The one where Elvira lets it alllll hang out
Early this morning, BG, my boyfriend of seven years, threw me out of his Bronx apartment. Luckily for me, I have my own place in downtown Manhattan--well, half my place, since I share it with my ex-boyfriend--so I had somewhere to go.
But it's not a permanent solution, since L (my ex) and I are in the process of getting the coop ready to sell so we can each buy a place of our own. And thanks to L, my beloved apartment is now a shithole fit only for an animal to live in--and that's actually an insult to animals everywhere.
In any case, you may wonder how it came to pass that at 3 am this morning, BG awoke from his troubled, drunken sleep, stumbled into the living room, and began roaring at me to get out. Never one for subtleties, BG underscored his message by attacking me with a bag of cheese puffs (don't laugh--you had to be there). It quickly escalated to him throwing a (cold) cup of 12-bean soup all over me and spitting on me a couple dozen times. If there's one thing BG is, over and above all else, it's dramatic.
What would drive him to such extremes? Well, I guess it's a combo of his mental and emotional illnesses, and the fact that he drank to excess last evening. As so often happens when he indulges, he's not happy until he gets so crocked that he can't stand up straight. Last night's antics ended in a crescendo of broken glass, when he fell backward into a full length mirror in the bedroom and shattered it to pieces. Nice, eh? At least this time he didn't fall onto his weights and break his coccyx bone, as he did a few years back.
Though I assure you that I did not do anything to deserve quite such shabby treatment, I can't say that I'm perfect by any means. Probably one of the most immediate problems BG and I have had over the past year is the fact that he quit AA and I have became an internet addict. We used to do a lot of things together--now we only party together. Other than that, our relationship seems to have devolved to the point of living separate lives in separate rooms.
In any case, as BG wandered in and out, raging and even sobbing, cajoling me to get out NOW, I quickly showered and tried to collect my thoughts as well as the bare-bones belongings I would need. But it was a hazardous endeavor. I'd just gone through heaven and hell two days before to procure some very nice weed that BG now had stored in his little cubby closet, and while he was in the other room I quickly grabbed it and packed it. I had every right to, since I'd bought it with my own money. My quick thinking paid off when shortly afterward, BG went looking for it--apparently intending to flush it down the toilet. (Can you say "boundary issues?") So he had to be content with trashing his inferior stuff instead.
Next, I tried to put together a little "desert-island" mini collection of CD's (mine, not his) to take with me. When he wandered in again, he threw them down and started to stomp on them. I managed to save them, but most of the covers are now smashed.
As the piece de resistance, he demanded his keys back. I had no intention of giving them up at this point, since I have some important papers stored at this place, and a few other odds and ends I might like to hang onto. So I gathered my two giant shopping bags, went downstairs, and grabbed a cab to Manhattan. It was then about 5:30 am, and when I arrived at my coop dawn was just beginning to break.
I endured a kind of dress rehearsal for this day last week, when BG pulled a similar stunt and I stayed downtown overnight. We called a truce, I guess, but whatever demons haunt him are still doing a sorry jig inside his head. But today, I'm more mentally and emotionally prepared for the very real possibility that this, my second long-term relationship, is finally over.
So the question is, what do I do now? Well, I have a few options--and options are always a nice luxury to have. I can continue to get the coop prepped for sale, and then maybe try to get myself a little place in Queens while I still have a snowball's chance in hell of grabbing something I can afford. It's a buyer's market right now--though of course that means we'll have a tougher time unloading the Manhattan place too.
Or I could take a break and go travelling. Thing is, though, I really shouldn't let the coop sale get put on the back burner, unless I think I might actually want to live somewhere else altogether.
The third option would be to just get this place cleaned up and take up residence with L again on a "roomates only" basis. I love this coop with all my heart, and I'm heartbroken at the thought of selling it. But as I mentioned before, L has turned it into a putrid hellhole. And since I broke up with him seven years ago, wouldn't it be going backward to live with L again? As it is, I lived with the man for twenty years--isn't two decades of angst long enough?
For the time being, the first option--hanging here and preparing to sell--seems like the logical thing to do.
That's it for now--I'll probably post more at some point. Any suggestions, my friends?