Sick, and Sick of This.

So we’ve wrapped up our month long study of the Romance and Erotica genre. We’ll revisit it, I’m sure, because I’m writing a novel, and, based on July Cumming’s interview, I’m definitely writing romance; it has too many feels and not enough sex to be erotica.

Although what sex is in there is good. It got Goodreads Guy‘s attention…

In the meantime, I am currently reading Nicole Collet‘s book, RED: A Love Story. It’s really good so far, and I’d hoped to have a review ready for you by now, but, as usual, life got in the way.

Which brings us to today’s post.

I am sick.sick

Not deathly sick, but sick enough that I feel like fluid is flowing from every possible orifice. I even have some strange goo in one ear, and my eyes keep watering. Not a pretty image, I know, but I want you to realize I am not exaggerating when I say I legitimately feel like I might very well be better off if we chopped my head off.

Or if we suctioned all the mucus right out of my chest. That’s probably all it would take, but that’s not feasible, and I can’t even get the Mucinex that would be feasible!

Did you know Mucinex is not one of the drugs that’s acceptable under FSA? Since I won’t have a paycheck until next Friday, the only medications I can get are the ones that I can get with my FSA card, and ironically, the only thing that will really help is the one thing I cannot get.

Lovely.

I believe the Bartender would decide that was karma.karma-quotation.jpgThat is the other thing I’m sick of. I’m sick of men who can’t be honest.

Yes, I recognize the irony of expecting a man who was cheating on his wife to be honest with me. I don’t know why I thought he would be…

Other than because he had me convinced that he was actually quite in love with me.

For the first time in my life, there was a man who looked at me with that Colin Farrell look that I’ve dreamed of being on the receiving end for so long.

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The way he would hold onto me, as if I was his lifeline, made me believe that there was some truth to his feelings. The way he kissed me, with such passion that it made me melt. The way he wanted to hold my hand or touch me no matter what we were doing. The way he opened up to me, telling me stories about his past and about his dreams.

We had real intimacy.

Or so I thought.

I let myself be fooled because he told me from the beginning that he was going to be honest about his situation. When I asked questions, he answered them, often rambling on the same way I did. We’d lie there and just talk until the wee hours of the night. He’d stay up late to talk to me, even though he had to work the next day. We had these very intense, long drawn out conversations about so many different things!

When I asked him to do something silly, he did it, no questions asked, inspiring me to write a poem, one of the few happy poems I’ve ever been able to write. I shared it with him and he said it made him smile, made his day even.

When I sent it to him, I was fairly certain that he meant it when he said it, but now I’m not so sure.

In the poem, I used the word love, and it was the first time the word had been said. Then later, I said it out loud, and he eventually said it back. Grabbed me by both hands, and said that it didn’t change things, but he loved me, too.

And then he threw me away.throw-paper-510.jpg

It felt wrong. I had thought it felt wrong because if you love someone, then you don’t throw them away. I don’t mean that he decided that we were done and we’d slowly relax to a just friends situation, which would have made sense to me. I don’t mean that he kept our date scheduled for the first and gave me the heads up that that would be our last date, which also would have worked; it would have hurt, but I would have worked with that.

In fact I had suggested that very thing… sort of. I was hoping that he’d decide to keep me around, but I was aware that he was pulling away, so I asked if we could just hold out until the date on April 1st, because it was a date I really, really wanted to go on.

A date, by the way, that we had agreed to nearly a month earlier, and when we discussed it, I asked him if he was sure that we’d still be a thing that long, and he swore to me that I was being silly for even asking such a thing.

I was trying to make sure that I wasn’t being too pushy and overstepping my bounds, and he had been reassuring… at first.

Then he began treating me like I was the problem.

I’ve been there before, where it feels like a man is entering that doubting phase, and I don’t know how to navigate it. Usually by that point we’ve established some sort of routine in which we talk regularly, and I can’t just stop that. My late night phone call from the Bartender when he got off of work had become the last thing I did before I went to sleep every night. I liked that feeling. I needed that because it was part of my routine.

Instead of telling me he needed to slow down, and discussing it with me so that I could better navigate the change, he just didn’t call one night. He had ignored me all day, and as it was the day of the Brussels attack, and he works at an airline, I had been worried about him, and then I became irrational because I didn’t understand why his behavior had changed.

That was when I began to realize that things were over.

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But, we’d had that date planned for the first of April, a date that he had promised we’d go to. In fact, I had mentioned a date to see a Captain America marathon before the new Captain America movie comes out, and he had jumped to say we’d go… but it was me who pointed out that he was kind of waffling on our date as it was.

“Yeah, let’s just take it one month at a time,” he said.

And then he attempted to just throw me away.

I should have known that in reality it was because he was lying about all the sweet things.

As I’d said a few days ago, I was seriously considering doing a bad thing. It was a thing completely against my nature. I’ve never wanted to hurt a person so much as I wanted to hurt him.

I’m aware it was irrational.

I’m aware that part of it is because his actions mirrored the Boy so much that I may have merged them in my head, and the 3 years of strife at the hand of the Boy made this sudden betrayal from the Bartender unbearable.

I even tried to talk to him (the Bartender, not the Boy, there is no communication there, and no desire to have any) about it. As it turns out, that was a mistake because he simply used my doubt to gaslight me.

gaslight still

See, something was really bothering me about the situation. Not just that it was like the Boy, but that it was the behavior of the Boy coming from someone who had spent so much time telling me that I deserved so much more… He had at one point made me cry accidentally because he went on and on about how I would one day find someone who treated me as well as he did, someone who didn’t have his “baggage” (which is what he called his wife and child).

It upset me because no one has ever treated me so well, and I felt like he was falling in love with me, too, and he had told me his marriage was ending, so I didn’t see any reason not to let my feelings blossom.

And yet, he would suddenly shift and remind me that, as I had pointed out to him earlier, that it would end one day, and then he would hold me tight and tell me he didn’t want to go, or didn’t want to get out of bed, or tell me how much he desired me, and liked me…

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But here’s the reality:

It was never him trying to end the marriage. It was her (If that’s even true, I don’t know).

She couldn’t leave him because she’s sick.

And here he had me fairly convinced, based on the information he provided about how they met and why they married, that she had somewhat manipulated him into marriage. She was his best friend’s mother, and he’d had a crush on the friend’s sister yet somehow went to bed with the mother. It ruined her marriage, she left her husband for him when he was only 18 year’s old, and now 18 year’s later, they have a 10 year old daughter and don’t even live in the same state.

After our first week of intimacy together, he’d told me that we’d had more intimate encounters than he’d had with his wife in the past year or two.

He told me that there was no relationship there, and that he was working all these hours, killing himself, to provide while she had no job, no citizenship, and didn’t speak any English.

And I bought it, hook, line, and sinker because I was watching him work more hours than any person should physically work in a week, and yet he didn’t have anything amazing to show for it. His car is old, there’s no living room furniture in his apartment, although he’s lived here for a year. His bed is ridiculously uncomfortable, and he doesn’t even have end tables, or a TV stand. The TV is sitting on a box, a cardboard box.

I’ve seen frat boy dorm rooms with more furniture.

emptyroom.JPEG

But it was all a lie. And the only reason any of it came out was because I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was lying to me, and when he began insulting me, I snapped, and did the bad thing. I sent the picture of he and I after our nap, the one that shows how happy I was. I sent it to his wife and to, I believe, her son, his friend.

Christian Bedoya

Should I have done it? Maybe not.

But do I feel bad about it? Only because it will cause some pain. In the end I think it will cause more healing than anything else, because anyone who can lie that well, has probably hurt lots and lots of other people.

Was it a little coldhearted? For sure, and, as I’ve said, completely against my normal nature… Though I did do something slightly similar when I put all the Boy’s business out there on this blog. I’m just tired of being treated like a secret or a plaything to be used at a man’s disposal.

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The last few things he said to me before he completely ended our communication was that I was being a child, even using my childhood name, that I had specifically told him I don’t like being called, and he kept reiterating that my attempts to negotiate with him and follow my logic were really me throwing a hissy fit “like a little girl.”

More gaslighting.

And proof that all of the good things had been an absolute lie.

He even threw the L word at me, telling me that he “fucking loved [me]!” But that it had been a mistake to trust me.

He’d never trusted me. He didn’t care enough about me to trust me or not trust me. I was never anything more than a game.

And I’m sick of being treated like a plaything.

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He was right about one thing: I do understand that I deserve better after having met him.

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5 thoughts on “Sick, and Sick of This.

  1. Ooh dear, and there it all is. So easy to be sucked into the dream, some are very very good and it’s not until way too late their true self shows. Personally, I see nothing wrong with you sending the pic. Regardless of your reason behind it, most women would want to know if their man were cheating on them. How they deal with it is up to them, now you just concentrate of you and moving forward.
    Amy💕

    • Well, if anything he says is to be believed, she left her first husband for the Bartender, so vows mean nothing to either of these people. He’s also told me that he’s cheated on her plenty, but that I was the first one to which he felt an emotional connection. For some reason, the fact that he admitted to the high number of infidelities led me to believe him. I don’t think she even saw the picture, and he’s going well out of his way to erase the fact that I even exist. Out of curiosity, I tried to call (because it is killing me not to know what happened), and he’s even disconnected his number.

      If there was any truth to what he said, I don’t want any harm to come to him or his family. I don’t want harm to come to them even if everything was a lie, but the idea that he can treat people like they’re just toys and completely expendable while professing love, really bothers me.

      But I guess I’ll never know…

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