I found my ex’s page on Facebook today. I was about to save him as a friend and then I didn’t. As lovely as I think my wedding pictures are… and as happy as I feel with myself usually… it wouldn’t be enough to prove him wrong. This particular ex was my first real boyfriend. I had the first first boyfriend that was the first kiss and the first holding hands and all that kind of thing… but this one… Scottie? was my first like… almost everything else. He was that significant boyfriend that you think will be your husband and be one of those HS sweetheart stories. But you know – that’s mostly tv… with the exception of a choice few of my friends that I know who got it right on the first try.
Celebrating my 25th birthday, I decided to have a big party. I’d never thrown a party for myself yet and I thought that if any year – THIS year. Stuff was pretty much all the way down the drain with Jean… there were a few final fatal blows that we needed to deal to our relationship but it was done. Things in general were not going right with my life… my parents had both been diagnosed with Cancer. I couldn’t figure out what to do with this degree I had. I wasn’t sure if I’d have a job from day to day working temp positions. It was starting to all crash down around my ears. Yet and still… I wanted to celebrate. My philosophy hadn’t changed that life is a gift and every morning we get to wake up and partake is a blessing and privilege. So I rounded up Li’l Vic and we had the fabulous Victorias Secret Birthday Party. It was held at a club called B-52’s which used to be downtown around Chamber’s street. Cute little lounge – looking back … a little dive-y but we paid $2K for it to be ours for the night. There was an exclusive guest list… it was at the height of my SkeePhi .com days so folks were flying and driving in from out of town. I went all out and made my own little favors (for the girls, martini glasses full of mini m&ms and for the boys tiny cognac snifters filled with the same, wrapped in iridescent celophane and I had ribbons printed with the name of our party. I went and spent $300 dollars on a gorgeous full length sheath dress… another $150 on my favorite hairstyle from my then overpriced hair dresser… Come hell or high water… I was going to enjoy this monument… This Quarter Life celebration.
I was running a little behind. Everything was due to start at 9… i got there about 9:20… traffic and I was in a cab from Queens. I walk in the door and the first people there to greet me are Scottie and who seems to be his girlfriend. About my height and way thinner – very pretty girl and smiled a lot. (things had been over for us for the greater part of 6 years, it didn’t bother me a bit). I was happy to see them. I put my stuff down and came over to greet them. I whirled around thinking that the glow of pure gorgeousness must have surrounded me… after all the hard work I did on my appearance… for the first time in a long time… I felt really beautiful. It was my birthday damnit. I walked over to them to begin the chits and the chats. He quickly informed me that they came early because they couldn’t stay long. Then he did it. He did the one thing that kept me from ever contacting him again. The one thing that gently placed my night on a slippery slope. He reached over and grabbed the back of my arm and tweaked it 3 times as if he was playing with the waddle on a turkey’s chin and said… “Hmmm… getting healthy, are we?” Let’s be clear – I was under no delusions that I was as slim as I was in HS or College. I’d put on some pounds, this is true… but i thought i still looked good. Till then. I don’t remember too much after that. I exchanged a few more words with them… smiled long enough to take a picture. And they left.
In many ways that night… things tanked. My parents couldn’t find the address so they ended up turning around and going home. Jean didn’t show up till 2 AM (come to find out later he’d spend the majority of his evening with whomever he was cheating on me with). 1/3rd of my list showed up and I couldn’t muster up the energy to take more than a few pictures the whole night. I did myself the favor of getting drunk enough that I truly couldn’t remember the rest, except for a few distant flashes that come up now and again if I concentrate really hard. The four pictures I did take I posted here:
I could tell the story a different way and make it sound like it was the perfect night. But it wasn’t.
And so I can’t really click the “Add Scott as a friend” link and not think for one minute that he’s on the other side, looking at his computer screen shaking his head thinking… “she just got worse, huh”.
Despite the fact that someone loved me enough to marry me.
Despite my pretty pretty wedding pictures.
Despite all my beautiful life achievements.
I hate that I still don’t love me enough.
And that’s just plain unhealthy.