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The Me I Used To Be

November 12th, 2015

“You can spend minutes, hours, days, weeks, or even months over-analyzing a situation; trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could've, would've happened... or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on.”  ― Tupac ShakurSo one day, years ago, M and I are walking through Walmart, and I see this girl pushing a cart with a little girl who looks almost just like her standing in the back. It took me a minute, but I recognized the girl pushing the cart as Marcy1, a girl who used to babysit my kids and whose family took me and the babies in when our house burned down. Not one to ignore a person who did such a wonderful thing for me, I stopped to say hello.

When she recognized me, she stiffened, as if bracing herself for bullshit.

I was confused.

We hadn’t spoken in years. When M and I moved downstate, I pretty much stopped talking to everyone upstate. I mean, they were one of the deciding factors in our move. That town was (probably still is) toxic, and the people in it were always up to no good (myself included), and M and I wanted a clean break. Plus, M wasn’t particularly interested in having a bunch of people I’d slept with hanging around all the time, and I’d slept with most of my ‘friends’.

I stopped talking to Marcy a while before we moved. My neighbor decided to stir some shit between Marcy’s mom and me (because what else is there to do in a tiny town), and Marcy’s mom believed them over me. “I find less time for those that (sic) can’t forgive me,” and especially when I didn’t even do what they’re mad about, so I stopped talking to Marcy’s mom, which eventually meant I stopped talking to Marcy, too, but as far as I knew, there was never any issue between me and Marcy. (Holy run-on sentence, Batman.)

And, for that matter, here we were, at least nine years later, different people. Marcy was never one to hold things against people. She always gave them a chance to grow. At least five years my junior, Marcy was far more mature than I could have ever dreamed of being back when we were friendly. Hell, I think Marcy was more mature than any of us back then.

When I asked how she was doing, and if the girl in the cart was her child, she brightened, but it seemed like she was gloating. Or maybe gloating’s not the right word. She was very eager to tell me about the father, and to introduce me to the friend she was shopping with.

When I met M, I was the ultimate party girl. I was always high or drunk. I was down for whatever. And I had long since lost track of what was going on in everyone else’s life. I had no idea who was dating who, and I didn’t really care. It wasn’t my responsibility to make sure the people I was hanging around with weren’t cheating, right? And besides, none of my ‘friends’ had been there for me since I was committed the first time. They all acted like I was a burden; like just being near me was too much drama for them. Which was kinda hilarious since that town thrived on drama.

Until I ran into Marcy in Walmart, I didn’t realize just how much I didn’t know.

So Marcy’s telling me all about her new life, and the fella she’s living with, and then she tells me his name. And I just kind of stared at her for a minute before asking her how long she’d been with him.

“About nine years, now,” she said.

And I replied, “But wait, how’s that possible? M and I have been together eight, and before we got together I was hanging out with…”

As it all clicked into place in my head, Marcy nodded with great satisfaction. Without even knowing it, I was aiding Marcy’s boyfriend in sleeping around. I wasn’t sleeping with him, but he was cheating at my house. Now I understood why she wasn’t as happy to see me as I was her.

“When I got pregnant,” she said, “I told him that he had to stop drinking and hanging out with you guys, but you were already gone by then, so it didn’t really matter.”

I wanted to tell her I didn’t know. That if I had known, I’d have sent him on his way. But I didn’t. It didn’t matter, and I didn’t know how true it was. At that point, I may have been so far gone I wouldn’t have cared, might have even thought it was justified because of what happened between me and Marcy’s mom. I was pretty fucked up back then.

About that time, Marcy’s friend walked up.

“This is Amanda,” Marcy said. “She’s engaged to Scott.”

“Scott?” I asked. “Scott Parker?”

Scott Parker was the fella I was sleeping with sporadically when I met M. We weren’t in a relationship, and we weren’t interested in a relationship. We just liked partying together and having sex, so we did.

Marcy nodded with a grin.

“How long have they been engaged?”

“Nine years.”

My stomach dropped.

Marcy’s grin widened.

“I didn’t know…” I trailed off.

There was more I wanted to say, but I had no idea how much Amanda knew, and I didn’t want to cause a problem for Scott nine years later, proof positive that I was a different person. Nine years before, I would have gloated to the girl about how her relationship began, whether I was in a happy relationship or not.

I’ve seen Marcy a few times since then. She and her boy live not too far from us, and we shop at the same stores. Every time I see her, if she sees me, she bristles. I don’t say hi to Marcy anymore. Better to let that sleeping dog lie, I guess.

The me I used to be is killing me. I’ve reached this place where all I can see is darkness. I’m realizing that I can’t make amends for the damage I did because I don’t even know about all of it. And even if I did, so many of those people don’t want an apology from me. They want me to just stay gone. I can respect that.

The other day was really bad. I cried pretty much all day. I discredited how far I’ve come. I refused to acknowledge the accomplishments M kept pointing out to me. They don’t make up for who I used to be.

But today, I’ve come to realize that that person is dead. She died the last time I attempted suicide. I was reborn, still slutty, still a junkie, but a junkie who wanted to be someone better. And since that day, I’ve done everything in my power to be better.

I’ve still got a long way to go. But I think it’s high time I just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on.

1. Names have been changed. Duh.

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  1. little monkey
    November 12th, 2015 at 22:07 | #1

    You are not that person anymore. There’s that saying, “When you know better, you do better”. You are doing that. What you don’t seem to be seeing is this… You yourself said the town is toxic and the people up to no good. Rayne you do not have sole responsibility here. The other people, including “Marcy”, had horses running in that fucked up race.In regards to the boyfriend and the fiance? You didn’t hold a gun to their heads and say “Cheat, you asshole”. Tupac had some good advice. Leave the pieces, they’re sharp and make you bleed. Move on Honey.

  2. November 13th, 2015 at 09:54 | #2

    @ little monkey As far as I know, no one knew that “Scott” was engaged until after I stopped hanging out with him and started dating M, except maybe Marcy, but I had stopped talking to her by then. So really, the only one to blame for that sitch is Scott. Logically, I know that.

    It’s more about everything all together than just the Marcy thing. I was just not a good person. But regardless, you’re right. I need to move on. And I’ve finally begun to realize that. Which is really what this post was about.

    Thanks for the comment! I definitely needed to hear it. 🙂

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