Moby - Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?
I'd Tell You To Go To Hell, But I Don't Want to See You Again
FUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKK IT HURTS. When a person you love, or any person for that matter, tells you they want to eat a bullet you absolutely do not respond with “Well, you’re just not meeting my expectations.” That’s what Marie (Not her real name, but I can’t afford a lawsuit) said to me after I told her I wanted to kill myself. That’s what she said to me after I broke down and against all sense of self-reliance and protection, admitted I wanted to die. Pure humiliation comes after you’ve been at your most vulnerable. I had never said the words out loud until that moment in our kitchen in that far-too-expensive apartment. NEVER. Suicide had occurred to me regularly since I was 8 years old (Family curses are lovely), but I had never, not once said the words out loud. When I finally made the admission that I wanted to die, I was met with my perceived failure to meet my girlfriend’s expectations. I was met with pure humiliation. That should be “all stop” time. That should be “let’s get you help” time. Instead, it was time for me to eat blame.
“Well, you’re just not meeting my expectations.”
-Ex-girlfriend, after admitting I wanted to kill myself
A few things about my relationship with Marie (still not her real name):
She referred to me as “The Jason,” like a farm animal or pet. I expressed how much I hated it and why, but she shot me down and continued calling me “The Jason.” Each time she did, Mick Jagger flashed through my mind:
“I’ll never be your beast of burden…” I only wish that was true.
The reality was, she viewed me as her beast of burden. My self-esteem existed somewhere between the gutter itself and the top of the curb at the time, so that was just my life.
We had stopped having sex. She was understandably upset about this, but wanting to fuck someone who isn’t interested in anything you think, say, read, watch, or listen to, is patently absurd. She routinely cut me off, interrupted me in front of her friends, ignored my suggestions, and ordered me around like she was my literal boss.
She regularly volunteered me without so much as a conversation. For example, a friend of hers was moving, and I heard her on the phone tell her friend that I would happily move her into her new place myself. She didn’t ask me or consider me in the least. By myself??? I could have been on duty or had plans, but no. I was her beast of burden and was expected to behave as such.
My friends were anathema. Her friends became my social circle. I realize now just how enormous a red flag this is. It’s alarming.
She ended our relationship on Friday, Nov. 23, the day after Thanksgiving. We were staying in the Catskill Mountains with (her) friends. She and her sister (let’s call her Tulip) had recently purchased a dishwasher for her mother who’s on a fixed income on the side of a mountain in the Pacific Northwest (details omitted for legal concerns). There was some issue with the delivery and it was going to cost her mother $2300 up front, but Marie and Tulip (not her name at all) were going to cover the cost after the fact. Marie (definitely still not her name) broke into tears about this. I lost it. I was willing to pay her $2300 to show even an ounce of the same concern for a goddamned dishwasher as she should have shown my life. In that instant, I knew she cared more about a dishwasher and $2300 than my existence. My whole life didn’t amount to $2300 to her.
I told her to go fuck herself because of this. If you ever want to end a relationship with someone, tell them to go fuck themselves.
Years before all of this, before the romantic involvement, before the apartment together, before even her college years, we knew each other. We were on board the same ship together. In 2005, I was still in Norfolk, and she was in D.C. She had come up to Norfolk to visit mutual acquaintances and stopped by to see me. I had started playing Moby’s Play when she came up to my loft. I poured her a drink and we talked. The fourth song on Moby’s Play is Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad? The moment the song came on we exchanged knowing looks, and at that moment we shared a drink, a lovely moment of understanding, and some measure of empathy. We talked about why we each love that song. We shared a compassionate, human moment. It would be the last time we shared a compassionate, human moment. We begin at the end.