Aaahhh…the sweet feeling of release.
I went on an emotional tirade last night about my ex-husband and boy howdy, did that ever feel good.
In general, I’m a contradiction of myself: I’m an emotional person, meaning I feel so many varying ones during the day that it can be physically and mentally exhausting, but I stifle expressing those emotions, usually. I shove them way down and try to resolve them by myself without the aid of talking to anyone about them. I’ve been conditioned that way, I guess. Living with a man for nearly 9 years who despised talking to me about anything other than video games also aided in my inability to talk about stuff didn’t help.
But last night was different.
I don’t know what got me started, really…I just remember standing outside in the cold night air with my roommate and all of a sudden, I just went off about how fucking angry I still am at him for allowing his marijuana use affect our marriage. He often chose hanging out with his friends to get high instead of being with me. That’s a real self-esteem booster, let me tell you what. The rant included me nearly screaming at poor Corey about how absolutely fucked up it was that he was so goddamned stupid to let his dependence on pot get in the way of us.
“You know what, I don’t care he smoked pot, I don’t. But don’t fucking rely on it every goddamn day because you can’t deal with life. You know what, people have stress. Fucking deal with it like a normal fucking person!” was a line I remember yelling into the night.
“You ruined our marriage and if I see him any time soon, I’m going to kick his ass because he fucking deserves it!”
“Remember when he was in that bicycle accident and they found pot on him? When he was in the hospital, a counselor from a treatment center came in and started talking to him and I watched him lie to the guy’s face about his usage and I wanted to fucking scream at him that what he was saying was absolute bullshit, but I didn’t feel it was my place to do so and I’m pissed off I didn’t speak up about it. I wanted to yell, ‘LOOK AT WHERE WE’RE AT NOW, MOTHERFUCKER!!'”
Oh man, was I livid. Whiskey tends to fire me up a bit.
I feel foolish I waited so long to unleash this kind of unholy fury about the situation. I mean, it’s almost been two years since he moved out, but better late than never, I guess, right? And I’m sorry I chose my poor roommate as the subject of my rant, so he’s a saint for putting up with me for that.
I’m still pissed off. I’m still hurt and angry and feel like a failure for what happened. I have every fucking right to feel this way still and to the people who have told me to cool it with writing about my ex in a negative light because “what I write hurts people,” you can suck my size D tits. How dare you tell me that I can’t be angry. How fucking dare you.
I’m still ticked off about that, too. Fucking cock-smoking, self-righteous pieces of shit.
I ranted and raved and yelled and cussed and feel slightly better. I would still love to tell all this crap to my ex, but at this point, I think my statute of limitations has passed, but if ever given the chance, I will rip him a new asshole and not feel a single, solitary shred of guilt for doing so.
On a side note, I’m going to make a conscious effort to be more willing to talk about what’s bothering me in the moment instead of waiting days, weeks, months and years to get it out.
Thanks for reading. Sorry I swore a bunch.