The Rat Bastard — The Epilogue
Psych! You just thought I was done writing about the Rat Bastard. Well, you were wrong. We need to explore the actual end of the Rat Bastard and me. There’s some more stuff after the break up. This is because 1) I turned into that psycho chick that everyone, including me, hates, and 2) I’m a glutton for punishment. Also, I just thought of some more stuff about him that pisses me off.
After the breakup I thought about what I really wanted to do with my life that I could actually manage to do. Having already tried to obtain a position as a technical writer or any kind of writer and failed, gotten hit on by a single man who was a tech writer for Trilogy, failed, gotten hit on by a married man who was the editor of a trade magazine publication, and failed again, I was pretty sure that my career goals and aspirations were never going to come true. That ship had sailed. I no longer wanted to get married. You have to actually buy a lottery ticket to win the lottery. I knew! I could have a baby!
I knew on my salary that I couldn’t afford to pay for sperm. Trust me. I actually researched this. I knew that I would want to raise this baby on my own. Who would be a better sperm donor than my ex? I knew, after all, that he wouldn’t want to be responsible for a child, that he would be incapable of being responsible for a child, and having already abandoned two previous children, had a really great track record of not interfering in his baby mama’s or children’s lives. By this time, I was so mad at Rat that I wouldn’t want him to be in my child’s life. Why would I want to saddle a kid with THAT? No, this plan was perfect. He’d just provide genetic material and then get the hell out of my way.
I was thinking really rationally at this point. This is evident from the fact that I realized that I couldn’t afford to pay for sperm but didn’t make the leap of logic necessary to figure out that if I couldn’t afford sperm, then I couldn’t afford a baby, either. Whenever pesky thoughts like these floated past my brain, I just rationalized them with, “I can go live with my parents. They’ll be thrilled to have a grandchild.” That would take care of any coherent thoughts I might have had. I’d then go back to trying to figure out when I was ovulating so that I wouldn’t have to have sex with the Rat unless it was likely to be fruitful and purchasing folic acid tablets and pre-natal vitamins so I’d be sure to be fertile.
The Rat was in on this plan, in the beginning. First off, I’d never trap some man into impregnating me, not even the Rat (although I’m sure that if any man deserves to have this done to him it would be the Rat). So instead of entrapping him, I just played the guilt card of how he had totally broken my heart, tore it up in pieces and then fed those pieces to the wolves, so that I had no heart anymore to break. I told him he had ruined my life and made me miserable. I told him he had wasted two prime, babymaking years of my life with his lying and his spineless inability to come out of the closet, his using me horribly and dicking me around. And then…I told him that a baby would fix all that. So, in the beginning, the Rat was totally down with this plan. It was sort of like an opportunity at redemption for him.
The last time I had sex with the Rat Bastard was the last time I had sex with anyone for years. If I had known then what would happen, I would have enjoyed it a little more. If I had never met the Rat Bastard and still had the ability to believe in fairy tales, then I might say that the Rat Bastard refused to have sex with me anymore because he knew that my babymaking scheme was a horrible mistake and that he was saving me from myself, that he was saving a baby from being born into this world for what may be the world’s worst possible reason. But the more cynical side of myself that knows the Rat Bastard says that the Rat Bastard knew that I was still seething with rage, and he probably figured I’d sue him for child support at the first available opportunity. I wouldn’t have, but he didn’t know that.
When Rat refused to continue to participate in the babymaking scheme that’s when I really went psycho. I insisted that he part with every picture he had ever taken of me or of us. I insisted that he give me back anything that might serve as evidence that I had ever known him. I told him he wasn’t allowed to talk about me and that as far as he was concerned I didn’t exist. I sent him an email that said that he was good for only one thing as far as I was concerned, and that was providing sperm. And if he refused to provide said sperm, then I wouldn’t so much as walk across the street to spit on him. I destroyed all the photos and gifts I’d ever gotten from him. I purged the evidence. He did as I asked and brought me all the pictures, etc., and I destroyed those as well. I was so angry with him that I fantasized about hurting him, physically. If I could have figured out how to do so without consequences I would have done it…in a heartbeat.
He got a new job on the graveyard shift, and I started calling at different times during the day, when I knew he would be sleeping, and then hanging up. And that’s when I had my “snap out of it” moment, because it was left to The Train Wreck to confront me. I had to stop with the phone calls or Rat was going to go to the police and press charges for stalking. Once, when we were still together, I had awoken in the middle of the night to find the Rat Bastard in mid-coitus with my unconscious body. There was no foreplay or warning, and I was fast asleep. It hurt. It made me sorry I hadn’t gone to the police and pressed charges for rape.
As I previously mentioned, that was my snap out of it moment. I came back to reality and started channeling all my resentment in more positive outlets, like drinking. The last time I had sex with the Rat Bastard was the last time I saw the Rat Bastard, and I have no desire to do so. I gained a ton of weight, no doubt mostly from the drinking. But the weight was a good thing. It meant I didn’t have to worry as much about attention from men. I could focus on learning how to be a successful spinster and catch up on my reading, and my drinking. And that really is the end of the story of The Rat Bastard.