I’ve been pretty lucky when it comes to exes. For the most part, they’ve all disappeared, walked right off the edge of the Earth never to be heard from or seen again. Just the way I like it. And with my recent move came a new address, new neighborhood, new job, new vehicle. You really don’t get that level of anonymity many times in your life so to say this has been a fresh start is an understatement. But we all know there’s always that one that never seems to die. The one that knows when you’re at your lowest, fresh from another heartbreak or in desperate need of a shoulder to cry on. There’s the one who magically appears out of thin air when you’re at your most vulnerable and worms their way back into your life. Mine we’ll call Dipshit (as any other man’s real name would be offensive at this point).

I met Dipshit almost a decade ago and he was amazing, for a few months anyway. We fought and broke up and got back together a million times and every time I had a little less hope, a little less expectation, and a lot less self respect. This went on for four or five years. Utterly humiliated and forever broken from this process, I eventually, by the grace of God, moved on. One day I woke up in the morning, and he just looked like the piece of shit he really was. I couldn’t wait to get him out of my house. I blocked his number (for real this time) and never wondered if he called or texted me again. I bought a brand new lock at Home Depot and installed it myself with a screwdriver and a new lease on life. I stopped talking to anyone who knew him or associated with his friends. I even stopped talking to my own friends if they associated with him because who needs friends like that anyway. I didn’t go to places I knew he frequented for years. And that’s how you know you’re really done with someone. When you’ll go to the ends of the Earth to avoid someone, even change your whole life, it’s really really over. And this time it was for me. But that’s the thing about trash, it always seems to blow back around.

Since I resumed working this summer, I’ve been very careful not to announce where I am, just lightly integrating back into bartender life without all the Facebook updates and “look at me” posts. So here I am, working one morning, minding my own business muddling my 100th mojito of the day when I see a dark shadow move along the perimeter of the bar. Half ape, half alcoholic, a truly dark force of fuckery entered my atmosphere. The worst part: I knew this day would eventually come, but let’s be honest, it’s about that time. Single as the day is new, working yet another minimum wage job with no prospects and no future, living in my friend’s extra bedroom without any real form of reliable transportation, this was just the moment I should have expected him to crawl out of his hole and reemerge in my life. And here he was, sitting at my bartop in his sleeveless tank, eyes glazed over from a 30 pack of beers the night before. It was 2016 all over again.

Dipshit found a spot on the patio and as I turned, I could see the immediate confusion followed by an almost imperceptible glint in his eye: the thought of another chance. I smiled wryly. He said “I didn’t know you worked here!” I said yeah and grabbed three waters for him and his friends.

And. That. Was. It.

Not another word was uttered between the two of us the rest of the afternoon. I had an employee pick up their table and serve their food. I made my rounds, checking in on the patrons, and every time I’d round the corner I could see the light in his eyes searching for a connection to mine but there would be none. I made sure not to turn around as they were leaving. I never laid eyes on that slimy sack of shit again. You see, the thing is, I’ve played it cool before. Been nice, cordial, acted like nothing in the world bothered me, like we were old friends. But that’s just isn’t the truth and I’ve decided to normalize letting mother fuckers know you just how you feel. I’m done excusing people’s bad behavior and baseless apologies. I’m done playing nice with everyone who’s hurt me for the sake of appearances. I won’t spend another second of my life entertaining some stupid asshole just so I can "pretend” I’m not mad. And although this may seem counterproductive to my new emotional growth, it really isn’t. Because for the first time I just didn’t give a fuck enough to pretend anymore, and that’s how I know I’m over it.

There was a time in my life, many times actually, where I thought the pain would never go away, the embarassment would never fade, and that this prick’s existence would forever mar mine. In the case of my friend Amanda, she’s in the thick of it now, relearning to live her life without her favorite person, convinced that loss will never fade. Everyone feels that way at least once in their lives, but if Dipshit and I are still anything, it’s a testament to the soul’s ability to heal, learn and grow. Even the most important person in your life may one day be a distant memory and a chance meeting can always be a simple passing from another life.