Do I Have Stupid Written on my Forehead?

Or maybe it says "Use me" instead.

Why do people assume that because I am civil, and nice, and friendly, that I have somehow completely lost my memory?

Why do they assume that because I choose not to dwell on the unkind things that they have said and done to me in the past, and have decided to let go of anger and hurtful feelings, that I have amnesia?

I am not foolish enough to believe that because someone who mistreated me in the past is now friendly and 'nice' to me, that their deep set behavior patterns have changed. Just because someone doesn't like the idea of another person hating them, or being perpetually angry with them, doesn't necessarily mean that they are sorry for the hurtful things they did in the past. To this day, there has been no explanation for why I was treated so cruelly. That's ok. Some people are just ass holes. I realize this.

I remember perfectly well the selfish, cruel, nasty things that were done to me. I remember how I was lied to repeatedly and used for people's selfish purposes. And I also remember quite clearly their icy indifference to my suffering after.

I remember how one person in particular who was too ashamed to acknowledge me to his friends. He wasn't too ashamed to have me spend time with him and his child (in private of course), and he wasn't too ashamed to have sex with me, but he sure didn't want his ol' buddies down the street to know! This person looked down on me because I have a spiritual belief system, and because I had not yet finished college and obtained a degree. That must have been why I was so easily pushed to the side for someone who had a master's degree. This someone was sneaky and dishonest with a criminal record and a sexually transmitted disease, but by god they had a degree, so they were good enough to be called his girlfriend! (When I told him I knew her, I wasn't kidding.)

I remember how my house caught fire and I was homeless almost over night, and this person who claimed he cared about me didn't even come over to make sure I was still alive. I remember calling him from the hospital and begging him to please throw away the letter I had written him without reading it, because it no longer mattered. I remember like it was yesterday how that person coldly refused. Coldly refused, even though by his own admission he had no romantic feelings for me. He kept and read that letter for the sheer purpose of tormenting me.

Yet now, now that I have been fortunate enough to have earned a wonderful opportunity to publish my writing, this same, cold hearted person is oh so very interested in my progress with my book. He even asked if I wanted to put one of his 'limericks' in it.

Funny. He didn't seem so interested in me or my poems three years ago when he refused to pay for my beer, even though he was having sex with me, and lied to everyone about it because he was ashamed of me and believed he was SO intellectually superior. He didn't seem to care about me or my writing when I asked what I meant to him and he said that he 'enjoyed sleeping with me'. He didn't seem so interested in the poems that I wrote when he was banging the above mentioned peach with the masters degree.

Now little ol' crazy me (as he used to call me behind my back) without so much as a bachelor's degree writes good enough that a publisher actually wants to print it. Wow he sure didn't see that coming three years ago now did he? I let him read a few of my pieces and he had a hearty laugh, and then dumped me (hmmm...not sure how that happened since he says we were never together in the first place). He sure doesn't have much of an eye for talent, does he?

Well, this is for him. I've got his number, now. I know exactly what he is about. He just wants to use me again. Use me for something different, but use me just the same. He's hoping that once my book is published, he'll have the inside track. He figures I'll help him publish his writing.

So here I am, left wondering if the booze has finally pickled his brain and HE has amnesia, or if he thinks I have forgotten everything that he did to me. Or perhaps he actually thinks that I am so stupid that I don't see what he's about.

Either way, it doesn't matter. I am far from stupid. I've always been more intelligent and perceptive than he ever realized, and I have forgotten nothing. I remember every word; every lie. I remember every humiliating moment when my pride was so coldly crushed beneath his heel. I remember how every hot, bitter tear felt as it fell from my eye and slid down my cheek when I cried in the darkness alone.

Just because I am healed, and just because I have put it behind me, doesn't mean I don't remember it. And it doesn't mean I would be stupid enough to let him use me again. Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. I will never forget.

You know I was all about being nice and civil and friendly and putting the past behind me. And you know what? I'm still all about that. Life's too short for bitterness (that's why you write ranting blogs like this so you get it out and don't let it fester inside your soul). If I see him, I'll smile and say hi. I'll even have a laugh with him over a beer some night if I happen to be drinking in the same place he is.

Still, I'd like to be clear on one thing.

I know exactly what his repeated inquiries into the progress of my book are really about. It's not about his joy at my success. It's not because he cares how I feel or wishes me the best and wants to witness it because he is happy when I am happy. When he writes me, he doesn't ask how I am, or how life is treating me. He only asks about my book; because, you see, it's about him. It's about getting something that he wants. It's always been about him.

So, forgive me if I am not interested in helping out the man who broke my heart, humiliated me, and exposed me to an incurable STD. (And he should consider himself lucky that I was not infected. It seems there must be some kind of higher power after all, and it was looking out for me when those who should have been, weren't.)

If he wants to publish his writing, he can do what the rest of us do. He can get it done on his own merits.

If he can.