How do you get over the feeling of being fucked-over? I placed him before myself, compromised myself, and gave everything I could give more than anyone else ever gave him... and all for what? It was All for LOVE.

How do you get over the hurt when nothing has been done to even remotely impress me that he is truly sorry? What's done is done - I can't change the past, however, all the times I've forgiven him, all the times that I have pushed away and ignored what happened and the constant lying - has come down upon me all at once.

I know he probably doesn't know what to say - and there's probably nothing to say.... however, what rings over and over in my head is what he DID say when I confronted him.

I just WANT/NEED answers...I think I'm having a nervous breakdown!

I've been having some interesting dreams: attending his funeral where I was the only one crying my eyes out and no one else, not even his family giving a shit about him - his friends and family are just standing there like statues; in the casket - he only has half a face and people questioning if that is really him and I'm pointing out that it is him - "don't you know him, don't you recognize him!" I kept on saying. The meaning of these dreams.... the death part - is a new birth for him, and the half face - because he's a 2 faced person - I identified the "other" side of him that no one else really knows about.... or... it's the urge I have to hit him in the face.

Funny, a month or so ago, he mentioned he had a weird dream that night - that he was "walking a tight rope." In reality, he really was! How prophetic!

I woke up tired and my eyes actually felt like I was crying all night.

• I suddenly developed a rash over 50% of my body...so I have to visit my Dr. again this week and wait for over 1 hr in the waiting room.
  
• My back is killing me.
• Been constipated for weeks.. so my stomach is bothering me.
  
• Been with my Dad to the car auto body shop because the back wheel almost came off on Saturday after he drove into a pot hole... and had to explain to him why they were charging him over $1400.00 to repair it, and last but not least....
• I been going "flower" shopping with my mother for the past 3 mornings and have visited every f**king little Italian grocery store, Costco and plant nursery in the GTA, and she is still NOT FINISHED!
  

Ah, hindsight. What a dickhead, right? Personified, he’d be the guy that says “I told you so,” whilst guffawing at how absolutely idiotic you were for not taking cue or clue from all the instinct and logic you supposedly posses. He’s the guy that smiles wryly when you sob “I knew this would happen!”, as though he could’ve told you but just didn’t bother so he could experiment with how suicidally fucked-over you might get. He’s a smug, snide bastard of cuntish proportion.

He’s also a liar.

Someone made the comment to me, the other day; about how the good memories of a relationship can become utterly painful to think about, after you’ve had your heart minced slowly apart by the person that gave them to you. If you’ve had your heart minced apart by someone that gave you special memories, then perhaps you know what I’m talking about. If you don’t, well, you know – sod off.

So what’s going on here? Why is that memory of him ... now such a painful thing to think about? What fucked it up? What in the name of Christendom is preventing you from enjoying that memory again? Is the human condition so unbelievably contradictory and illogical that you are fucked up with an inherency that is total and infinite?

Yes, yes it is. But that’s not why. It’s not even his fault. Sure, he took your soul and carved the little symbols of the Necronomicon into it with a red-hot, blunt bread-knife, but that’s a totally separate incident to him hugging you that way in bed. Why are you mingling the evil memories with the good ones? Why? WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THAT?

Enter, Mr. Hindsight. Swinging a cane made from the thousand truths you hide from, doffing a hat made of mirrors, and grinning like a cunt. He’s the one that meshes the memories of good and bad. He’s the one that doesn’t let you think “we shared moments that were perfect”, instead making you think “we shared some moments that were perfect, and then he fucked it all up! How didn’t I see it coming!? He never loved me, and I fell for it – everything we ever did, ever said was a lie, with the break-up always on the horizon”. He taints the good memories with the bad, and not the other way around. And then he makes you think you’re stupid. And you bow humble at his cloven feet.

Not that all of us bow. Some have tamed his sharp eyesight and commentary. Some have stopped him meddling in memories and thoughts that don’t concern him. But not all of us. And when it comes to catastrophic heartbreak, he comes hurtling out of nowhere to aid your confusion and help you understand. Because when we’re fucked over, we automatically turn to him for help. Unfortunately, all the while, he’s just fucking us up even more.

Good memories are memories of things that were good at the time – so dwell on them as such, and without considering the massive fuckeries that happened after they happened.

If hindsight tries to come into play, try belting him in the fucking jugular. It won't stop him, but he really is a cunt.