he hid in a cupboard like an idiot and had to tell them he was doing DIY to cover for it. I stupidly went for what he made up and told that it was just an argument and that I had a panick attack and that's why I called. When they left he went upstairs. Things calmed for a while, I had the air rifle safely hidden and he'd stopped trying to get it back. Then I realised why it had calmed, that much strong alcohol and no food equals fucking alcohol poisoning. I got upstairs to see him puking pure whiskey into a bucket and swearing at me, still drinking more. I got worried, and caled the ambulance, the crew of which had to call the police because they didn't want to go near him, he was shouting and swearing at them periodically when he remembered they were there, and I was kept well out of the way because he kept asking for me. The time I spent waiting for the ambulance to arrive, then later the police, was probably the longest minutes imaginable. It took 3 officers to drag him out and shove him in the ambulance to go to the hospital. I was glad he had to wait in the waiting room 5hours before he could be picked up. He doesn't remember most of that night. So I'm blamed for being an absolute bitch for leaving him.
You know, I didn't say all that much about stuff to our mates, he'd already moaned that I'd turn everyone against him and lie to them, so I didn't bother telling the truth. Heck I haven't even mentioned that much in the above. I wasn't perfect, I'll admit, but now he's being a total cunt telling everyone that I am a bitch etc etc. So fuck it. I hope people that know him find out someday how miserable he made me and how he never did anything to help himself. Or about how I fucking paid for him to live for over a year while he sat about doing fuck all, or how he denied for years he had a problem then oh all of a sudden he's getting the help he needed all along. You know, the next time I speak to them, they're going to find out the truth. I don't need to twist it like he no doubt is right now to put it in my favour. I can admit my flaws, my faults, and they are nothing compared to his. Anything I'm putting him through now by leaving is only what he deserves and barely a half of what I lived with from him. Fuck him. Fuck his fucking fuckery. I tried to be civil when I last went to collect a few things, and I got nothing but bullcrap from him.
END of ex boyfriend ranting. I've been typing for an hour and a half about that. Time to say fuck him, it's over, and that rant has really made me feel so much better. Now for something completely different.
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I hereby promise not to rant about Dean again, at least not for a long time. Now on for something much more important - breakfast!
Jenivere Out
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