Parasite

I hate living this way. In his shadow. I think he's gone, life transforms into something beautiful. I feel free and happy. I work on my novel. And then bam. He runs out of money and runs back to me.

I am not your neighbors wi-fi.

I am not your taxi cab.

I am not your meal ticket.

I am not your tax help.

So stop acting like it. I hate this. I'm not alone in the house. but I am. Here he is, using me like a bed and breakfast with free public transit. And here I am. Not benefiting at all from his presence.  I just feel pathetic. I am lonely. I was happier when he wasn't around. For about a week, at best. I wrote twenty-five pages in my novel. It only took a couple days to realize that I LOVE living without him.

But then he ran out of money. And back he came. Only to get rides to work and eat my food. Occasionally he wants sex. He is a parasite. He survives off of my inability to tell him no.

I've found hell. How do I get out? I'm afraid to confront him. As always. This is my nightmare. You know, I had a couple nightmares while he was gone. One awful one about my father dying. And one where I thought I was at work. I looked up and there was my ex, walking in. The shock, surprise, and disappointment at seeing him actually woke me up. With a jolt. And there I was alone in my bed again.

I had that same feeling when I went to the renaissance fair this last weekend. All of my friends ditched on me at the last minute. So I went by myself. Lo and behold, not fifteen minutes into arriving, I saw him. Well, I saw his hair. He has a streak of bright red dyed into it. I know, I did it. I saw that, noticed that the tall guy next to him was his best friend, and fled in tears, hoping he hadn't seen me.

I ran. I felt like such a coward, pushing through the crowd, weeping like a teenage girl. I was upset because I didn't want to be confronted with him and all his friends, only for him to ask where my friends were. He could have warned me. He knew I would be there that day.

I called my mother and calmed down. He called me later and we met up, and it was fine. I suppose it worked out. If he'd run into me with my writing group in tow, they would have torn him a new one. They hate him. They know every single thing he's ever done to me. And they hate him. So does my gym buddy Kim. And all of my coworkers too.

They know that he hit me, that he dumped me twice for other women and made me feel like shit whenever he did me wrong. They know that I am afraid to confront him because I am afraid of him. They know how he has used me. I wish I could surround myself with these people at all times, so they would create a barrier between him and me. Then I might finally be free.

I wish I could hate him.

God? We don't talk as much as we used to. But I want him gone. Even though there's a part of me that could keep him around forever. Please. Kill that part of me. Give me the strength to be a jerk to him. Give me the emotional numbness I need to get rid of him. Please.

From this point on, I am saving up for a vacation. Two weeks in Philadelphia might clear my mind and ween my ex. I hope.