I'll get to what that title means, eventually.
Had an evening out with Scumbag last Thursday. Fed him, watched him do comedy, drank beer, ran around with other friends.
Part of the evening we were telling another girl we're friends with how "spectacular" our fights are when we fight. How all hell breaks loose and we just sling painful accusations at each other. Thankfully we've only fought like that a couple of times, but they are memorable. We can laugh about them now.
Next morning I had planned the day off from work, so we went for coffee and wound up spending the entire afternoon just lounging around my house watching TV. It felt like old times on the weekends when he lived here. He was flopped on one sofa while I curled up on the other one, both of us hungover as hell.
We watched the recent Intervention episode with the bulimic 18 year old boy. He wanted to see it and getting him to watch it with me was a piece of cake (pun intended).
Watching that turned the rest of the day into a very talkative day. I mean, he wanted to talk about his eating disorder, and thankfully I didn't have to be anywhere so I could just be there to listen. Some days he just wants to talk about it and it seems to be getting easier and easier for him to communicate about it and to acknowledge that it's a problem and admit he wants to do something about it.
He will be in town next month for the next group meeting, and he said he'd like to go. He actually was aware he missed the last one being in Seattle. I was surprised he even thought of it. That tells me the one we went to really impressed something upon him, for him to want to go again, and for him to know he missed it this month.
Finally I was driving him home much later in the day after a comedy special and a two hour movie. He told me the Intervention episode made him realize how easy it would be to slip that far down the hole. I told him I thought he's made huge progress from way back in April. When it first came out he was fine, "I'm fine! Leave me alone! This is just the way I am"!
He said if nobody had confronted him about it then he would have quickly gotten worse, he would not have even been aware of what was happening to himself.
I turned to him and said, "well thank god that didn't happen".
He said, "fuck god, leave god out of this, thank this loudmouth bitch right here".
That's the closest I've ever gotten to a thank you from him. He's not warm and mushy like that. He'll tell me he loves me when we're saying goodbye, sure, but a "thank you for being there for me through some of this". No. He would never say that.
But this loudmouth bitch was all up in his business when he was living here, and maybe that saved his life. Maybe someone else would have said something, done something, but I just happened to be the one. It was nice to be thanked.