It is still so very weird to me that I actually believed all the things he said to me. And even weirder that it sill bothers me so much nearly seven years later. I feel utterly stupid that I didn’t get it that it was all a lie – but, you should know that it’s not ALL my fault; he was really good at the lie. There’s a song by the band Seether in which the singer states:
You keep living in your own lie
Ever deceitful and ever unfaithful
Keep me guessing, keep me terrified
Take everything from my world
That pretty much sums up how I feel/felt/whatever. Ridiculously, in retrospect, I thought I was much smarter than that; that no one could fool me so completely. Well, now I know that I was wrong on that count, too.
You know, I guess it’s okay that it bothered – and bothers – me. I mean, I believed he was the love of my life since I was a teenager. In a way I only got involved with people who were, in a sense, disposable. Not too flattering – for them or me. I judged my feelings with everyone by my feelings for him, and their feelings for me by the way he had felt about me. Comparing is never a good practice, I know, but I didn’t know I was doing it. Well, I knew it, but I didn’t understand how MUCH I was doing it, nor how negatively it was impacting every romantic relationship of my entire life. I can see it now, of course; I mean, don’t they say that hindsight is 20/20? Yepper. Definitely 20/20.
Even knowing all that now, though, I still don’t understand how I could be so taken in. Where were the signs that it was a lie? Maybe…well, could’ve been the small amount of time he was able to carve out for me after I drove over one thousand miles to spend time with him. Yeah, I guess that was a clue. I’d be there a week and spend 80% of my time alone. I guess that was a big sign, yes? But when he was with me, he was WITH me. Loving me, crying, begging…and when I was away from him, there were hundreds of phone calls, thousands of texts. I mean, why would he do all of that if he was lying? That’s what I couldn’t figure out. Unless, maybe, he WAS just trying to be kind to me – in a weird-wrong-twisted kind of way. He said later that he did it because he felt guilty that I had loved him so long. I had loved him. Hmmmm….and that he had not been in love with me since nearly fifteen years earlier when he wanted to be with me but I said no — he had a child and one on the way. How could I break that up? I couldn’t, so I sent him back to her and the children, knowing that was the right thing to do – and knowing that he would, in the end, hate me if he left his family and then wasn’t close to them. For a while I tried to believe that he was just saying all that about lying, that really he was a coward and just couldn’t pull the trigger. But I suppose I was wrong, and he really didn’t love me any longer. That is a horrible thing to accept…I kept others at arm’s length and never allowed myself to be happy because I was in love with him. When I believed we finally had a real chance at the happily ever after we both claimed to have always wanted…well, I was deliriously happy. And then I wasn’t.
And I am still not.
I still stand by my belief, though, that if he KNEW, the first time we saw each other again, that he didn’t feel the same about me, it would have been much kinder and much, much less disillusioning if he had thrown a pity fuck or two my way and then a tearful farewell. That, I would have held close to my heart with a tear and a smile.
Instead I am left with…nothing.