Two Years Too Long

So I spent the majority of last night and most of this morning going over my journals. I took all the entries concerning him out and copied them into a word document. It was time I saw with my own eyes what this relationship has been. 'Love is blinding', they say. While reading some of it, I saw that truth. In other parts, I thought they were just pessimistic.

When he and I met, I was in the process of divorcing my husband. Please don’t give me any bullshit for this, as my husband had divorced me three times verbally already, only he denied it in the court.

Anyway, I was feeling like shit. I had taken to abusing my Xanax prescription, was drinking heavily and the last thing on my mind was meeting another man. I woke some time in the middle of this mess and went to the salon. I didn’t iron my clothing, hardly brushed my hair, and didn’t bother putting on makeup. I had to do my nails. I’m Tainted and it’s the one thing I can’t stand in a state of imperfection, no matter what I’m going through I must have nice nails.

After the salon, I had to see my lawyers. I parked my car as near to the building entrance as I could, and walked along the street in Deira towards the office.

“Mar7aba,” I heard the voice from behind but ignored it and kept on walking. Within moments he was beside me, repeating himself.

Not at all impressed, nor thinking much about it, other than being too tired to deal with another desperate man who thinks I’m a prostitute, I stopped. I turned towards his car and looked at him directly in the face and said, “3aib akhoy. 3aib alaikh!”

For those that don’t understand Arabic, he said ‘Hi’ repeatedly and in response I said, “Rude brother. You’re rude!”

He continued to follow me until I entered the building and I ignored him. I had no interest at all in this man. To me, he was just another of Dubai’s desperate men looking for some whore to fuck on the nasty streets of Deira.

He followed me into my lawyer’s office (which was located on the second floor, and I have no idea how he knew that was the office I went to as I entered the elevator while he was still in his car). Where I was sitting in the reception, he couldn’t see me. I heard him ask the receptionist for some other office's location, thank her and leave. I didn't think I'd see the guy again. What kind of crazy person would follow a girl he didn't know into a lawyers office, in this country?

I left my lawyers office two hours later. When I got to my car and turned it on I was shocked to see him pull up beside me. He had waited for me, the whole time. After 20 minutes or so, he convinced me to give him my number, telling me that I was the one acting 3aib, because he'd waited so long and I still refused to talk to him. He even made me to give it to him twice to make sure I’d given him the right one. I told him that whatever he did, not to call me that day because I wasn’t feeling alright. God the boy was persistent.

I reached the house and slept only to be woken up by him calling. I started screaming obscenities at him, asking him if he was stupid and couldn't understand what the words, "Don't call me today," meant. I closed the phone on his face.

He called me every day for more than a week and each time I treated him just as badly. I really didn’t want the guy. When I realized this wasn’t repelling him, I tried to make myself look like trash. I told him all sorts of obscenities about myself, things no normal person would say. When he explained he used to work in CID, I asked him if my drug file was still there. I tried everything to make myself look like a shitty girl he would have no use for. but he wouldn’t leave me alone.

After a month or so, I got used to his calls that would come every night at 10pm. Two days passed and he hadn’t called. I started to worry. That’s what people with anxiety disorders do. I sent him a message that said, “Did you die?”

He called me back laughing. He asked if I wished he was dead and told me they'd just changed his shifts at work, and he didn't have the chance to call. I explained that I just thought it weird that he hadn’t called after being so stubborn about it all, and started to seriously wonder if something had happened to him. That’s the night he won my intoxicated, drunken, completely shattered heart.

I played no more games (that I can remember), to try and get rid of him. I resigned to the idea that there was no way he'd leave me alone no matter how hard I tried.

I remember only bits and pieces of the months that followed. And none of it is in my journals because I was too fucking high on the combination of prescription meds, alcohol and anything else I could get my hands on, to bother with a computer. During all of it, every memory I have of being homeless and living in my best friend’s house, losing myself completely, and not caring about a thing in the world, he was there. He was taking care of me.

There was a night when I was completely wasted and at another friends house in Sharjah. She decided that I shouldn’t drive home and called him to get me. He was there in minutes, putting me in his car. That night, I looked at him in the face and drunkenly said, “What do you want from me? You want to fuck?,” I remember none of this now, but I believed him later when he told me, “If you want to fuck, now is the perfect time for you. I’m so fucked up I’ll never remember it anyway.” I said.

He didn’t touch me.

I remember the small car accident he had that night while I was in the car. I remember him calling the police to come. I remember nothing but sitting in the car with him talking, while the police filled out the forms. I remember how he returned me to my best friend’s house and how I fell asleep in his arms on the couch. She remembers waking up late that night and finding him awake. She remembers him telling her, “She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?”

There are nights like those, and there are nights like the one I made him take me to the sea only to leave him in the car and walk strait into the water without looking back. He didn’t know how to swim and I walked in fully dressed, completely broken feeling that God only allowed me to fuck myself up like this because he wanted me in hell; believing that no one in the world cared about me so I shouldn’t either.

I lay in the ocean, willing God to allow me to drown; telling God I was drunk and it was dark and it would be so easy for him to take me, if that’s what He wanted. I floated and begged for the pain to go away. I forgot all about the boy.

It was sometime later when I gave up on that too, thinking God himself didn’t want me. I made myself back to the shore and fell on the sand in a broken mess. I’d lost my shayla to the sea and my soul to this world. Within in minutes the boy was running to me in his underwear. He picked me up and apologized because he didn’t know how to swim. He told me he was just about to call rescue, believing I had drowned somewhere in the black sea. He carried me to the car and pulled a towel out of the back and wrapped me in it before placing me inside. He took me to my mom’s empty house, as my parents were on vacation, and he held me until I slept and then woke up again. He thought I was so messed up that night, I would die in my sleep from the amount of drugs in my body and no one would know because I was all alone and none of the people who work on my parents land, knew I was there.

It’s the sacrifices he made at the beginning of our relationship that make it so fucking hard for me to let go. It’s not that I’m a masochist. It’s not that I enjoy being tortured. It’s that I know he took care of me when no one else would bother (not even me) with such a fucked up chick. It’s that I know he never abused me then. It’s that I feel so damn indebt to him for those first few months. But it seems, it was only those first few months that he was like that.

It wasn’t long before I was all settled in at my mom’s house. It wasn’t long before I fell in love with him. It wasn’t long before I cut the meds and the alcohol out of my life. And it wasn’t long before the rollercoaster of this relationship actually started. These are some of the entries I came across last night:

~*~

02/09/04
Title: The Blessing…
He’s strong in his faith, kind with his hand and word. He’s strait when I am crooked, and always there with a show of support. His hands are like magic, and I fit perfectly into the shape of his slender body. And he rocks me, like I would rock my baby. He smells like nothing I’ve ever known, and he takes wonderful care of his hygiene. He’s handsome and pretty at the same time, and even his little baby-tooth has character. He’s just 23. But when he smiles, his eyes become lined with animated wrinkles that seem to make them twinkle. His jokes are always funny, and he’s all too often cute. But he’s still as masculine as I need him to be so that I can feel secure. He’s a fantastic listener, who offers solid advice when it’s needed.

~*~

01/10/04
Title: The blank
Why is it that in every relationship there seems to be a period where the couple just can’t seem to get along?! There’s nothing severely wrong, and no huge arguments or disagreements have occurred, but there’s a blank in communication. There’s stubbornness in his voice and ice in his words. Where does it come from and why? And is this a temporary thing, or is it permanent?! Should I be backing out, or attempting conversation?!?

Conversation leads to more hurt it seems. And my mind keeps telling me, this guy wants to leave me but doesn’t know how. He’s trying to make me leave him. But when I ask him, as expected, he denies. So what the hell is going on?!? It’s not the first time I’ve been through this sort of blank in a relationship. Most of the time, it goes with time. It’s just a phase. But this is a little different. There’s something just not the same about it.

Sometimes, I wish I was psychic.

~*~

08/10/04
Of Love & Rage
I
Loved
You
You inconsiderate piece of shit
you made me a fucking fool
a tool
used and discarded
for someone else to abuse.
I could tear your toes-nails off
the finger ones
too
even though I know your game
I’ll never hurt you
my fucking love
was true.
You stupid fucking asshole
I’d have split the earth
in two
risked my entire life
to spend one minute with you.
You inconsiderate piece of shit
so easy to let go
still acting so very kind
(your true colors will not show)
fucking gigolo!
You stupid fucking asshole
broke my fragile heart
torn into my soul
shredded then ripped it apart.
You inconsiderate piece of shit
playing games
causing me pain
driving me insane
because
I
Loved
You

and still do

~*~

You see how quickly things seemed to change? They’ve been a complete fucking rollercoaster ever since. But I love him. And I know different than anyone who says love doesn’t exist.

There is so much more I wanted to say. But I opened a bottle tonight and don’t think I’m in the right mind to go there.

I took all the entries of all my journals and made an A5 sized book. I went to kinkos tonight and had them bind two copies; one for him and one for me. He knows I keep online journals, there’s even one entry there that’s a photo of him, taken while he slept after I drew all over his face. We were madly in love at times. We were one another’s worst enemies at other times. I’m sure he’s hurting as much as I am now. I’m also sure that I’m just another stupid fucking girl, who is now drunk and thinking and speaking more through emotions than anything else.

I titled the book “Two Years Too Long” and ended it with this letter:

~*~

After spending the last day taking all the entries out of my journals that had anything to do with you; after examining every-single up and every-single down we had, I don’t think there’s much left to say.
I know there are many things that happened between us both good and bad that aren’t here as I never wrote them down. I know the night you saved me from the bar & sea isn’t here. I know you taking care of me during the first months, also isn’t here, but this is the majority of what our relationship was like through my eyes. I’m sure you’ll have a different version of how our story actually was, but as far as I can see it’s been one-sided right from the start. I never wanted to believe it. I really didn’t, because I really loved you more than life itself; even through all the anger. And we did have some amazing moments together.
No amount of effort can repair the damage this relationship has caused me, even if you think it can repair you. No action will ever make me believe that things will change. Together, our pattern always has been and always will be destroying each other and you will always pull away when I think I need you the most. You will always let me down. You will always destroy me; whether you intended to do it or not, I’m not sure, but this is the pattern of our love.
We’ve shared a hundred apologies, a hundred vows that we’ll talk our problems through and try our hardest to work things out and we’ve never succeeded. A hundred times, you’ve told me you ‘finally’ understand what I’m feeling and a hundred times I’ve believed you, only for you to crush me all over again.
You were right when you said we never will succeed. I love you. Maybe I always will, but it’s a curse for me and not a blessing.

~*~

I called his best friend tonight and cheerfully denied any chance that I would go back to the boy. HL&H is right in her last comments. I can’t keep allowing this to happen. I asked him if I could give him this 167 page book and if he'd take it to the boy. He agreed to take it Saturday.

For now, I’m just going to keep drinking; until I can’t drink anymore.