The Cut Off

I used to love him, but not anymore. As I’m sitting in the waiting room at Planned Parenthood (routine check ups because fuck it, once every six months, right?), looking at my phone in disgust, and also crying, which I’m aware plays off as a terrible cliche because here I am crying in the waiting room at Planned Parenthood. At least I’m not the first one. He’s been blowing up my phone all morning saying crazy shit to me, and I realize just as I have realized before: he’s trying to play me. He’s really fucking trying.

It’s not the first time he’s tried to play me, but it will be his last. He is, as usual, shacking up with some girl who is insecure and intimidated by me, but that’s by design. We ended our affair months ago, and now he’s back with this girl who preceded me and succeeds me, but I wonder what that must be like, especially after that moment when he reached across the table, held my hand, looked me in the eyes and told me I have porno pussy. Yeah. I do. I knew that. I have porno pussy, but he did not have porno dick. Which I didn’t tell him at the time, but now I wonder if he’s reaching across the table to hold her hand and tell her that she has porno pussy, or does he just think about me when he’s fucking me? The world may never know, and that’s fine by me, because honestly I don’t give a fuck about who he fucks or when or why or how. All that’s fading into the distance as I speed into the future and don’t have to think about him anymore. Cool.

He’s trying to manipulate me, and I know exactly what he’s doing: he’s trying to rope me into his relationship with this other girl just for a modicum of ego validation and attention. That’s cool, I’m not really going to fall for that. I’m just going to roll my eyes and not indulge him because why does he need to fight with me when he already has some perfectly psycho garbage girlfriend that will do that for him? Why does he need a little extra chaos on the side?

Although, wait, no, hold it, back up, let me rephrase that. I don’t think she’s a psycho garbage girlfriend, and I don’t think that she’s less than porno pussy. I’m not supposed to think that about any woman because I’m a god damn feminist, and I’m pretty sure that one of the most basic tenets of feminism is about not tearing down other women just cuz. For me, one of the most important tenets of feminism is not tearing down other women over something as cheap and replaceable as dick, so – deep inhale – no, I don’t think of her like that. I don’t even really know her, even though he’s talked so much shit about her to me, all the worst things. I know all the worst things about that girl and all the private little secrets that she told him that he turned around and told me. I know about her father. I know about her mother. I know about her exboyfriend. But I don’t really know her. I just know the her that he told me about, and I have a sneaking suspicion that she is nothing like that.

This is where feminism gets tricky. It gets hard. I’m trying desperately to not fall into the trap of hating the next woman that my February dick is hopping into. That’s not empowering of me. I should wish them all the happiness in the world! But it’s hard. It’s especially hard when he’s baiting me into thinking she’s awful, which is something he did then and something he’s doing now. It’s hard to resist. It’s hard to fight back. It would be much easier to start dialing away and getting phone numbers and harassing people and blowing shit up on social media. But I think it’s time for me to rise above that. I’m not going to be jealous of her. And I’m not going to do petty, small things to make her jealous of me either. I’m just going to walk away. And I wish her the best.

Him, on the other hand – he has hell to pay. For consistently and constantly trying to pit women against each other for the small entertainment that it brings him and whatever desperate ego boost he is fulfilling. This is the epitome of misogyny: to try to pit women against each other just to watch them tear each other down. To make them waste their time hating each other instead of realizing that they’re being played on a much more cosmic level. But that’s not my game. My game is wreaking havoc on men I can’t stand and don’t respect.

But, one step at a time. The nurse calls me into the doctor’s office, so I wipe off my tears and smile because everything is going to be alright.