You almost made your way back into my head last night. Somewhere in between the tearing open of the envelope from the IRS and the distinct popping and snapping of vessels in my head, your voice almost had a crack to seep back in and hiss your obscenities at me about deserving what I found. I felt it washing over me like tidal wave, and for the first time since I walked out the door with my head up and eyes open to the world you stole away from me, I stopped it dead in its tracks. I’ve been fortifying myself against you, and I decided in an unmistakably adamant manner that your voice has been selected for erasure. You are obsolete. Demeaning, abusive, hateful, arrogant, cruel, malicious speech with which you filled my head have been filtered and dyed as as to be easily identifiable as the toxic waste that it really is. So I can purge myself of every last trace of you.
You must think this is awful, me wanting to deliberately banish you as though you never existed. But with the shock-and-awe manner in which you bounce from victim of plunder to victim of plunder, you should be adaptable. It’s how you live. Although I am sure that the way things played out with us is not the way you thought it would end. I know you expected me to stay and endure to the death, but you aren’t worth my life. So I took it back. And now, my past with you is almost like it happened to someone else.
You threw your ability to make money around like it was supposed to alleviate the sting of the theft you carried out on me. Like it would keep me anchored there in hope of getting back all I lost… promises from a man who doesn’t know the meaning of keeping his word. So what’s another debt I didn’t know about coming to light to me? One more rock on the side of the mountain. One more heist of which I was unaware. I know if this was done to you, you’d keep a tally down to the last penny of what was taken so you could properly assess the amount of revenge to exact. The amount of debt and loss shackled to me like a ball and chain has soared to over $100K. When I tally up the debts left, the $70,000 of my paychecks you excitedly handed over to dealers, the electronics and other things you sold, the $8000 in books and music I left behind, the furniture, the car I had destroyed. But to your dismay, friend, I don’t mourn that mountain of losses. Know why? I got out with my life, and no amount of financial worth could ever cover that. So the IRS took $900 for a loan. Eh, whatever.
I am alive. You hear me? A-L-I-V-E. I hope you enjoy what ran through your fingers like water. What I have is far better than all of that combined. And Jehovah will handle you appropriately. This is all that you should fear.
I heard you recount at least a million stories of those you plundered before me with gleeful arrogance in your voice. Prideful of the pain you caused and the damage you left in their wake for them having the nerve to think they could leave you without feeling the consequences and the sting of your open-handed slap every day for the rest of their lives. Delighting in their suffering and not being able to overcome what you left behind. Singing joyfully aloud to cover over their cries of pain.
Put on a new record, because the DJ isn’t playing that song for me. This is some new stuff you haven’t heard before, guarenteed to fill you with rage the moment you find out that I am not desperately flailing in some desert of destruction and torment recounting all the things about you I wish I had appreciated. That I’m not treading water feverishly trying to keep from going under from the weight of missing you.
The lyrics to this girl’s life aren’t written that way. Nope, son, they go something a little like this. [So turn it up and let it burn. That is how you like it, right? Only this time, the one you feel burning will be you.]