Continued from here.
Ex texts me. I tell him everything is gone. Scrappers came and took all the tools, the extra engine, the extra transmission (yes, I had an extra engine and trans in my house for him
), the engine hoist, the jacks, He loses his mind. He’s sending me texts that literally look like this:
“NONO NONJJUOIU MO NOOOOO ITS ALLLL LGOMMEEE NOOO”
But the texts were blocks and blocks long. I could scroll through these angry, sad messages without any input from me.
“HOW COUHLD HUKIYOU NJ OK NO ONONONI GAHJB ITS ALLLLLLL GOKE NONONONOOOOOOO RUCKKKKK”
Then silence. Blessed silence. Until about an hour later when I get a text.
From his new girl of course. He hasn’t ever told me this is the new girl. I don’t think he ever identified her as his new girl even to himself, buttttttt when a girl loses her mind on another girl for tagging a dude, you can deduce a little something something of how at least she feels about things.
She took him to the emergency room because he cut off his pinky. Mind you, neither of them have a car, and she doesn’t have a license because she has unpaid court costs in addition to an active warrant.
She texts me:
“I took [him] to the hospital because he cut off his finger. He is so upset about his car and now this.”
“That sucks, but it’s not my problem. Please don’t message me again unless it’s about getting his car out of my driveway.”
And then I blocked them both.
He ended up texting me from a text app (those things are the devil I swear to god). I’m past the point of caring, so he gets upset that I’m not sad about him cutting off his own finger. He claims I’m cold-hearted, heartless, lack all empathy, and might have said I was a sociopath.
Honestly, every time he fucks me over like this and takes off, something brutal happens to him. Examples:
- His molar abscessed and needed to be removed.
- He had a flair up of shingles.
- He loses all of his possessions because his roommates move rooms without him and take his stuff.
It takes him two weeks to convince his former stepdad to tow the car to his childhood home. I get notified that someone is in my driveway from my camera, so I’m watching the shenanigans as best I can from work. For a little bit, I felt my heart hurting because my ex had told me so much about his childhood and the traumas in it, but then his stepdad kicked my cat.
FUCK HIM, FUCK THE STEPDAD, FUCK THE CAR. KICK MY CAT YOU ASSHOLE, OKAY. I GOT A SOUR JAR WITH YOUR NAME IN IT.
My ex and I are still in passive fucking mode for a while, but then we stop. Since he isn’t living in my home and instead driving around in a stolen U-Haul and staying in whatever hotel for a night at a time, my ex doesn’t take very good care of his pinky. He’s still smoking meth. It takes a month for half the pinky to reconnect and stitches to dissolve, but the other half was still not connected when he got arrested on 9/11.
Yeah. He got arrested. Somehow that was also my fault. Stay tuned. I’ll go into that and what’s happened since then in a later blog.
My own life went sideways not having him in the house, but it ended up being I just needed an impact crate for my dog. His worth to me at the end of the day? One $300 crate and some doggy Xanax.