I am not HIM

Thursday, April 20, 2017

I am not HIM

“I am not him.”

He said it with the tired conviction that comes with repetitive answers.

He was tired of saying it, she was tired of hearing it.

It wasn’t really an answer, as much as it was a defense. It was also the truth, he wasn’t him. He never had been him.

“Him”, was her old boyfriend. He was her new boyfriend. Different people- same girl.

She cringed inside when she heard him say:

“I’m not him.”

She knew he wasn’t. He bore no resemblance to him in any way. Him, well “him", was a petty, mean, controlling, manipulative and selfish snot. He, is not.

But for some reason over the last several weeks, she had spent more time bitching about “him”- his habits, his words- his almost endless list of attacks on her personal habits, dreams, and wishes. Every time she launched into one of these self inflicted reviews of her past life with him- he would gently remind her:

“I’m not him.”

Her endless litany, and relentless pouring out of impotent rage towards him, was only heard by one person. It was he who heard, and not him. It was to much.

The last thing she heard from a kind, caring, compassionate man, who had tried for months to regain the first few weeks of their relationship- to no avail, was this:

“I’m not him.”

When the door closed with a quiet firm finality, much louder than any slammed door sound; she finally realized he was gone. Not because of him. But because of her.“I am not him.”

He said it with the tired conviction that comes with repetitive answers.

He was tired of saying it, she was tired of hearing it.

It wasn’t really an answer, as much as it was a defense. It was also the truth, he wasn’t him. He never had been him.

“Him”, was her old boyfriend. He was her new boyfriend. Different people- same girl.

She cringed inside when she heard him say:

“I’m not him.”

She knew he wasn’t. He bore no resemblance to him in any way. Him, well “him", was a petty, mean, controlling, manipulative and selfish snot. He, is not.

But for some reason over the last several weeks, she had spent more time bitching about “him”- his habits, his words- his almost endless list of attacks on her personal habits, dreams, and wishes. Every time she launched into one of these self inflicted reviews of her past life with him- he would gently remind her:

“I’m not him.”

Her endless litany, and relentless pouring out of impotent rage towards him, was only heard by one person. It was he who heard, and not him. It was to much.

The last thing she heard from a kind, caring, compassionate man, who had tried for months to regain the first few weeks of their relationship- to no avail, was this:

“I’m not him.”

When the door closed with a quiet firm finality, much louder than any slammed door sound; she finally realized he was gone. Not because of him. But because of her.

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