It is funny that I should be writing about you, someone who is not interested to read a word I write, or a word anyone writes for that matter. Content to live your life with what little information trickles your way. I will never understand a mind that isn’t hungry for knowledge. I have had better lovers than you, smarter men, bigger men, eloquent men, charming men, passionate men… but here I find myself writing about you, the potato man, as my sister and I have dubbed you. You were supposed to be the easy one, the nice one, the safe one, the one that could understand and save me. To think such a bland person could be capable of such deception just was not on my radar. But that is your disguise isn’t it?
I have never met someone who did not have an inner monologue and truly could think NOTHING at any given time, until I asked you. Everyone else says, “Yes of course I have an inner monologue. There are people that don’t?” I believe this anomaly is the reason you have such a problem communicating about anything that is not at face level. After all, how can you even understand abstract thought when you have no thoughts racing in your mind to form them? It is more than a difference of personality types or culture, it is like you are an alien. I read stories about people with no inner monologue, as I could barely believe it was a phenomena, but there it is. Things like: People that do not have an inner monologue rehearse aloud things in the mirror they want to memorize or they cannot memorize it. Things like: Rehearsing aloud an important thing they would say to a significant other to get it right. It makes sense now that you always say nothing. After all, if you have great difficulty forming thoughts, how then could you express words on any sort of “human” level? I truly thought it was your upbringing that made you the way you are… living in a quiet home where no one discusses anything, and everything is shoved under the rug. I grew up in a house that was noisy and people told you what they thought. I assumed this stark contrast was the reason we could never see eye to eye. But no, I am pretty sure it is the lack of inner monologue thing. It makes you a sort of sociopath, not being able to relate to most people in the most basic of ways. Not being able to sympathize or empathize. I am sure it is why you seem to feel no remorse about your choices.
I am sure the woman you are with now is nothing like me, and more like you. After all, don’t we choose the opposite of our perceived bitch ex? I will bet she is plain and boring, a potato like you. Someone that will gladly sit in front of some reality show all weekend on the couch and eat plain, boring food because they have no palate. I am sure she doesn’t drink a drop of alcohol. Shit, she probably has a hobby like knitting or crafting. There will never be any fires to put out. There will never be that intensity to fear. There will never be those big words that you can’t understand. But there will never be any passion either. Never any new. What a safe choice you have made.
You will see one day the traits you hold dear in a woman are the very traits that bore you, that are already boring you. But you are a coward. You didn’t tell me about your safe choice until long after you had made it, did you? Behind my back and while you were still in my bed. Did you want to make sure you were making the right choice? Have a real life comparison of how our bodies felt? How our personalities differed? You used me wanting to fix my life, and using most of my time to do so, as the perfect cover for your lie… You didn’t even have to try to lie to her did you? It was so easy wasn’t it? I was so busy you didn’t even have to try to lie to me… and now I know. After you have been having us both for over a year. And what am I supposed to do? Walk away gracefully? Tell her? Kick and scream like a child? Go further….in my dark mind I realize I know so much about you, that if I really wanted to screw up your life, the girl would be child’s play. You think this is the person I am. You fear me these days even. You have never been more afraid of my passion than you are now. What will I do? Am I as crazy as you think I am? Or am I not? Does it make me crazy to tell her? I don’t know. Does she deserve to know? Surely as a woman that answer must be yes.
I will tell you one thing, I remember the days you cried about your choices. The days I thought you were talking about work, and how you couldn’t stand it, and how you hated your life, and how you didn’t want to go home. And most of all, how you craved me in those times. But it was about her, not work. I know that now. But you are the type to put your head in the sand and stay with someone that has a fatal flaw. Content to settle. Content to live a life without passion and whimsy. I do not have to know anything about her to know that will be your future. Otherwise, why would you still have kept coming around? Why make this mess if you are truly happy? Well, now that you have made your sloppy, sick, sad, regretful, lacking, pathetically cowardly fucking bed, you can lie in it. You will find out exactly what that means.