The Diogenes Club

It’s been more than a year since...

You left me alone when I was hallucinating knives were going to fly and cut me. Since you told me you couldn’t stay and I asked if you could please take all the knives in the house because I was so afraid they would cut me. You were in such a hurry that you didn’t even take them all. 

Melanie came to pick me up from the hospital and when we got back home she found the rest of them. Then she said and I quote “He treats you like shit.” 

You left me alone when I foamed Perrier at the mouth because my body lost the ability to swallow. 

You left me alone when I was talking about your sister’s boyfriend being a spy. You didn’t care that I could have died. You just put King of The Hill on and left.

You lied about intending to take me to the hospital the next day. Instead you left me a note saying where I was supposed to go, as if I could have safely gotten myself anywhere in the state I was in. 

You told me your chore was “rolling joints” when all I ever asked of you was to do the dishes.

You slammed a mug on the nightstand because I put too much sugar in the coffee that I made for you.

You got angry at me for interrupting your video game time asking you for ice for my broken toe. I was hobbling in a chair and still making you breakfast, but you couldn’t even bring me ice. I didn’t ask for ice again. I learned to just not ask for anything. 

You told me “we’re not going on a shopping spree” when I asked you to buy me some conditioner because I was hallucinating that someone had poisoned all my toiletries. 

You yelled at me in the car saying “You’re not special.”

You told me I wasn’t allowed to watch my favorite show in the apartment I was also paying for.

You lied to me for MONTHS about not seeing anyone. Saying you slept the entire weekend. You were probably laughing at how much of a fool you thought I was. I knew. I saw the condoms and smelled the sex on your bed. Apparently you're polyamorous now. Which I think is fucking terrifying, yet also completely on brand. 

You emotionally, psychologically, and financially abused me. 

You tried to coerce me into sex when I was asleep.

You constantly gaslit and manipulated me.

You were the catalyst for not ONE, but TWO nervous breakdowns in the span of   8 months. Remember that? When I asked for a day for myself to rest and take my medication, but you started CRYING over having to take care of the dog by yourself. I know you cheated on me. I KNOW. You cheated on your other ex too. She told me, just ask her. You talked SO much shit about her too. How she was crazy, now I know the truth. Your behavior IS CRAZY MAKING. Your behavior is ABUSE. You were not my boyfriend you were MY ABUSER. What you called love is actually a trauma bond. What I thought was me going nuts is actually REACTIVE ABUSE. I hate that I even know this. That knowing you is why I know this. You’re a sick, cruel specimen of a human being.

There’s so much more I could write here, but I think you get the point.

You are a monster with no empathy. 

You did all of this to me and called it love. You don’t know what that word means. You can’t even love yourself. You did all of this and yet somehow made yourself out to be the hero in this story. You re-write history because you can’t handle being anything less than perfect. I still remember when you actually told me “that’s why I broke up with you”, when I was the one that broke up with YOU. I think you forgot who you were talking to and just tossed out the spiel you were telling everyone else. That was the extent of your lies and delusion. 

You are evil. I saw it. You may be able to hide it from some people, but your mask will eventually fall. I saw the blackness in your eyes. Now I know the truth, now I know you’re a sociopath. 

Try not to trip over your umbilical cord while trying to crawl back into your mommy’s vagina. 

Try not to trip over the graveyard of the women who have been unfortunate enough to date you. Like tiny islands of a million shipwrecks. 

You are a cancer to every woman you have ever dated and will ever date.

Your family is a nest of narcissistic vipers. The friends you have are just people you use. I should know. You used me. A nice house in Malibu and a golden parachute makes you into anyone’s bitch, yet you still manage to fall short. 

Even with all your intelligence, you are nothing but mediocre. And deep down you know that, which is why you feel the need to destroy people in order to appease your darkness. You simultaneously want to fuck, yet resent and hate your mommy, so you take it out on other women.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you. 

azt mondta, hogy júliusban találkoztatok

boldog évfordulót

CHEERS TO ANOTHER YEAR WITHOUT YOU! 

You didn’t destroy me.

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I leave you with my favorite Bukowski poem:

The Genius of the Crowd

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it and the best at hate are those who preach love and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god those who preach peace do not have peace those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers beware the knowers beware those who are always reading books beware those who either detest poverty or are proud of it beware those quick to praise for they need praise in return beware those who are quick to censor they are afraid of what they do not know beware those who seek constant crowds for they are nothing alone beware the average man the average woman beware their love, their love is average seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you to kill anybody not wanting solitude not understanding solitude they will attempt to destroy anything that differs from their own not being able to create art they will not understand art they will consider their failure as creators only as a failure of the world not being able to love fully they will believe your love incomplete and then they will hate you and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond like a knife like a mountain like a tiger like hemlock

I can’t breathe. Or, rather; I feel like I can’t breathe because I would have already lost consciousness. That fact is indifferent to me though. I cried for about three hours straight on the flight from LAX. I’m not ready to leave here. Warm tears pool at the bottom of my mask. The woman next to me politely pretends not to notice. I am crying because I feel like I don’t fit in this world. My happiness is always external. It is at the mercy of whatever is around me. I feel my heart beating and I start wishing the plane would just crash. I am unable to make myself happy. I am unable to move on. I am simply unable. I finally arrive at the Dallas airport. Rushing to the lavatory; I call my mother. Who will I call instead when my mother dies? There is no one else. She tells me to change my flight. I don’t want to have to pay extra. She yells, “I WILL PAY THE DIFFERENCE!” I change my flight and smoke a cigarette in the designated area. My brother picks me up in his new Tesla. I wonder if I will ever amount to anything. All the pretty things I could have been are slipping away from me with each passing day. I am alone again. 

I’m slowly coming down from my manic episode into the darkness that always follows. I feel like my life is over. The world feels closed off and gloomy to someone like me. I don’t think I was meant for it. The first time I thought about suicide I was 9 years old. I snuck a kitchen knife into my great-aunt’s room and held it to my heart; eyes closed. Too afraid to do anything I walked to the kitchen and put it back in the drawer. Nobody noticed. There was a lot about me that went unnoticed, I suppose. How terrible can someone’s life be at 9 years old? 

Just as terrible as it is now, at 35. I am figuratively holding that same knife to my chest. Except the knife is a pack of cigarettes that I have been chain smoking for a week, while on two different heart medications. 

It seems like I can only shake off the darkness for so long before it consumes me again. This time in the form of pillowy clouds of smoke. I miss the mania and the magic it brings. I miss it because it gave me a sense of purpose; a drive. Without it I am a cold, hard, empty shell. Just going through the motions. Wake-up, take my meds, eat, take more meds, go to sleep. Maybe tomorrow will be different.