What the hell, men? First N and now DJ. “I love you” is being dropped more than the F-word in The Wolf of Wall Street. If I knew all I had to do was to be sure of myself and walk away to get some love in this town, I’d have left (and maybe come back) ages ago!
So, if you read Day 5, I was having dinner with my ex, DJ tonight. And normally I’d wait till Day 6 to update, but I’m obsessed with this blog. So here goes. We have dinner, great. I cry a little as I tell him his part in this big, life-changing situation, great. He’s like, Jenny, I’m always here for you, we will see each other again, don’t worry.
Worry? I’m not worried, hell; I’m not even looking forward to it. I’m just emotional. I have 200 things going on at once. My mind is running at a 10, all day, everyday. This is a pit stop on the way to Freedomville. And, for the record, I don’t WANT to see you again.
Reminder: This person used me as a human comfort-zone for years. Bad marriage? Call Jenny. Bad divorce? Call Jenny. Bad case of blue balls? Call Jenny. Seriously, if the boy who cried wolf didn’t exist, he would now!
Anyways, after many wines and whiskey’s, a call from his boss, a call from his girlfriend and a bad attempt to get me into bed, I’m home. I’m not gonna say it’s not hard, because it is. It’s so hard that it’s taken me 5 years to walk away from it (the draw of the relationship, not his cock). When you invest your time and love into someone’s life, when you see them win and lose, when you imagine your future in their arms, no matter the hurt and pain, leaving is a fucking task. It’s a chore and a necessary roughness to calmer days.
On my way out, he gave me a glass pipe. Neither of us smokes much, but this black book bag he keeps his “stash“ in has some sentimental value to us, but more to him personally. He said I’ve given away 2 pipes. And I want you to pick a third. I did. A little one-hitter he didn’t have to smash during a college road trip where he got pulled over and searched.
It sounds stupid and I don’t care about the glass piece. I care about what it means. I care about the last-ditch effort. I care that I’m in line with those 2 other important, influential people in DJ’s life. That matters—not the actual article.
I didn’t walk out on DJ with my head held high. I cried. I cried for him, I cried for me, I cried for something that we both knew was over. He said I love you, I didn’t say it back. I love me, the woman I’ve become since him. I don’t need him anymore. The 6’6” crutch with the fancy finance job and the intoxicating kisses are all behind me. They have been. I just didn’t know it until I decided to take this journey, and when I severed the city, I severed something I only wanted because I couldn’t have it.