Crossing the threshold into Batshit

I will write no back story.
I will add no disclaimer.
I will make no excuses.



Tonight I backslid.

I sent the first message.


We’ve danced the same Text-Message-Tango for two years. Anytime after 8pm, one of us either sends a seemingly innocuous message, ranging anywhere from ‘How was your day?’ to ‘Nice dp’;

or; A picture of some 90’s blues/rock song quote or a Polaroid of romanticized toxicidity.

The other then responds with ‘What are you up to tonight?’

This social media foreplay usually leads to the same conclusion: Us driving on open highways til the sun comes up, shouting alongside Cobain or Morrison whilst doing blow in my car.

Tonight started off the exact same way. I sent the first text and, following script, you asked ‘what you doing?’.

You called asking me to come pick you up and sent me cash to buy the narcs. My dealer took forever, so I tried making up lost time by doing 180km/h on the half hour drive to your place. You called just as I got onto the offramp. Music blasting I answered; ‘Maps says I’m there in 7, see you now’, I hung up.

You called again when I turned my into your street. You sounded off. You told me to turn around. “Just go home, do the narcotics by yourself. Sorry you drove all this way. Please don’t come.” I hung up.

I called when I pulled up to your driveway. You said ‘Seriously just go home.’ I laid on the horn. You texted ‘I’m in bed, I’m not coming out.’ I replied ‘Idgaf, I’ll wait all night. Come loser.’

I thought you were joking. I waited 12 minutes, expecting you to open the door any second. I called again. You switched your phone off. I got mad.

I got out of my car, locked it and fought a cactus whilst scaling your wall. I went around the garage and knocked on your bedroom window. You pulled back the curtains, ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I whispered, ‘I came all this way, let’s go.’ You said, ‘I’m not coming out. Go home.’ I said, ‘You have to come out anyway to unlock the gate cause there’s no way to get back over the wall from this side. Come, let’s go.’

You came out. Drunk and mad. I tried to hug you. You said, ‘Don’t touch me. Go home.’ I said, ‘I don’t understand, you made the plans.’

You were so cold. You never once looked at me. You unlocked the gate. ‘Go home.’ I crossed my arms, ‘I’m not leaving, what the fuck’s up.’

You started shouting. Bringing up past fights. I yelled too. We both said a lot of things. But then you said, ‘I’ve been clean for 7 weeks, because I haven’t seen you for 7 weeks. I’ve told you so many times that I’m not a part of your life anymore. I know it’s my fault cause I always come back to you. I don’t love you anymore.’

My heart broke

You continued, ‘I associate every bad choice I’ve made after varsity, after our second breakup, with you. The drugs, the depression. If I recall any bad thing that has ever happened to me, I see your face.’

You kept talking but I couldn’t hear anything. You blaming me for your addiction, for introducing you to drugs, after only reaching for them as coping mechanisms after you left me the second time, after another 2 years, that made me see red.


I turned my body sideways.

Squared my feet, leaned right.

Pulled back my fist

I punched you in the face with everything I had.

I walked towards my car without looking back right after my fourth knuckle connected with your nose and I heard that crack.

And as I reversed my headlights showed you doubled over holding your face. My hand hurt. But I reclaimed a piece of myself I lost 6 years ago.

I am done playing your victim.