Okay, so I didn’t have a panic attack last night even though I was in the same room as my ex for about 4 hours, which is super stellar considering the last two times I so much THOUGHT I saw him I started hyperventilating.
In fact, I had a really fucking great time.
Right before my car left, I went outside to get some paper towels to get some sweat out of my fringe and I saw him sitting alone, so I just went over and started talking to him. “How’s life?” I ask.
He proceeds to go on about everything in his life that is even marginally sucky, like how the GRE doesn’t like apostrophe’s on their forms and his last name is Irish, or how his classes are all harder than he thought, or that he had a fever for a good week about 3 weeks into school but his professors won’t let anyone miss class. At one point I just got up and walked away. At the time I felt great for having control of my own situation.
And then I got to thinking: how many people has he told that to? I have no idea. He could complain to everyone. Or it could just be me. I don’t know. I just know that he doesn’t want help, but it seems like he could use it.
I don’t want to get back with him, that much I know. I’m starting to really realize how much happier I am without him. But a microscopic part of me still seems to worry about him.
And that microscopic part of me can suck my dick because he does not give a flying fuck about my well-being. And I don’t need him to.