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I’m Not Obsessed
By Melissa Montemale - July 25, 2008 | Email the author

Though you might think I am given what I’m going to write about…

Last time I popped in, I reported that the ex was engaged.

Last week, he was in touch to tell me that he was moving to the west coast with his fiance. He’s moving on Sunday (as in the 27th) and he told me the other day that his goodbye bar party is Friday night. As I type this, that bar gathering is hours away.

He wants me to show up. He wants to say goodbye.

Why is he telling me this, you ask? Well, I don’t know if you’re asking, but my friends certainly asked. The ‘why’ doesn’t matter now that he’s told me, does it? I can’t unknow it.

I brought this up to BTH last night – the stopping by for this crazy goodbye – because I’m going to be out with Jersey and the ex’s bar is close to Jersey’s favorite bar, where she and I had planned to be. (I make this sound like New York City is like a 5 block radius). Plus, if I didn’t stop in for a five minute goodbye, the ex would surely come find me. I’m not being overly dramatic or rationalizing anything- he said that he’d do that.

BTH has no issue with it. Which surprised me two fold. I’m surprised at his coolnees about it and I’m surprised by my disappointment that he didn’t flinch at hearing the story.

There is an acid storm in my stomach. I cannot work at work because I am afraid that I’m going to be faced with something later on that I’m not prepared to see.

It doesn’t matter that I happily chose to spend my life with someone else – I am afraid that I will see, 13 years after meeting him, that he has stopped loving me. I don’t know what that looks like facially, but I’m sure that there is something in the face, in the eyes that unmistakably and devastatingly reads, “I don’t love you.”

I realize how childish I am being about this and I’m trying desperately to prepare the unflappable face that I will present for all of five minutes – when the reality is, I may not even need it.

It shouldn’t matter HOW he feels about me. I know this – and it doesn’t matter what the rational part of me knows. The other part, the one that can swallow my rationality like a snake, says that it matters…

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