Monthly Archives: November 2015

"Thought time was supposed to heal you, but I ain't done much healing" - Hello, Adele


“My ghost, where’d you go?” – Ghost, Halsey

Dear Basic Human

This really should start with a brief thank you. Thank you for kicking the living shit right of me. It wasn’t only that I didn’t expect the way you treated me – it’s that I didn’t deserve it. You have taught me what I do deserve, so thank you.

I deserve not to have a man chase me for months only to throw me aside once you have finished with me. I don’t know why you bothered. Do you have some yearly quota that you have to fill? Was your bed head becoming a little low on notches? What was the point in calling me ‘baby’ on our first date? For introducing me to your friends as your girlfriend after a few weeks? What was the point of the affection, the attention, the attestations if you would only retract it all so soon.

I know that you cheated on me when I went overseas. You may protest to the contrary but a women’s intuition is rarely wrong. How else to explain the sudden lack of interest, care, communication. What happened to the soul that you used to be? You didn’t even answer my fucking phone call after I landed at the airport or in the 24 hours that followed. Busy, watching rugby. Longest rugby game I’ve ever heard of.

Sure, the sex was good, but it was unlikely to be bad when you have no soul. I have never been with anyone that is able to be so disengaged during making love. Looking back now, I am actually scared. Not only scared at the vacant depth behind your eyes, but also that fact that I strangely enjoyed it. I guess I should be thankful, because there was never any true emotional connection there for you to severe when you ultimately decided to leave me. 

Speaking of the break up – hats off to you for making it truly one of the most heinous in my life. Call me crazy, but nobody likes to be asked to leave their boyfriend’s apartment moments after making love, then followed, in tears, onto the street where they are told in no uncertain terms that you just can’t see a future together. My only regret is that I didn’t slap the living shit out of you as you stood there with that smug look on your face. I respect that not every relationship is going to work out. But there is a time, and a place and a manner in which it is appropriate to dump someone you have known for over 7 years and dated (quite seriously, might I add) for four months. The way that you did it is not one of them. For someone allegedly so much older and wiser and more mature than me, you have so much to learn about human decency.

What about that day, before we got together, when we walked through the back alleys to watch the local AFL game, and you held me and we talked about how many kids we would have. You would raise the boys and I would raise the girls because I couldn’t deal with teenage male hormones. You gave me your hoody when the wind picked up, and kissed my forehead and promised me a future. What I haven’t been able to reconcile is the man from that day with the man that left me with a plethora of unrealised expectations.

I am always the first to admit blame. I have lost myself in relationships before and not known who this whinging, pathetic woman is staring back at me from out of the tear streaked mirror. But I didn’t do it this time. I was confident, independent, loyal to a fault. All the things you told me that made me attractive to you in the first place. Alpha female, remember?

I no longer wish you harm. I did initially. So much harm that I woke up in hot sweats after picturing placing your smug smiling face on the pavement and stepping on the back of your head. Those fantasies have been replaced by a general longing for you to remain lonely, alone. It’s not like I want to race you to the alter or anything but I truly don’t think you deserve to be happy. While I wish for a swift retribution, I’m comforted by the fact that Karma, that ever vigilant equaliser, will deal with you in her own sweet time.

If I saw you now in the flesh, I still don’t know if I could find the appropriate words to express how I feel, all these weeks later. I still don’t know if you would even react or respond to anything I said anyway. If I said that I was hurt, would you say again how it was only a trial run? If I said that I wish you had the decency not to dump me on the street, would you say again how you hadn’t expected it to happen like that? If I said that I missed the man I fell for, would you say again how I can demonise you all you want, but you were just being honest?. Maybe, but I can promise that I won’t ever give you the satisfaction of finding out.

You are nothing more than a ghost.

Dead to me.