“Crying over a guy? Nahh, pick up your head princess, your tiara is falling.”
I’ve tried calling, I’ve tried texting, next stop is email I guess.
What an honest to God piece of shit.
I haven’t cried. I feel like maybe I should. This is a pretty dire situation, but alas; I’m sitting here strong and tall, after all my tiara is pretty damn gorgeous and that shit can’t be broken.
I haven’t cried over the ending of a relationship since my last official boyfriend.
We broke up two years ago in September.
That was a crazy whirlwind. Got time? Let me tell you about it.
I met him (We’ll call him…Tom) on Plenty of Fish.
He was NOTHING like any guy I had ever dated. He was tattooed, long hair, and was living in a half way house. I can’t say much about the half way house, (in case you never read Pismo Beach, you should and that will explain why). But, he wasn’t tall, he didn’t have facial hair, and his hair seemed to be like a foot longer than mine.
We talked on the phone everyday, and he kept asking to see me and I drug my feet something fierce. Looking back now, maybe that was the Universe telling me that seeing him-dating him was a bad decision.
Finally I decided to give it a shot. To this day, it was the best very worst decision of my life. We spent some time together on a date, and by the end of the date he kissed me-completely out of the blue. It was electric, I could feel chills running up my spine. I still wasn’t sold though, the thought kept flashing in my head that he was different, too different.
As time went on though, the walls came tumbling down. I had just ended things with Pismo and I used Tom as a shoulder to cry on. He talked to me about how badly Pismo treated me and how he’d do so much better. He kept pushing and pushing for me to fall for him. And I did. Head first, head over heels I fell hard.
Soon, he was supposed to be getting out of the half way house and getting his own apartment. The thought was so exciting. Finally we’d be able to be like a traditional couple, spending the night together and what not.
He moved in to his apartment, and we had sex for the first time. It was the amazing, sparks flying, toe curling kind of sex.
Shortly after he moved in though, things started to get weird. His roommate didn’t feel comfortable with my staying the night, his parole officer didn’t want anyone staying there, he was too tired from work…the excuses went on and on.
This is the first time I actually purposely ignored my intuition. Something was off, I knew it, but I could never imagine that it would be what it was. And I wouldn’t find out for a good 3 more months.
After 7 months together, blissfully falling, spending time together on the weekends, talking every day. I love yous. All of it.
Then the floor fell out from underneath me.
Tom was supposed to come over to my town for our huge 4th of July celebration. We had planned it for weeks and we were excited to spend our first “holiday” together. On the day of the 4th, he called, said he’d be over, and never heard from him again. I called, and called and called and nothing. I went over to his house, nothing. I was legit freaked out. When we first started dating he told me he had dissociative identity disorder and that sometimes he’d end up somewhere not having a single clue how he got there. I was his girlfriend, so naturally, I freaked.
A few days went by without a single word. Crickets.
I went over to his house one day after work, and finally he came out to talk to me. I remember the day like it was yesterday. It was pouring rain, I was sobbing hysterically, he kept telling me to stop crying and he broke up with me. He said he needed to “go find himself” and that he didn’t want things to end forever, just that he needed time. I was a wreck. A sobbing, snotty, no eating, completely disconnected wreck.
A few weeks went by and somehow, although I don’t remember how, we ended up back together. Things weren’t the same of course, I was more guarded…my intuition was just SCREAMING at me that there was someone else. Literally, screaming. Every day I’d wake up to the roaring lion and I just couldn’t bring myself to actually believe it.
We got to September, and that’s when my entire world came crashing down. It was different than the ending of Rainbows and Butterflies , or than the ending of husbands two or three (their stories to come later). It was different than anything than I had ever felt, the most painful, excruciating experience relationship ending I could have ever imagined.
He not only told me that he was breaking up with me for good. But that he had a fiancé who lived about three hours away that was five months pregnant. He had been living a completely separate life and I had no clue. Now, I can’t fully say that I had no clue, because obviously with my intuition screaming at me, I knew something was up, but I had no clue that it was THAT bad. When he broke up with me in July, he had just found out that she was pregnant. The only thing that I had ever felt that this came close to was when my mom died. Every single thing I had been living through, and doing for the past year was a complete lie. What was worse, was that not only did he propose to her four months after we had started dating, was that he had been engaged for 9 months by the time he finally broke up with me. NINE months.
The worst part of this entire situation with Tom, was that two months after we broke up I found out I was pregnant with…twins. He wanted me to keep them. Then he wanted me to split them up and give him one. He didn’t want to tell her, he didn’t want to pay child support and he wanted to keep things on the DL until after his daughter was born. What an asshole, right? He caved though, and told her. She was going to move up here, and didn’t know at that point if she was going to or not because she was so upset. I have to admit, for one lowly moment, if she would have broken off their engagement, I would have taken him back in a heartbeat. I was lost, I was pregnant and I had no idea what to do with myself. To top it all off, I lived with my VERY Catholic Grandmother at the time.
During my pregnancy I experienced a medical anomaly with one of my twins called vanishing twin syndrome. Meaning, you go to the doctor for a sonogram and find out that the second baby had just disappeared. It’s not extremely common, but of course, it would happen to me.
I was sad, and the sadness from this only compounded the sadness of my whole situation with Tom. Ok, maybe sad isn’t the right word, I was destroyed. I know that there are so many women who suffer miscarriages, and losing a baby is never easy, no matter the circumstances because the very first thing you think is that it’s your fault.
My doctor advised that I had a high risk pregnancy because I had miscarried before, and that I needed to keep the stress to a minimum during my pregnancy. How can your stress level be low, when your baby daddy is engaged to another pregnant woman and he’s experiencing everything with her, that he will never experience with you? How can you keep your stress low when your constantly bickering back and forth over what you’re going to do with the baby?
The stress took it’s toll and soon, I miscarried. Words cannot explain how I felt at the moment I found out. I couldn’t believe it. Again, I felt like I had done something wrong, and that I wasn’t able to keep my cool long enough to take care of my child. I blamed him. He knew about the stress issue, but he continued to press my buttons over, and over, and over again.
Tom’s daughter was born January 17th, exactly three weeks after I lost our baby.
We didn’t talk after I lost the baby. Between the loss and his baby being born, I thought I needed him to exit from my life. February quickly passed without a single phone call exchanged between us. I missed him, but I can honestly say that my heart started to heal a little bit. The cracks were filled with super glue…I was now at a point where every man I spoke to that wanted to date me-I would ask if they had a secret family (like I did with sir even though I think that he lied to me). I know I said this before…several times. But. He BROKE me.
Then, March came. My friend and I had just driven by his house-literally, five minutes before. My phone rings. Hearing his voice was like a divine symphony, smooth and powerful…and sad. Something was wrong. He asked how soon he could see me and in all my stupidity I let him come back into my life like a raging storm.
It turned out that his fiancé had post partum, and some other mental health issues that put both herself and her family in immediate danger. She was checked into a mental health facility in my town, and he wanted to come see me after his visit with her. So…me being the trampled on person I am, I let him come back.
He showed up at my house, baby in tow. He told me everything that had happened, how alone he felt and he didn’t know what to do. He was working, taking care of a brand new baby and barely sleeping. My heart tugged for him because I couldn’t imagine where he was at. His fiancé was having dreams about killing him and their baby.
To this day, I have no idea why I allowed him back. It was a train wreck waiting to happen…But like all train wrecks, sometimes you just need to sit back and wait for the inevitable crash.
Within days, I was seeing him everyday (more than I did even when we were together) I was staying with him, in his house, in their bed. We were sleeping together again, telling each other that we love each other again, essentially I was playing housewife and I loved every.single.minute of it.
Our time together came to a screeching halt when she was released in early April. Tom came to me and said he’d like to continue an affair with me, if I would allow it. And of course, I did.
We slept together and saw each other a little less than twice a week until June. He came to my house one day and told me, they were getting married in two weeks.
I knew in that moment that I should have never let him back in. Super glue is meant to hold every piece together, it’s supposed to be strong enough to withstand a strong amount of pressure and it’s meant to eliminate the pieces from falling apart again. I must have needed gorilla glue because my heart broke into even smaller fragments this time.
After he was married, he said he wanted to continue our affair, but we stopped sleeping together completely. We’d see each other and we’d fool around a little bit, but he never once went all the way.
Then, much like before-he drifted away. Kind of like the John Greene quote about love that I quoted in the “L Word”. “I fell in love like you fall asleep, slowly then all at once” he started disappearing like you fall asleep. Slowly, then all at once. He was gone. Again.
He came back around, without permission. He still wanted to continue. I told him I deserved more and that enough was enough. I told him that I was hoping that he’d leave her for me, or that he’d fall for me all over again. He said nothing.
We haven’t spoken now in well over two months, and he’ll never come back again. I know in my heart that the end, has officially come. And to be honest, I didn’t cry the last time. He had hardened me so much to the loss of him that the super glue that now covered ALL of the broken pieces could withstand the pressure. No gorilla glue was needed this time around.
I’ll forever be grateful for the time I had with Tom. It was real-at least for me. He said he was going to pick me, but she ended up pregnant and he couldn’t leave her. She doesn’t work, and still doesn’t take care of the baby, and I’d be lying if a part of me didn’t think a) he kind of deserves the difficult life he plotted for himself and b) I’m sad that it’s turned out that way for him. He picked me up at a time where I was laying on the ground battered from the sword fights and cheating that Pismo left me with. My heart had started to crack with Pismo, but…it never shattered like it did with Tom. There’s something to be said for the fact that I cried more over the loss of Tom, than I did in all three of my marriages combined. I thought he was my person-and yes, I know it was right after Pismo, but I thought for sure that the universe had a hand in us being together.
One day in the early summer before he broke up with me for the last time, we were driving around in his new car chatting. I remember telling him that the best thing about our relationship was that I picked someone I would never ever pick, and I couldn’t have been happier. That was the moment I knew that the love I had for that man would far surpass the love I would have for any other man in my life. That the love with him was unique, and beautiful in its own way.
I’m not a grudge holder. To this day I’m still friends with all of my ex’s regardless of the circumstances of our demise. Unfortunately though there are two that I’m not. Pismo, and Tom. Funny that it’s both of them, when they’re the only ones who have ever been in prison, and that one came right after the other.
I’d also be lying if I said that I didn’t want to call her, that I didn’t want to show up on their doorstep and yell surprise! I forgot to mention a fact. When we started fooling around while she was in psych care, he decided to make up a new name for me-because she knew my real name and there was no way she’d be ok with him still talking to me. I wanted so badly to tell her that I was “Veronica”. But, I’m not that woman. As much as I know she’d like to know, I also know the pain of finding it out. Should she be completely destroyed like he destroyed me 100 times over, or should she live forever in blissful ignorance thinking that his indescretions would forever be over? Not my decision.
So there my friends is the story of my being an adulteress for the first time. There is the story of my heart being completely shattered and repaired to where I sit today. There is the story that taught me that my intuition was dead on and that as much as I’d love to deny it-it is the most powerful asset that I have.
My crown hasn’t faltered much since then. The last tear I shed for a man, was for him and if I can help it, it will be the last.
I’ll miss him forever and love him for always, but sometimes as much as I hate to admit it, you can love someone but not be meant for each other. I wish him nothing but happiness down the road and hope that someday he gets the marriage and life that he deserves. And somewhere deep inside I guess I hope he feels the same for me, no matter how badly things ended.
So, Sir can go pound sand, he’s not worth the tears. I miss him terribly, but you can’t make a heart love someone, no matter how bad you want it to.