77. Excerpt from Anthony Stephens’ Mood Journal

June 5 2005,

Morning: 2 out of 10

Afternoon: 3 out of10

Evening: 2 out of 10

My girlfriend, Janice, she broke up with me because she found out I didn’t love her. And she found out because I told her, even though I didn’t really realize I was telling her until later.

We were hanging out at Dill’s Tavern having a few drinks one night, and she asked me if I wanted to go visit her family in Texas. We’d been together for a couple months by then and it was a legitimate question, an “I-want-to-see-if-there’s-a-future-in-this-thing” type of question. Janice was twenty-two, mature for her age, looking for something stable, with every right, you know? She can search for potential, I don’t fault her in that.

But I said no. Didn’t just say no, actually. Said “hell no,” which didn’t go over too well. Already on the verge of tears, she gave me a shot of those large green eyes, those haunting fucking emeralds.

“Why?” she asked. “And why do you have to be such a dick about it?”

And staring at her, looking in those beautiful eyes and sipping my beer, knowing that this girl was falling for me, knowing I could have a future with this girl if I would just let it happen, I still couldn’t stop myself.

“Because I don’t want to meet your family,” I said. “Because if you keep fucking asking me I’ll do it and embarrass you in front of them on purpose. I’ll get drunk and hit on your mom and tell your dad what your ass looks like when I’m fucking you from behind and then I’ll walk out.” I paused, made sure she knew I was looking right at her, then said “Because we can keep fucking and hanging out with each other every once in a while, but all this lovey-dovey-family-intro bullshit ain’t happening.”

She gave me a chance, one small breath of a second to take it all back. I could see it in her face that she was waiting, and I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

She broke up with me that night, a couple of hours later (which I’m surprised about, in retrospect. That it took a couple of hours). Janice broke up with me and flat out told me I would never see or hear from her again, and then kept her promise, even when I called her the next night, and a few nights after that.

And the worst part about it is I knew. While I was telling her all that shit, I knew that she would break up with me, and I also knew that I didn’t really want her to.

After hearing the malice in my own voice though, the total disregard for her feelings, it was inevitable.

But that inevitability also made it more certain that I’d go through with the whole thing.

That’s what I’m dealing with lately, Doc. That’s who I’ve been, the other part of myself I don’t even know or understand and can’t seem to rein in. The part that tried to kill me, the part that’s destroyed almost every personal relationship I’ve ever had, whether romantic or friendly.

It’s like there’s this supremely pessimistic, self destructive little prick living in my brain, a short fat old grumpy man sitting back in his recliner and bitching about everything and everybody all day long, one long never-ending curse against humanity, constantly trying to convince himself and me that life sucks and is pointless and everything’s a cliché and I’m stupid for ever giving a shit about anything.

I used to believe him, used to think I had no choice but to believe the asshole. Didn’t even think he was an asshole, more like a prophet.

Now, I hate that dude. Seriously, I fucking hate him and want him to go away.

Which I guess is a step in the right direction, as you like to say.

Next

 (Follow The Blog For Daily Excerpts From Future Chapters)