I walked into this relationship with my eyes open. Truly open, for the first time in a bloody long time. I knew things weren’t going to be all butterflies and bunnies and rainbows, especially with my control freak, manipulative ass ex- constantly calling to cajole, lie, make BS promises, threaten and emotionally blackmail me into returning home to his loving embrace. Like I was a completely brainless fuckwit with no sense of self-preservation. Which up to that point I had been.
I knew that the initial craziness of being in love would fade and things would mellow into a happy companionship… okay, no I didn’t know that. I had no idea what would happen after that initial dizzy, being madly in love feeling faded. It had never happened to me before. I’ve been in love before, stupidly, madly, heart-breakingly, soul-crushingly in love with starbursts and unicorns and utter craziness that was probably one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done and ever let go of.
There was no fading involved, no slow burn passion, no comfortable companionship. It was full on white-hot blazing from start to finish, and so painful. With my ex- it was more of an immature, teenage ‘I’m in love without a clue of what love actually is’ kind of love that bordered on friendship. No passion, no deep joy, no breath-taking madness, but a friendly companionship with occasional bad sex.
Which should have alerted me to the fact that this was not love. Which of course it didn’t because at 16 years old I didn’t have the experience to know, nor anything to compare it to, nor the smarts to realise that I was not ready emotionally for what I had just gotten myself in to. And boy, did I pay for my naivety… So many times in the first year I had reason… good reason to end things, but I never did. He did though, and always begged to come back.
By the time my brain registered that something was very, very wrong it was too late. I was invested and committed and pregnant and telling myself that a baby would improve things, which it didn’t because the baby didn’t make it. Her loss just opened my eyes wide and clear to the devastating mess I’d made of my life, but by then I was too emotionally distraught to do anything about it and slowly suffocating in manipulative, blackmailing, controlling love that blocked every avenue of escape with sweet, loving attentiveness that led to another child, and then another while I allowed myself to be blackmailed and controlled and suffocated.
Meeting Bear was different. He was different and by the time we met I had more life experience than a 37 year old wife and mother should ever have. I also had full blown clinical OCD and serious trust issues. Love suddenly popped out of the blue, completely unexpected and totally ambushed me. It was a more cautious roller-coaster ride though, that made it clear from the very beginning that it could be dangerous to my health, and to step with caution.
Which I did while my stupid heart soared with joy and did aerial acrobatics and begged to be allowed to cartwheel and pretend it was a firework. My feet however were firmly on the ground, and my brain fully engaged in examining how I felt from every angle. I adored Bear, from the very beginning. It was hard not to, he was sweet, kind, loving, genuinely caring and compassionate, funny and geeky, intelligent and charming and totally non-threatening to the massive gaping hole in my soul.
He was perfection, or so I thought. I moved in with him knowing of the depth of my love for him, but still being uncertain of his for me. I took a big risk… and it paid off. There were fireworks, and passion and a deep burning need and joy and hope and all the wonders of truly being in love and knowing it. And then I discovered the extent of his lies. I don’t mean lies in an overly negative way, just that he’d been very creative in editing the truth.
Being the realist that I am, it’s still lying whether you outright fib, or embellish the truth a little to make things sound better than they really are. When I first met Bear he told me the truth of his situation, his recently-past relationships and all the things that there was little point in lying about. He’d fibbed about being the person he really was, the person he’d described to me when we met, the man he’d made himself out to be was the person he wished he was, the person he wanted to be, not the person he was.
It made a difference. It made a big difference. He was the sweet, kind, compassionate, loving person he’d always been. He wasn’t the free spirit, hater of routines, impulsive, adventurous, carefree, freedom loving person he’d made me believe he was. He’d lied to me. The one person who’d been lied to her whole life, who trusted nobody, who hated liars more than anything else on earth and he’d lied to me. It changed things.
The passion dimmed a little, the joy faded a shade and the crazy, madly in love burning felt a small trickle of cold water. We talked, he explained and I understood. My eyes were already open, I knew things weren’t going to be easy or straightforward and they weren’t, and they never have been but I have always loved him, deeply and with a passion never known before. After nine years there is no-one I would rather be with, nowhere I would rather be than right here beside him.
Despite the Internet addiction, because that is what it is, and I understand that there was a reason for it, and that it’s a habit that he just can’t break and doesn’t want to (yet). I also understand that he doesn’t realise what it’s done to his previous relationships and what it’s doing to ours, but one day he will and I’ll be here to hold him and help him and understand because I know he’d do the same for me.
So yes, I might rant and rage and threaten to bash him over the head with his laptop, iPad and any other form of Internet access but that doesn’t mean I don’t love him, or need him or want him. I just get thoroughly sick of being second best to bloody everything and feeling like the housekeeper and child minder in his life and not much else. Maybe you’ll understand that.
Dear Diary... 
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