I've known that I couldn't hide out in New York forever.
At some point, I would have to make my way back to Chicago, even if only to check in on my life there and see what is left of my house, my home...the place that I worked so hard to make nice and welcoming.
I've got to go back and see what is left...and that is something I am dreading...something I'd like to put off for another week or two...or maybe forever.
But tonight is the night...and as an old boss of mine once said "It's time to put on your big girl pants and go to work"
Meaning, no matter how much it rattles me or how much I'd rather not do it...it's time to go home and figure it out.
I keep coming unglued at the thought of walking in there and seeing what is left from the house I tried so hard to make a home. To walk around and figure out what he moved and what he took and what of our things he decided were his. It's not actually the going home that bothers me. It's the seeing things that were there, the empty room that WAS his studio. The empty places where things used to be.
Although I know that the life I was going for did not technically exist...Now it's really going to be gone...vanished...
I'm not really sure how to handle that. I'm also not really sure what to do once I walk in and see everything.
Once the shock is over, what comes next? Do I shut the door and go to bed? Do I run out and go drinking...
Do I sit in my house, by myself and wonder why?
Why was I so foolish? Why did I allow myself to think that he was something that he never was? Why did I make 5 years worth of excuses for the reasons that he did things that were so disrespectful to me? Why did I not believe my gut?
Or also, and slightly more troubling, why do I still love him?
Why do I give a moments thought to what he thinks of me or how he's telling people our breakup went down, when obviously, there was not a time when he did the same for me? Why does it matter?
Professionally, this week has been amazing for me. Why then is it so hard for me to take these successes (where i'm going) and live on them and not think about the past (where i've been)
Tonight, I'll be in my house. Alone. And I'll try to figure out how to create a home again.
i read this article on a plane a few months back about how women, as a whole, are in a perpetual state of "i'm sorry"...and i know it's true. chicks, man, we'll apologize for anything. if the weather didn't cooperate, if the world didn't play along, there is some woman, some where, who's apologizing for it.
we've been pretty well oiled to apologize for things that we have NOTHING to do with.
and that's not a bad thing. sometimes, life doesn't work out and you are sorry for that.
but i spend half my life apologizing for mistakes i didn't make.
this weekend, Smash discovered that i had removed him as a dependent on my insurance and that he is responsible to pay his portion of the rest for the rest of the terms of our lease.
my entire conversation with him could have been summed up in a game of "don't say sorry" because that article was on the top of my mind the entire time...and i found myself instinctively writing and subsequently deleting "I'm sorry" about 55 times.
because i wasn't sorry. that's an abuse of the word.
Friday night i was rather melancholy...particularly alone...and vulnerable. the email i sent said "i hate that this is what we are now, nothing..." and that is true. i hate that someone who i've loved, even if it was pointless, is now in "see also" section of my life. we are nothing.
but that doesn't mean i wasn't damn sad about it.
he wrote me back and said it was my fault. because i didn't respond to text messages. because, unbeknownst to me...text message is the only acceptable form of breakup conversation. or so say yee...smash. Generally, i find text message to be a wholly acceptable, if not often preferable method of keeping up with others. It's quick, easy and you can communicate on your time...i can text a friend and tell them that the billboard I just saw in Times Square made me think of them...and not worry that i'm interrupting them, if they are in the middle of something, they don't need to answer. That's okay...it's the nature of the text.
but if you're in the midst of making major alterations to your life, say possibly moving your living situation. i humbly suggest that you don't rely on text message to strike up a conversation. I also suggest that if you are truly honest about making contact with someone that you at least ATTEMPT to go the "phone call/voicemail" route.
So the major issue here was NOT that Smash was attempting to move out his stuff and disappear and leave the responsibility to me...the MAJOR issue here was that I did not respond to text messages. It's not that he sent me an email AFTER he moved out, it's that I didn't write back. You see where this is going?
This is all my fault and I should be sorry for it.
I should also, be sorry that I removed him as a dependent on my health care and feel bad that the guy who has almost 22 TIMES more cash on hand than I do is going to have to figure out his own healthcare and his pay the rent for the abode that we SHARED through the terms on his lease.
I'm supposed to feel bad that my lack of response caused him to have a major communication breakdown.
The words i'm sorry are right on the tip of your tongue, right?
In what was likely a fit of rage, he told me to watch out because "If your going to make my life suck, then I'm going to make your life suck"...and i thought about it and reasoned with self that in all actuality, he had sort of already been doing that...I assumed a targeted attempt could not fall much further past what he had been doing...so i merely asked "if he was threatening me and why he would be threatening me"
he told me that i sucked out his soal.
What's a soal?
And it was here that I started to realize that baby was being backed into a corner. and no one backs baby in a corner. Unless you are Smash and Baby is me and i've been trying to get out of a corner for around 5 years.
I still didn't apologize. I told him I understood he was mad, but I still had not done anything to him.
He's still trying to back me into a corner and play on my sadness over loosing him, my good nature and my general desire to help people.
The only difference is somewhere in the past two weeks, I took the blinders off...i see what he's trying to do, the manipulation he's trying to have on me. The one way trip to Guilty-town he's trying to send me on.
i'm not immune to it...not yet. I obviously have to write this all out so that i can read and re-read and remind myself that while right now, life sort of sucks...i still have a soul (or a soal?)
i think because i ran away to New York almost immediately after this glorious implosion happened...and so much has been happening in my professional life, i feel like Chicago is very far away from me right now. But then I realize, two Fridays ago at this time, I didn't know anything yet. The fact that my boyfriend had solicited fetish sex from Craigslist or the fact that he was being dishonest about money were still completely lost on me.
and maybe, well, certainly that was easier.
There is something to be said about ignorance. Maybe I felt worse when he was blaming the breakup on me, who I am as a person. Maybe it would have been easier to buy into his accusations that I was the problem, I was the cause of all his unhappiness, his stress, his anxiety. Perhaps if I believed him that these were problems I caused, while that would have been painful, it would have been easier to get over...
I could have eventually separated myself from the fact and fiction of his accusations. I would have used the things I learned from my therapist when I was getting divorced to realize that no one can be the sole cause of someones happiness or unhappiness, despite what Hallmark or the wedding industry will have you believe. It's just not possible. Happiness is as much a choice as it is a feeling.
and I'm fairly certain that the "stress" I caused Smash had more to do with his constant need to cover his tracks so I wouldn't find out the seedy and disgusting things he was actually doing. Deleting things in his email inbox so that I wouldn't find out that he was propositioning people on craigslist. Deleting facebook messages so I wouldn't see what sort of flirtation and attempts to meet up he was having with another woman. Deleting pictures from his camera roll so that I wouldn't see the number of "dick pics" that he took that were NOT sent to me. Hiding his phone while he was texting so I wouldn't see he was texting another woman or another shemale. I'm sure that trying to hide that many lies, that much deceit, would be difficult and stressful.
There are other things that don't add up...and every so often there is something else that I remember which links up to something that hasn't added up and causes me to shudder and think that this might not be over yet.
While I've already been trying to prepare myself that more than likely, additional unsavory things, scary truths, painful realities...those are probably on their way. Missing prescription medication. I'm trying to insulate myself from them the best that I can...so it's just another piece of the puzzle. How often he was getting cash from various ATMS...that stuff does not make sense, there is something missing. I'm not sure what it is...and probably don't want to find out...
But it's been 14 days, I've gone to work every day...I haven't fallen apart or gone into hiding. While i feel like i could cry at the drop of a hat, i'm not.
i have a long history of wisecracking when i'm otherwise uncomfortable. It's a habit i frequently have to apologize for as it has the tendency to make others uncomfortable when that is anything but my intention. Often though, the only way that i can really deal with something is to make fun of it. when my husband walked out on me and i was trying to figure out what he had done with various household items which were strangely missing, i told people i was on a divorce scavenger hunt. (i've still never understood the missing woody hayes bobble head doll, but that is neither here nor there at this point. i mean, he WAS a really big OSU fan)
so picture it. i'm sitting in a clinic, somewhere in chicago, that is a) open in the timing that i need it to be b)accepts my insurance (which honestly, was not as paramount as one would think, as the accessibility was really the key issue) and c) provided little chance that i would run into someone i know whilst ingress or egress. Not only did i honestly not feel like speaking to that many people in the first place, i really didn't want to be explaining to a random college friend how i happened to be in their neighborhood.
and honestly, it happens with alarming regularity that i run into people in strange places, doing something strange which requires an explanation. i was not too keen on this being one of those times. for as much as i love living in a big city that tends to feel small, right then, in that moment, i needed it to feel as large as possible.
the place looks like every stereotype you see in movies, taupe-y walls, curling posters encouraging safe and positive sexual behavior and a certain emptiness and drabness one would expect.
i walked in and gave my name. as my name was coming out of my mouth i had an instant thought...was a supposed to give a fake name in these situations? i've obviously been privy to too many TBS and lifetime movies...I start to see myself as Tori Spelling in one of her greater roles "Mother, may i sleep with danger?".
the lady at the desk, who i'm sure was very nice, had an overall "Attila the Hun" vibe about her. Not that it truly mattered to me. Attila handed me a clipboard filled with forms and asked me to sit down and fill them out and bring them back when i was done. again, i think, should i give a fake name? i decided that since i wasn't the one who had actually done anything wrong, that i would have to own this moment...so i sat there with designer sunglasses perched on top of my curled hair and pulled a pen from my designer purse. (it's important to note here, that for some reason i felt like it was important to "dress up" for this voyage, as to give the feeling that this was out of character for me....i'm not sure why i was under the impression that chanel sunglasses or a tory burch bag would exude this, but it made sense in the moment. )
i filled out the forms in my very best sorority girl handwriting and handed it back to Attila. She did not even notice that my sunglasses were Chanel.
Ten or so very long and somewhat tense moments later, i hear my name. Somehow, ten minutes erased the fact that i had filled out the forms in my first name, so she said it about four times before i put two and two together. I thought again about how i should have given her a fake name...and then i thought...what fake name would i give? what personality would i like to assign to the person who is presently doing what i am doing? Answer? No one.
she ushers me back in to another generic taupe-y room. The curled posters here were more of the "you're worth it" variety. a girl in bell bottom bluejeans telling me that i'm worth protecting myself...not exactly the advice i needed...but she seemed very genuine in the venture.
Attila starts asking me questions and suddenly, although i have not been asked to switch into a gown and still am fully dressed, i feel naked and exposed. as though every answer she is going to write down and send directly to everyone i know with crib notes of how screwed up the whole situation is. I'm instantly in high school again and these notes could end up on my locker...
so i do what i do best, answer the questions indirectly and with wisecracks.
Attila: "have you engaged in any risky behavior recently?"
Me: "a few weeks ago i was driving entirely too fast on the Jersey Turnpike...but then there was traffic and i had to slow down and i was texting while driving."
Attila: "risky SEXUAL behavior..." i think she might have been slightly rolling her eyes...or else was amused by my attempts to lighten the mood.
but then i was sitting there thinking, "me? no...i had sex with my boyfriend. my live in boyfriend of many years. we had sex, normal, heterosexual, not particularly earth shattering sex." ME? I didn't do anything risky. save the speeding and the texting. there was nothing risky about my behavior.
have i been exposed to risky behavior? possibly.
I blurted this all out in such a rapid staccato that i'm not sure she even knew what i was saying, but then also, i'm not sure she even cared what my situation was.
Truly i want to believe all these 35+ communications with Craigslist personals and other websites are virtual only. That he only wants a someone virtually...but realistically, i have no idea if this is the case.
i also have no idea if there were other women...and for all of this, there is no way to find out, short of a lie detector test....
I think for own sanity, i need to believe that he was not physically
with other people while we were together. But truth-telling is not
precisely in his wheelhouse, so there will always be an asterisk there. Its something that i'll need to work through and deal with the fact that i will really never know the final answer.
and all the sudden, with very little advance knowledge, i was vomiting. the thought of the possibilities came with such a sudden tinge, such a flip in my stomach, that i had my head in a plastic trashcan. Staring at a pink piece of chewed gum, Attila was now holding my curled hair and my recently displaced Chanel sunglasses.
This scene repeated itself twice through the rest of the question and answer and testing period. Attila asked the questions, i gave a jackass answer...gave a real answer and alternately burst into tears or threw up. It's likely i was one of her most colorful patients that day.
we took enough swabs that i was starting to wonder if I was going to be a test case and enough vials of blood that i asked if she was missing from a Southern Plantation. For my trouble she gave me some oreos and juice. not a great match, but i was too emotionally spent to even notice.
As i was putting myself back together and trying to rectify the eye make up situation gone amuck on my face, Attila came back in. Apparently she had a few "instant tests" which were negative. She gave me the timeline in which i could expect answers and told me to follow up with my own doctor in "a month of so and frequently for the next year" to do another round of these tests. Check. I thanked her, which seemed an inadequate response.
Right as she was getting ready to leave the room and leave me to the project i was working on, which was to not look like a raccoon, she turned back and said "you know this happens to a lot of people. Nice people, normal people, people just like you. You're not the first, you won't be the last..." and somehow it felt comforting that somewhere out there, there was another girl who found out by accident that her boyfriends infidelities were far reaching and possibly dangerous.
immediately i wanted to meet this girl so that we could compare stories and feel more normal.
i gathered my things; my designer purse and my designer sunglasses. I walked out the door with them on, hiding both my face and my tears from whomever might have been in that waiting room. i attempted to thank Attila again, but by then she was with another lost soul, asking them what risky behaviors they were engaging in.
...i drove home in silence and proceeded watch my phone for a phone call of the results. That's a process that will drive you mad. Of course, the phone call came while i was in the air, so I arrived here in the Big Apple to find out that for the time being, I have "dodged a bullet."
I have to go back off and on for the next year and check things every few months, but I can go to my own doctor...which will be less of traumatic experience. or as little of a traumatic experience has getting a battery of STD tests can really be.
But I'll wear the Tom Fords and carry a Louis next time. The Chanel/Tory combo has been done.
When the world starts imploding and all the sudden up is down and down is up...there are a lot of things people want to remind you...and a lot of things people want to tell you. It's because they love you and you know that.
However, there are only so many times one can hear "you'll be stronger" "i never liked him" or "this isn't about you" before you want to kindly and sweetly put both hands around the first available neck and squeeze.
see, i know i'm going to be okay and i know this isn't about me. I know that...my rational, logical, constantly aware head has made it abundantly clear that Smash's problems are not something I created. No matter how many times he's told me I'm the cause of his stress and how he claims to his friends that if he wasn't with me, he'd be perfectly happy...I know, logically and due to the literally THOUSANDS of dollars I've spent on therapy that happiness is within ones self.
I know that I am a reasonable and loving person and I know that while I can be a little headstrong, a little crazy and sometimes a bit of a pain in the ass, I also know that there I love hard, am loyal as all hell and will go far to delight the people I love. I know that I believe the best in people, or always try too, which is really how I find myself in the predicament I am in now.
I know that this isn't about me. It isn't really about anyone, but Smash himself. I get that...conceptually.
I know that somewhere in the world there is someone who will take the person that I am and love me FOR it, not IN SPITE of it. I know all this...I can recite it backwards and forwards and could probably do it in another language...if i'd ever had the patience to learn one.
Despite knowing all this conceptually and being able to verbalize it, my heart hasn't quite caught up with my head and moreover, has not caught up with anyone else's head either. My heart still wants to believe the best in Smash, to believe that someone who said so many times that they loved me was living in the same truth I was.
I know that my version of love and Smash's weren't the same. I know that my version of love does not include continual infidelity, grossly mis-representing one's financial state or trolling for sexual experiences via Craigslist or other websites.
My version of love, while not perfect, does not take advantage of someone, letting them do all they are willing to do for you and then blaming them for the shortcomings.
Life already makes one acutely aware of their shortcomings, no matter what they are. The universe has a funny way of knocking you on your ass or letting you know that you're just a little bit too full of yourself. My girlfriend and I have always said that God has a sense of humor. I've called her to tell her about various predicaments and started the conversation with, "He's a funny guy that God..." Because the universe is always testing you and helping you grow or throwing a rock at your perfectly created glass house...sometimes it's how you realize that you're living in a glass house in the first place.
What I mean to say is, life is already hard. Love is already hard, relationships are already hard. The additional stress of constantly wondering what I had done wrong, why was he glaring at me...was he giving the best of himself to someone else? The constant barrage of thoughts of not being good enough (i've gained weight, that's why he doesn't want to have sex with me...i'm fat, that's why he doesn't tell me i'm beautiful) and wondering why he didn't know I cared (if i have the house completely clean and dinner ready when he gets home, he'll know i care and then i'll be good enough for him and then he will show me he cares too).
I tried to be the most carefree, most easy going i could possibly be...and he took it...and took it and took it. I gave and gave and gave, thinking that if i gave enough, if i let him do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, that would be enough.
But what happened? it bit me. it bit HARD.
Not caring if Smash came home drunk with his friends or stayed out all night drunk with his friends led to him doing it all the time. lead to the times when i DID care, when i needed him to be there for me...he accused me of controlling him.
Since he did not notice all the care and thought I had put in, when it came time to cash in, there was nothing for me to cash in on. No, "oh she's gone to so many family dinners with me, i need to make her family more of a priority" no, "she never says anything about me staying out all night with my friends, i should give her this one time she wants me to come home and spend time with her"
and the thing is that i don't need anyone to point this out to me.
I know all this, in my head anyway.
The head and the heart need to start communicating real soon.
I had this strange moment today when I was in the middle of a conversation with people who know nothing of what has transpired in my life in the past week or so. They don't really know too much about me, honestly, and I'd like to keep it that way...the topic of trust came up and the group was talking about losing trust in someone and how sad a moment that is in one's life.
...and my mind wandered...as it sometimes does when the topic is not me...
and all the sudden i had to excuse myself, run to the office i've been working from and catch my breath, the truth which suddenly struck me was so intense, it was like being kicked in the stomach. I was wearing eye make up, so crying was not an option...so i stood in the room and quietly hummed the song "i should have been a cowboy" i don't know why i always hum that song when trying not to cry...but i have and a do and it works.
the reason for this reaction?
the realization that i have not actually trusted Smash since around Christmas of 2009.
we started dating in September of 2009.
Right after christmas in his parents basement was the first time that i saw flirty text messages to a girl who wasn't me. That girl, whom my friends refer to as "the texas slut" was the first sign that i should not have ever surrendered my heart to Smash...because at the same time that i did that...i surrendered my dignity.
The texas slut (who is probably a lovely person) was a married chick who Smash met on tour, who did not explain the fact that she was married until after they had spent the weekend together. (scratch that) I don't exactly know what happened, nor should i...but when i found those first text messages, i knew that she would spell trouble for me.
and she did. a few months later, while Smash was looking for an email and i was sitting on his lap, i saw an email conversation between them which indicated that the showcase i had attended a few days earlier, a few days before valentines day...which he said he had chosen the songs because he liked them...well the email indicated that he chose those songs for her. and suddenly, it made sense why he was so hot to record the set.
the story went on with her, for years. in was 2 years later when i found pictures he had texted her...and a video...none of which included his face.
...and i thought we were okay...i thought she was his achilles heel and in 2011 we were finally free of her and ready to move on together.
...and then i started finding the porn...memberships to porn sites and a profile on "ashley madison" (slogan: life is short: have an affair)
i found myself explaining these things away. things that no woman should ever just let go...i let it go. why? i bought into his begging and pleading and teary eyed confessions. i bought into the look in his pretty blue eyes when i felt like I was looking deep into his soul.
i thought i understood, i thought he loved me...and because he loved me; he wouldn't destroy us, he wouldn't destroy me. he could see the pain in my eyes, the hurt, the humiliation and he'd stop. i wasn't asking him to change, i was asking him to forget a married girl and stop abusing porn.
but i stopped trusting him. i stopped believing him. i became a woman obsessed, a woman i didn't like...a woman i couldn't respect...
in 2012 he left, just left one day and neglected to answer his phone for a month...i took this on and demolished myself over what i did wrong, how i could be better how i could be whole again...and just as i started to become a person again, he was back...fighting, pleading and begging for me to trust him, to believe him...this time...he wrote me a song, left me love notes and did every single thing i had always wanted.
but i still didn't trust him. it seemed like an act...but i fell for it. i fell for the blue eyes that i could get lost in. the jawline i liked to trace with my finger and the looks he would give me as he told me we'd never be there again, that we were going to be okay...this time.
...and we were...for awhile...and then we were not...and the distance became greater and his lies were back and i was just too invested and too embarrassed to stop the ride. afraid that if i called it all off, no one would ever love me again...if i called it all off, then everyone was right and i was wrong and had been the fool...again.
...and yet i sit here in 2014...and history repeated itself...and kept getting uglier. there were new humiliations and new lowest lows.
...and then there was nothing...and i'm free and ready to face the world...with a chip on my shoulder and the complete inability to trust anything from anyone.
will i ever be able to trust again? will i date someone new and ruin it because i just can't sleep until i see their phone and insure that i'm not the fool again? how will that person cope with my crazy...will they understand that it's not me? that it's a learned activity from someone who was shelled into feeling like it was okay for her boyfriend to be sending dick pics to another girl...or to be posting on craigslist looking for ladyboys or sissies or she males or whatever else they are called or to have a profile on ashley madison indicating that he was a "well endowed man looking for some fun?".
how did i become this woman, so humiliated?
i should probably start apologizing to them now...
"i'm sorry new, normal person, but my ex sent dick pics to anyone who would have them...and can i please see your phone to ensure that you are not doing the same?"
"i apologize, normal person, but my ex broke my trust and my self esteem so badly that it might rule out me ever being able to trust you" (cue tears and rage from a note from a female friend asking if they are going to a banal event and how i can't possibly understand how he could NOT be meeting up with her to cheat on me)
who is going to want that? i wouldn't want to put me back together. i don't want to put me back together...
...and the story in which i was on a cleaning rampage in my house.
cleaning is probably the thing i hate to do that i most look forward too. when i'm in the mood, i actually enjoy the process of taking everything out and sorting and combining and tossing things that are not needed. While my parents and Smash might contest this (being some of the people who have lived with me) i actually really like when things are organized and taken care of.
I'm just also a borderline hoarder and it makes it hard to get rid of things when i think i might find a good use for them at another time.
...but i disgress.
so i started cleaning the house...really cleaning. not that bullshit cleaning you do when you don't REALLY care, but want to get things looking better. The sort of shit that you do open up closets and pull everything out from under the bed. Move the dressers everything off the shelves, wipe down the walls behind things...high level stuff. The sort of stuff my mom would be proud that she taught me how to do when i was a kid and then immediately upset at how little i do it.
**the other good thing about this sort of cleaning is that while it's sort of fun to pull everything out and clean it up, i loose interest somewhere in the middle the "putting it all away" stage. so usually, this sort of cleaning has the added benefit of that at some point I'd rather get rid of something than figure out where to put it, so it becomes a good purge.
While doing this sort of intense cleaning, one is prone to find things they are not looking for. While i still have not located my checkbook (where oh where did you go little checkbook??) i did find another nail in the coffin of my relationship with Smash...and this one hurt differently, but hurt all the same.
Money has been an issue in Smash's and I relationship from almost day 1, which was technically day 14 and we were in West Virginia and we took a cab back to the hotel from a club and he didn't offer to pay...or split it or anything. I thought that was odd, but over time adjusted my expectations. I started to think that if i wanted to be an "independent woman" that meant i had to pay for stuff. Not that i am/have been or will be looking for someone to swoop in and take care of me...because i am not...but it bothered me. because being treated makes one feel special and cared for...and that WAS a feeling i was looking for.
over the past 5 years, somewhere along the line, i gave up. It became so painful to be let down that he didn't care about me enough to WANT to woo me, to WANT to treat me to WANT to show me i was cared for. Dinners that he DID pay for became something on the tally sheet and with in a few days i'd hear that i was not appreciative enough or that I hadn't been quite thankful enough.
In short, everything became about money. We couldn't go do things because he "didn't want to spend the money" or "didn't have money for that" We stopped going out as a couple because getting the tab and asking the waitress to split the bill became humiliating, but not quite as humiliating as having a dinner down the street held over your head, because you HAVEN'T been thankful enough.
When we moved into our new place, i was the one that was buying the things that "make a house a home" he purchased the coffee table and rug in the living room under duress and not before we went to 20 other places in search of it "cheaper" he had a very strong opinion of the "look" he wanted in the house, but was unwilling to commit money to the project until i kicked and screamed and begged and cried. That got old quickly.
In fact, it all got old. stopping into the pub when he was there got old because if i had a beer and left without giving him some cash, i'd hear for 3 days about how i "stuck him with my tab". So i stopped expecting more, i started taking cash out the ATM and giving him a 10 because it was easier. Meanwhile, I cover his insurance, pay all the bills in our house and generally take care of things around the house. I go to the store and buy the groceries and make the dinner and it's not as though i place the plate down and then hand him a bill.
I stopped thinking about it. I was used to Smash being broke and just decided that i'd take care of the stuff i wanted too...because it kept my stress level at bay.
So this is the background you must know...before you find out that while cleaning up the house, i found a check account deposit ticket and discovered that Smash had hoarded away over 50K.
58K and he was still hammering me about a 30 dollar dinner. 58K when he knew i was struggling or taking money from my savings or sweating out if the checks i'd already written would clear before my paycheck did.
but it wasn't just me, as i talked to friends and family of his, they all shared stories of Smash being a mooch, it wasn't something that went unnoticed by people. They were just used to Smash being broke and got used to it. So he never bothered to update anyone.
never bothered to update anyone...and there was 58 GRAND in there.
what's the first thing that one does when they discover that their boyfriend has been soliciting fetish sex via the craigslist? well, after you've cried, drank and submitted yourself to a battery of tests...what's the first thing you do?
clean the whole fucking house.
in truth, the house was a disaster. I've been gone for 6 months, roughly, coming home only about 48 hours a month. (Unrelated note: perhaps that should be a been a sign...when i didn't want to come home) everything in the house needed moved, cleaned, wiped down or otherwise dis-infected.
to be honest...i washed the comforter twice. on hot. i've also been looking for a new comforter. but dammit, i like this one and i'm pissed that now every time i look at it I think of "dick pics to a tranny"
and to be honest...there is something vaguely humorous about having a reason to continually use the word tranny in sentences. it shouldn't be funny...and honestly, it's not. my heart is broken over this...but i wouldn't be me if i didn't find humor at completely inappropriate times. so there's that.
I must finish putting into words the rest of "my so-called life" and it's eventual implosion...I feel like it's a three part story.
But, I'm busily proving my value to a hotel that barely knows me and since my personal life has taken a dive, my professional life cannot do so as well...because a)I can't take that sort of stress and b) I can't afford it.
However, I'm trying to process this email that Smash sent me, which I have not responded to yet. I can't find a proper response and I even tried googling for ideas.
"Well I'm very sorry for all of the pain I've caused you it was never directed to you"
Excuse-moi-what-the-fuck?
Exactly who was it directed to then? Who did you think you would be hurting when you sent dick pics to an she-male from OUR BED? (Or the 35+ other times you apparently communicated with Craigslist personals)
Who did you think was affected by your lies about your financial situation or by striking up a flirtation with a soon to be divorcee? With the exception of my bank account, no one else is going to carry around battle scars from your actions. The shemale and the divorcee will go on about their lives and don't know and won't care that your lies, your manipulation, your actions set off a chain of events that imploded my life.
Don't hurl more daggers my way by telling me that it was never directed at me. That's foolish.
the first sign that my relationship was over was when my boyfriend told me that it was. The second sign was when I discovered that he had been soliciting encounters with she-males via Craigslist.
From there it was a rapid unfolding few days in which I learned a lot, cried a lot, discovered a lot, cleaned a lot...and figured out that the life I was aiming for, the life that I thought I was living, well, that life didn't technically exist.
From the web research I completed with shaky hands, I have been able to ascertain that Smash has an addiction to porn. I think I might have already realized this, but as I read and read and read (sometimes taking a break to cry or vomit or find a fresh bottle of wine) I felt like I was reading the notes from our entire physical relationship. From his lack of interest in foreplay to his desire to only have sex "doggystyle" to his continually frustrating lack of concern about my orgasm. It was all there, black and white, clear as crystal. Smash, for all his good points and great characteristics, has developed a porn addiction that has grown into a fetish and leaves him unable to have or appreciate a normal physical relationship.
Truthfully, i knew this a long time ago, even before i started watching porn on my own so that i would have better words to talk dirty with or learn better tricks. I knew it when he didn't notice the times I tried to dress up for him or when he couldn't finish while we were having sex. (Erectile Dysfunction is also a large part of porn addiction, as i learned) I learned when I helped itemize his bank statements from the year he was getting audited and discovered a large number of phone calls to porn lines. In my heart, I learned it the night we met, when at 4 am, i discovered him masterbating with one arm around my (complete dressed, but completely asleep) shoulder.
There were so many signs that his addiction was literally going to "screw" our relationship and so many signs that my reality was not what i thought it was.
I have no idea why I moved forward with my eyes wide shut...i only know that i did.
My heart is broken, not for what I actually lost, but really, for the dream that never actually existed...or only existed in the alternate reality i built for myself. The real story, the one where I never felt good enough and always felt like a piece of ass, that's the one I'm telling now.
