My First Real Internet Love
9 months had gone by since Roy moved to Belgium. There had been ups (SEX!) & downs (FIGHTS!). We had come to a point where we had multiple fights a week. He loved public drama. Screaming in supermarkets was a common occurrence and I stopped questioning it. This is what love had become to me: censoring yourself, so the other person wouldn?t get mad. And he still always would.
He rented a small apartment and I spent most of my time there. I didn?t see much of my friends anymore, since Roy felt alone when I didn?t spend time with him.
Summer was upon us once again. Three things happened that made me question the current state of affairs. 1. My grandmother (whom I had a very close bond with,) was diagnosed with stage IV-cancer and was given a ?You will die in the next 3 months?-notice. 2. I developed an internet friendship with a Spanish guy (Roy didn?t know about him) which made me realize that THERE ARE fun gay guys who don?t act like assholes all the time. 3. I went to a Madonna-concert and when she sang the ?I?m not your bitch. Don?t hang your shit on me?-line she looked me right in the eyes while I was singing along. (She probably didn?t, but IT FELT LIKE THAT.) Madonna had become the mirror I needed to realize I didn?t have to take this shit anymore.
I started thinking about breaking up with Roy. There was one complication that was holding me back though. He had moved to Belgium especially for me. (A fact he liked to remind me of as much as possible.) So I didn?t dare to call things off, but I figured that if I uncensored myself enough, he might leave me. (I was also scared of what he might do to himself but that?s another story.)
And so we went from multiple fights a week, to multiple fights a day. Then one hot summer night things came to a blow like they never had before. Roy got mad and yelled at me. I laughed. (When someone gets really mad and yells at me, I can?t handle the confrontation so I laugh it off which pisses the mad person in question off even more. It?s a bad habit, I know.) He let out a big rumbling roar and got up from the chair he was sitting on, grabbed it with both hands and threw it against the wall. As he turned to me, I saw the look in his eyes. He didn?t seem to be him anymore. There was something changed in his eyes, something dangerous. As he launched himself towards me, I quickly ran out of his apartment door. He chased me down the stairs and tried grabbing my arm so he could pull me back inside. After a short struggle, I broke loose and got out of his front door. Alive.
I felt happy and liberated. All this bullshit was over and I was going to be ok. This was not how I imagined my romantic comedy to end, but it was more of a thriller at this point anyway. I made a vow to myself to never go back to him again. We were done. OVER.
Of course we weren?t.
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I cannot see the middle of a relationship at the beginning, but I can see the end from the middle. I know that there will be an end. There has to be. This is just a stop on the road.
I could walk to Celebrate Brooklyn all summer along. I’d learn how to start running. I’d eat meals of happy chickens at the commune across the street.
Kush got me selfie o’clock twitpic.com/ff3880
Don’t kill anybody. There might be a time in your 20s when you encounter a situation where you’re like, man, I could totally get away with killing this person. Police wouldn’t have a motive. No one would ever know.