The Loosing Of A Scapegoat

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I hate the word closure. For me, it conjures up visions of emotional females who make vodoo dolls of their former someones. Women who go out to one last lunch date with their ex, wearing the most provocative outfit they can find. The ritual of burning his possesions, cutting off all his friends and running over his dog. When the final flauntings and bonfires are over, they let out a supposedly relieved sigh and announce they have acheived "closure". Only to go on obsessing over every spoken word the next time they see him.

That was just a little PSA for those of you who might say I have acheived closure. Don't even dare.

Last night, I met with my ex-fiance for coffee. He called me up and asked to meet me at Starbucks. Now, you have to understand, ever since we broke up we have been on varying shades of speaking terms. But we have never, ever, actually discussed why we broke up. (Barring the distinct possibility that we were young and stupid.)

Ever sine he dumped me, I have used him as a highly convenient scapegoat for all my emotional hang-ups. Can't get along with men? Have a inability to trust? Am a bitter caustic female? Go on lesbianish rants at the drop of a hat? Jared's fault, Jared's fault, Jared's fault and Jared's fault. (Depending on the mood, the answers can be alternated with: Mom's fault.)

After it was over, I continued my wench-ish ways and saw to it that his life was as miserable as I could make it. I had new boyfriends threaten to beat him up, I said horrid things about him and I did just about anything my creative mind could conjure. Regardless of this, he remained not only civil towards me, but quite friendly.

Whenever we talked about the breakup before, he was quite glad to take all the blame. Thus, leaving nothing to talk about once I would finish my angry tirades. He would nod and smile when I would tell him he was insensitive, selfish, rude, uncaring AND JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME.

(Wow. Typing this out makes me realize what a bitch I was at time. And probably still am.)

So. Last night, for the first time he actually let me take some of the blame. Talking about the things I did to make it difficult. And it was a welcome change. Something I needed to hear. As we talked and solved the problems of the world, I realized how glad I am for him now. Glad that he is maturing. Glad that he has changed so much. Glad that he realizes how damn stupid we were. Glad that I can let it all go now. (I sound like Polly Frickin' Anna.)

When we finished, I actually apoligized. Yes. You read correctly. An genuine apology passed over my lips to this person I had made it a personal mission to make their life miserable for the past two years.

I am glad. I am relieved. I am happy that I have made myself let go of one more scapegoat on which to blame my lack of happiness. I have attained--peace.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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