Pretty Face, Ugly E-mails…

I am sitting in a packed coffee shop, wishing that the caffeinated beverage that I am consuming, would magically transform into a beer, or whiskey…

 

I have spent the better part of two and a half hours going through old e-mails so that my lawyer can meticulously comb through and retrieve anything useful that pertains to the ongoing divorce proceedings (also known as WW3) with my ex.

 

These emails date waaaaay back. Essentially starting from the mushy communications between two infatuated and maybe confused young kids, through to the venomous rhetoric that replaced the ‘I love you(s)’ with ‘fuck off and die(s)’. They also revealed a scathing truth that I think I always knew – she never loved me. No one that can speak the way she did, could ever claim to actually have loved me.

 

I read on and on, through countless back and forth interactions that descended into absolute opprobrious claims made from one about the other. As I did, I felt that same and all too familiar pit of somber emotion, worm its way into my chest once again, the same as it had back then.

 

Reading through these things brought back all the paralyzing feelings of anguish and despair that I had felt at the time of this heartbreak. At one point, I even had to sit up straight, and blink rapidly so as to disperse the rapidly accumulating tears within my eyes. The sting of remembrance, coupled with the realization of today’s circumstances, made for a rather potent trip down memory lane.

 

Sitting there, with my hands clasped in front of my mouth, supporting the resting weight of my despondent head, my eyes continued to digest the angriest of the hate-riddled text. Through glossed vision, I began to hear her voice break through to my ears as I now read the words in her shrill, acrimonious, tone. E-mails where she made fun of my nightmares, PTSD, depression, all the way through the Rolodex until comments about how ugly I was, or, how fat I am, became enough to force a pause in reading. I drank what was left of my coffee before dawning my sunglasses, and traipsing up to the counter to order another dark roasted and regrettably, alcohol free beverage.

 

The sunglasses provided me with a false sense of surreptitiousness while surrounded by people, in such an emotional state of remembrance. I even found myself swallowing hard while standing at the counter awaiting my order. The ball of dormant feelings refused to budge from my throat.

 

Reading through lie after lie about her faithfulness (or lack thereof), was enough to ignite my desire for a cold whiskey with a rapaciousness that is unmatched. I’ll admit to you now, I am going to have a stiff drink as soon as this laptop closes.

 

It has been almost four years since I have physically spoken with, or communicated with Ashley (the ex), and yet, reading these woeful e-mails makes it seem like just yesterday, that I was standing in the kitchen of our broken home, listening to another in a long line of excuses for why she had hurt me or lied to me. My throat remembered how sore it was from the prolific yelling matches we used to share. None of these ruminations serve as a deterrent from booze. In fact, they may be best described as an enemy of sobriety.

 

I’m done ranting for now. I think I have had enough of seeing text to screen for one day.

 

Cheers folks.