So, back when I was dating my latest ex, “the good one”, when we had sex, I thought we were making love. I think it’s fair to say only one of us felt that way. Nothing is certain, but there’s a chance my permit won’t be renewed and, since I don’t wanna live next to my rapist again (though my mom informs me he has moved, but does still visit his parents every fucking day, partner and child in tow).
I mean, there were signs from the moment we broke up, but as I recently read in a sleazy Bumble bio: People don’t change. You just get to know them better. He could marry me. We could enter a sham marriage. I can’t pay him, but him signing a document would save me from a potentially insane mess. He literally wouldn’t have to do anything else, and nothing would change. Legally sure, but financially or logistically? Not a damn thing. And he’d be saving me. From a lot of heartache. A lot of stress. A lot of distraction. He could wield his privilege my way. He could put his ass where his mouth continues to say he is. Because he still has the gall to say it. I love you.
He’s unmoved. And he is someone that knows what I’ve been through. Perhaps even better than ANYONE. He was my supportive rock during Phase 1 and Phase 2 of trauma therapy. And he doesn’t owe me anything, don’t get me wrong. But when a signature would SAVE the woman you claim to love from deportation, or from just always having the university breathing down my fucking neck because god forbid I didn’t win the birthright lottery and was born in the global south, and have a harassing neighbor here with whom not ONE of the institutions purported to help me is doing so (not the police, not city hall, not the housing association) affects my study, there my ass goes, (potentially) out of the country. To be decided between September and October, when I would already be in a new academic year, and yet these pieces of shit (the uni counselors) think that won’t affect my performance then either?
Empty words. I really do have to give him credit for (at least the feelings, cause memories are hazy) some of our time together, but since then…yeah, empty words. And I gotta be honest: I would NOT have loved him as hard as I did, had I known it would end like this. A “friend” that sometimes responds to texts and whom I see once a month. In person he’s fine but online he doesn’t wanna lift a finger to ensure the other party doesn’t feel neglected. Why does this shock me though, he chose himself in his method of breakup (phone) over my feelings, so who can really be surprised at this point.
I really did think we were making love, the handful of times we had sex. Because of him, I thought I knew what “making love” was, because I had never ever EVER felt that way during sex before. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. I think I agree with Chris Martin, the lead singer of Coldplay. He makes songs for the women he dates, and then retires said songs when the relationships end as well (at least that’s what I’ve read).
It truly means nothing to say it now. And for the first time, I feel disdain and contempt when I think about him. Just like he did, around the time he wanted to break up. If he were to die now, I’d be sad but I’d get over it. His betrayals (PLURAL) wouldn’t magically disappear out of my mind. Almost a year and a half after the breakup, I feel a wall between us. I think it was always there, but only now am I (barely painfully) aware of it.
I kept three things, from our time together (after the big purge). The frame he made me (I gave it to my other ex to put the pictures of him and the dog I helped him adopt). A card he once sent me (threw it away some time ago). And a map he made me for the DND adventure he DM’d for me once. I colored it and covered it in that plastic-y cover for books, to protect it. One sec.
Now I have none. I have the dremel he got me but that’s fuctional, I don’t really think about him when I use it. I didn’t customize it. And I have other things, but none that I’ve kept for sentimental reasons. On every monthaversary, I made something for him. For Christmas and his birthday, I made special things. Also for our one and only anniversary. But every monthaversary, I had a little something for him. Towards the end, it was screws and bolts in paper boxes from a mandala coloring book, which I would color for him. I gave him a clock that I wrote on that he keeps in his workshop. When we broke up, I retooled a penguin plushie into a baby pigeon, because that was his nickname (pigeon), and I felt I wanted something to represent him -but found too painful to hug it so I gave it to him. I made him COVID masks. I patched his backpacks and his oven mitts. I loved that man. Thus, I cared for him. I treated him with such tenderness and sweetness. I adored him.
Chris Martin is right. That love is long gone (on his part). And it wasn’t as deep as mine ran. And while now it wouldn’t have been as romantic or overwhelming as it was when we were together, had he needed me, I’d BEEN there for him. Even now, I would’ve put myself in several various uncomfortable situations for him.
To me, love doesn’t end when you’re no longer together. Love is this lifelong ordeal. At least if you still have the guts to say it. It’s gotta mean something. Because of him, and the love I felt for him, casual sex felt so boring and empty afterwards. Because of the love I felt for him, one of the things I missed the most was saying I love you to someone, every single day.
Who could’ve known I was sweetening my coffee with sucralose?
You know my FWB, the long-dicked mf that has me leaving his place with a certain -delicious- difficulty to walk? Since there’s trust there, we do it romantic style. I like it better, it’s nice this way. He knows good when he sees it too and he loves it as well. I thought I was coming to Salt Land with marvelous stories about the taste of sugar, when in reality, all I ever had was sweetener.
That thought was bothering me, but at least now we’re two people dreaming of sugar together. When your FWB treats you way way WAY better than your ex does…yeah, no matter how good things were in the past, that was an effort, that wasn’t the real him. This is the real him.
And that’s an important (and abso-fucking-lutely SHITTY) lesson to receive: no matter how much you think a man is currently into you, unless he has values, unless he has worked through his own trauma…there’s little value in that in terms of permanence. As hot and heavy as it comes, it can go away and you’ll be fooling yourself thinking tHiS pErSoN iS mEaNt To StAy In YoUr LiFe FoReVeR.
But wait, there’s more! At least, and this is very good news, now I no longer feel hurt when he’s his usual flaky self. There’s no lingering pain behind that -no matter how minuscule- because I no longer feel this deep connection/loyalty/bond as I did before. He truly did have a heart of gold, all for himself, and no one else…and he squandered it away.
Message received. I mean, it’s always been true, but now there’s incontrovertible proof of it. And who here likes losing the illusion of love?
Now it is I who feels the way he’s been treating me since the breakup: ready to flick him off of me were he to become even the slightest of nuisances.
Unwilling to go to bat for the relationship while we had it. Unwilling to go to bat for me when I need him (because that would mean to be lEgAlLy TeThErEd to me and heavens forbid, that would make him not cOmFy). I don’t know about y’all, but to me, that’s a rude wakeup call.
At least now we know where we stand. Too “bad” you can’t come back from irrefutable proof.
P.S.: When the only feelings someone feels comfortable immediately sharing are feelings of disinterest, rejection, and nothing positive or uplifting…your relationship’s not long for this world, girlfriend. Not unless you’re into a deeply bitter/sad partner. A sad sop, if you will. Watch out.