Well, I did something I’m not proud of last night.

     I got into it with the Surgeon.  

     It was stupid.  I knew there was no point to it.  I guess I just did it because I was lonely and angry.  Two out of four in HALT and yes I admit I was thinking of martinis.  

     See, he sent flowers to my apartment.  A bunch of lilies, which are my favorite.  No scalpel in the bouquet this time.   Just a nice card saying that he hopes I’m doing well.  

      I should have gone to a meeting or called one of my friends or taken Parrot out to play with her or cleaned my fish tank or something, but instead I just on my bed staring up at the ceiling and feeling upset and angry.  It came out of nowhere.

       I knew that he’d reach out to me in inquire about the flowers.  I mean, it’s natural to be curious about how a person receives a gift you’ve given them, but the surgeon always checks up.  That’s one thing about this man–he does something nice and he basically expects a parade for it.  You know those people who make anonymous donations to charities or otherwise ask that their names not be published?  That’s not him

       Sure enough, he sends me a text message:  Did you get the flowers?  I was thinking about you.  You are a very special person to me.

       Well, I don’t know what it was, but I totally flipped my shit.  This almost never happens to me.  I’m definitely not a crier and I almost never lose my temper.  I just almost never get pissed off.  I don’t know if it’s my personality or the way that I was raised in a strict household where displays of rage or grief by children were considered unacceptable and not tolerated.  My father, especially, reserved the luxury of rage exclusively for himself. 

       Whatever it was, those flowers and that text message set me off.  I know it doesn’t seem to make sense.  Why get mad over a card and flower?

        I wrote back: “‘Special’ like the kids on the short bus, or what? What do you want, a parade?  You do something nice for me once and you think it makes up for all the bad things you put me through?”

        I’m sure that shocked him.  I’ve been rude or mean to him a handful of times over the years we were together, and each time, I remember, he acted surprised.  Stunned, even. That’s how out of character it is for me.  And also, because he is a bully, he’s used to people walking on eggshells around him.

       But, you don’t want to fight with this guy.  He goes for the throat, and if you don’t lose the fight, he’ll eventually make sure that you wish you had.  There were a couple times where he had to acknowledge that I was right because he didn’t have a leg to stand on, and boy, did he punish me for it later.  

        After a minute, he asks: How are you supporting yourself over the summer?  Your old dungeon closed.  Want me to throw a little work your way?

        The Surgeon never completely got over the fact that he met me at a dungeon.  I’m not totally sure why.  I know it’s rank hypocrisy, given that he was there too, and he turned out to be more sexually strange than me–I won’t disclose his kinks, but trust me, he’s not Dr. Normal Normal.  

        I think that what bothered him the most about it was the idea of me with other men.  This, too, was hypocrisy, because we were never monogamous.  Nevertheless, he was a jealous man.  I think one of the reasons he used to bite and beat me so hard was that he was being territorial. 

        I wrote back: Wow, that was fast with the old familiar cruelty. Please, keep it coming.  It reminds me of why I had to dump your crazy abusive ass. 

        Him: You’re right, the sarcasm wasn’t nice, but I would never hurt you the way that you hurt me in these last several months since you cut off contact.  You are a cruel ice queen.  The way you have treated me is unconscionable. 

        Me: Breaking up with you was unconscionable?  You’re a self-centered rageaholic and an obsessive philanderer who ignored most of my emotional needs when you weren’t using me for sex!  How could I improve on that, right? Sorry that I needed a man capable of loving me in my life.

       Him: How can you say that about me? I know I have my issues, it’s true, but I have been the only person in your entire life that you could depend on.  When you had nobody else to turn to, I was always there.  What, did you want a child?  I would have given you that.

       I had to acknowledge that that part is true.  He’s right about that.  It doesn’t make him Boyfriend of the Year and it doesn’t ameliorate the bad things he did or the contempt with which he would treat me.  But I have to hand it to him: he went to bat for me on more than one occasion.  He always came through in a pinch.  

        Here it is, the Awful Truth: I have had no experiences in my life which would lead me to believe that I could depend on a man. You may think that is hyperbole, but it’s not.  With the exception of my brother, every man in my family tree has been a junkie, a user, a taker, a criminal, or a violent abuser and rapist of women and children.  

         Think about that.  You can bet your ass that I have. 

         I had to acknowledge that in my personal relationships with men–both intimate and familial–the Surgeon  was the best of the lot.  THE SURGEON!  THE FUCKING SURGEON!  Do you know what he did to me?  The things that would come out of his mouth?  It would turn your hair white!  And even still, the best of the lot!  Hell, compared to that pathetic lying manipulative cheating mathematician, the Surgeon was solid fucking gold!  He never mislead me about who or what he was.  

         Him: If you acknowledge that, then how can you question my commitment to you? I tried everything I could to keep you with me because I care about you.  I still care.  That is why I sent you flowers.

        A rare moment of grace for him.  I couldn’t tell if he was really trying, or just being manipulative.  I mean, yes, he wanted to keep me…but that doesn’t mean that he treated me well or that the relationship was good for me.  He was sexually obsessed with me. It doesn’t mean that he loved me.  I mean, he loved me a little bit, I always knew that.  

       But the Surgeon is not an emotionally evolved man.  His capacity for the higher emotions is very limited.  He doesn’t have a broad spectrum.  It’s difficult for me to explain.   He cares about me, and thinks that he cares about me, but he does not experience the loving, nurturing care that healthy people do.  

       And when you get right down to it, there is no escaping the simple truth that the Surgeon is just not a very good person.  He’s just not.  I say that as someone who truly loved him anyway.  He is rude, vain, shockingly insensitive, controlling, vindictive, and he goes out of his way to be cruel to people.  He can be nice when he feels like it, or when he wants something.  He can be very charming in fact–he’s a huge charmer; and he’s a smooth talker, he turns it off and on like a lightswitch.  He can be a lot of fun, but he’s a prick.  A colossal prick who thinks that he’s God. 

        He sort of is like God.  He goes into people’s bodies and slices them with knives and puts machines in them.  He changes their bodies.  It is not a coincidence.  

        He wanted me to have his kid, you know.  Incredible.  I thought about it.  The kid would have some good genes.  It would be smart.  It would probably be good-looking.  The Surgeon has money to give the kid a good start in life.

       But the Awful Truth is that there is simply no way in hell I could let that man be around my child.  He’s too dangerous.  He would damage a child.  Especially a girl.  He would be a better dad than my father was to me, but given that my father got a big fat “F-“ in Parenting 101, that is not exactly complimentary. 

       Not good enough for my child…but for years, I thought that he was good enough for me. 

       Anyway, that was pretty much the end of the argument.  There was a little more back-and-forth in which he told me how cruel I was for ignoring him.  But what else could I do?  We had to break up.  How the hell do you end a relationship if you keep interacting with the other person?  And how is no contact “cruel”?  Is it?  

          Him: I went to that strip club on Long Island looking for you!  I went to your old dungeon looking for you!  Do you have any idea how much anxiety and pain you have caused me?

       Me: Surgeon, that is fucking stalker behavior, it is not indicative of love. 

       Him: What else can I do when you ignore me?

       Me:  You are not entitled to my attention.  

       Him:  After 5 years?!  You are cruel!

      Me: No, cruelty is telling the woman who loves you that your DOG is the only thing in your life that brings you happiness.  That’s cruel!  Remember that?

         After that, the communication deteriorated into immature back-and-forth.  I usually argue in a very respectful fashion but I have to admit that I blasted him a few times last night.  I think the fight in his mind seemed to center around the topic of my alleged cruelty, which I vociferously denied.  Why did I deny it?  Who cares?  It’s not like I’m going to change his mind.  

       I did raise the spectre of OJ Simpson.  Maybe that was cruel.  But how can it be cruel if it’s the truth?  

        Was it wrong to be mad at him after the flowers and he tried to make nice?  

        It was a stupid fight via text message that did nothing but leave me feeling confused and tired.  Was I mean to him in the relationship?  I don’t think that I was.

        What a fucking depressing blog entry this is, but I had to write about it.  

        I’m going to take a shower and try to do something fun today.

        Here, let’s end on a happier note.  This medical specialty decision flow chart really cracks me up.  


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