Category Archives: The Pilot

Which is better?

I was talking to a friend at work the other day who didn’t know The Story, and so I gave her an abbreviated version (“Let me explain…no, there is too much, let me sum up.”).  She was appropriately pissed off on my behalf.  Then she asked, “Was he cheating on you with her or on her with you?”  And I said, “I don’t know, but is one better than the other?”

I’ve thought about that question before.  I don’t know the answer.  I’m fairly certain that I was The Other Woman, a term I hate to apply to myself.  The Other Woman, as most people see her, is a homewrecker, easy, a slut, a person with very low morals.  Look at Rielle Hunter, the numerous women that Jesse James was with, the numerous women that Tiger Woods was with.  What are people saying about those women?   

The difference, of course, is that I had no clue that I was The Other Woman.  The funny thing?  SHE did.  She knew about me last July.  So she already knew he had cheated on her with me, and she found out (I’m assuming) that he was still cheating on her with me in December.  But she still, evidently, forgave him.  Of course, she’s got it made at this point – she’s got him wrapped around her little finger.  Anything he EVER does wrong, she’s got the trump card. 

What’s the difference between being cheated on and being the one he cheated with?  Is one better than the other?  Here’s one way to look at it:

  • If he cheated on me, then I wasn’t enough, he wanted something else, something different.
  • If he cheated with me, then I had something special, something he couldn’t resist, even at the risk of getting caught, again.

Either one sucks.  One is not better than the other.  Not when you’re lied to.

The truth?

I’m not okay.  I’m not fine.  I’m having serious issues. 

I’ve been lying all too often, to my friends, about how I’m doing.  But I don’t feel like they can fully understand what I’m feeling.

It hits me the hardest in the car, when I’m on my way to work, when I’m at lunch, wehn I’m on my way home.  That’s when I have to fight back tears the most.  That’s when I hurt the most.

I’m not lying when I say I don’t want him back.  Finding out that he cheated on me for months, if not the entire time we were together, makes me not love him, makes me not want to be with him.

But I desperately want closure.  I want an apology.  I want an explanation.  I want to know that he feels bad.  If I just knew that, I think I would be better.

What made him cheat?  What made me not enough?  Why her, and not me?  Why did he lead both of us on for so long?  And why, in God’s name, would she forgive him?  She’s allowing him to get away with this, and it pisses me off. 

I don’t want to hate him.  Hating him gives him control.  I want to not even think about him.  To just be able to think, “Him?  He’s just some guy I dated.” 

It just hurts.  So incredibly bad.  To know that I loved someone who could do this to me.  To think that, if he did love me, he was still able to do this.  To think that he didn’t love me.  It all hurts. 

I want to be able to fine.  I want to be okay. 

If wishes were horses….

I’ve got my pride, and she’s got you

I like country music, but I very rarely listen to it, so I don’t know a lot of the newer songs.  Last night, while flipping through stations, I had to stop at one of my old favorites, Toby Keith’s “Should’ve Been a Cowboy.”  I kept listening to the country station, and they played Kellie Pickler’s “Best Days of Your Life.”  If you watch nothing else, at least watch the video at about 2 1/2 minutes in.  🙂

‘Cos I’ll be there, in the back of your mind
From the day we met ’til you making me cry
And it’s just too bad, you’ve already had the best days
The best days of your life

Ain’t it a shame?
A shame that everytime you hear my name
Brought up in a casual conversation
You can’t think straight

And ain’t it sad?
You can’t forget about what we had
Take a look at her and do you like what you see?
Or do you wish it was me

‘Cos I’ll be there, in the back of your mind
From the day we met to the very last night
And it’s just too bad, you’ve already had the best days
The best days of your life

And does she know?
Know about the times you used to hold me
Wrapped me in your arms and how you told me
I’m the only one

I heard about
Yeah, someone told me once, when you were out
She went a little crazy ran her mouth about me
Ain’t jealousy funny?


…with me was a fairytale love
I was head-over-heals ’til you threw away “us”
And it’s just too bad you’ve, already had the best days
The best days of your life

I heard you’re gonna get married
Have a nice little family
Live out my dreams with someon new

But, I’ve been told that a cheater
Is always a cheater
I’ve got my pride, and she’s got you…

‘Cos I’ll be there, in the back of your mind
From the day we met ’til you making me cry
And it’s just too bad, you’ve already had the best days
The best days of your life…

Not Heartbroken

My heart is not broken.  It’s really not.  I’m hurt that I was lied to.  I’m disgusted that I was cheated on.  I’m angry that I have no closure.  And I wouldn’t mind it much if I heard his balls got mangled in, say, the People Mover at the airport.  But I am not heartbroken. 

I don’t want him back.  I am so incredibly glad I am not still with him.  And I think that may be why I haven’t really, really cried.  I fight off tears often enough, but it’s really over the anger.  I feel sick to my stomach, but it’s really over the disgust.  My heart does not need to mend.

To that end, I’m starting to date again.

Am I ready, really ready?  Probably not.  But I think it will do me a world of good to get back out there, and it will serve as a reminder (I hope) that there are still good men out there.  It will help me stop dwelling.  Hopefully I can trust again. 

And it may supply you, reader, with a wealth of humor, because trust me, there is some funny stuff out there.

For instance, I got an email from this guy the other day, and he said:  “…feel free to right me, if your smart enough.”

Yes, including the typos, which is what had me laughing so hard I nearly shot water out my nose. 

I don’t mean to make fun of him.  He was very sweet in his email, and English was quite obviously not his first language.  I thanked him for the lovely email, and let him know nicely that I wasn’t interested.  He replied to thank me for replying to him.  Very sweet.

Spinning my wheels

I’m trying.  I really am.  And most days I do pretty well.  And then other days…I don’t do so well.

The worst thing is, I have constant reminders every day.  Every time I see a plane coming in for landing (20 a day, easy), I think of him.  Every time I hear a plane overhead, I think of him.  It’s particularly bad at night, when I’m in bed and it’s quiet, and I hear a plane coming in.  It’s even worse in the morning, when I hear the red eyes arriving.  It makes me physically ill, almost every morning. 

I believe that good overcomes bad.  I believe in Karma.  Clean-livin’, if you will.  And it bothers me when I see the bad win out over the good.  It goes against my sense of fairness, of justice.  I hate that phrase, “It’s not fair,” because I know that it’s stupid and life isn’t fair and shit happens.  But what the hell did I do to deserve this?

And if Karma does exist, he should have a load of the bad kind coming his way.

Stress Fracture

It’s been a crazy-busy couple of weeks.  Work has been particularly busy for a while now, which I guess is good, because it’s job security.  But lately it’s gotten…well, let’s just say there are three of us, and all three of us have had a mini-breakdown over the last month. 

Last week, the week before Valentine’s Day, was particularly bad, and about noon that Friday I was really having a hard time keeping it together.  Add work stress to the stress in my personal life (see previous posts…), and it’s really no surprise I was on edge.

About 1pm, I got an email that I had a delivery at the front desk.  I didn’t really think about it at first, about the fact that it was Valentine’s Day.  I wondered what it could be.  Then, five seconds later, I remembered it was Valentine’s Day, and I really wondered why I would have a delivery.  I got up and started walking to the front desk, wondering if maybe The Pilot had sent me flowers, as an apology or something.  Five seconds later I shook my head.  No way. 

I was about halfway to the front desk before I remembered that my Dad sends me flowers every Valentine’s Day.  And suddenly, it was all too much.  I knew I couldn’t make it to the front desk, I couldn’t pick up the flowers, and in fact, I was lucky to be able to turn around and make it back to my desk without completely losing it. 

I sat down and looked at my coworker, and told her that my Dad had sent me flowers, but I couldn’t pick them up. 

And that’s when I lost it.  Sobbing, at my desk, trying to keep it together and failing miserably.  My coworker took pity on me and went to pick up the flowers while I tried to get control of myself.

No one thing did it.  Being dumped the way I was, and dealing with the new knowledge about his double life.  Stress at work.  The stress of Valentine’s Day.  It just all snowballed into a sniveling mess.

Things will get better.  I will get better. 

And until then, I will get by.

A little inside joke…

Les is not always more.


Epilogue (AKA Part 4)

This is the fourth (and,I hope, final) thing I will write about this.  Read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 to get the whole story.

Were there warning signs with The Pilot? Sure. But it’s not like I ignored them. I confronted him directly any time I thought something seemed odd. And he lied, every time. I think of other things he said, things he did, while we were together, and I now see every last thing as a lie, whether it was or wasn’t.

  • When he said he loved me, he lied.
  • When he kissed me, he lied.
  • When he said he was sitting in a crash pad in Philly, on call, he lied.
  • When he said he was going to visit his parents, he lied.
  • When I woke with a headache and got up so as not to disturb him, and he followed me into the living room and sat with me on the couch, saying he couldn’t sleep without me, he lied.
  • When he buried his nose in my hair and (I thought) unconsciously inhaled my scent, he lied.
  • When he held and kissed my hand, he lied.
  • When he snuggled up next to me at night and told me how much he loved my bed, how much he missed it when he was gone, missed me when he was gone, he lied.

The thing I’m constantly wondering about is, does he feel any guilt about what he’s done to me, to her? Did he feel any guilt when he was actually in a relationship with both of us? And I keep coming up with the same answer – NO. And that really freaks me out, because that would make him a psychopath.

Think I’m being a bit extreme? Consider the description in Wikipedia: 

The prototypical psychopath has deficits or deviances in several areas: interpersonal relationships, emotion, and self-control. Psychopaths gain satisfaction through antisocial behavior, and do not experience shame, guilt, or remorse for their actions. Psychopaths lack a sense of guilt or remorse for any harm they may have caused others, instead rationalizing the behavior, blaming someone else, or denying it outright…. All of this belies their tendency to make a good, likable first impression. Psychopaths have a superficial charm about them, enabled by a willingness to say anything without concern for accuracy or truth…. Psychopaths also have a markedly distorted sense of the potential consequences of their actions, not only for others, but also for themselves. They do not, for example, deeply recognize the risk of being caught, disbelieved or injured as a result of their behaviour.


The Anger

I’m really having to fight the urge to be petty. You know how they say never to break up with a songwriter, because they will have the last word? Well, the same could be said for a blogger. I’ve already researched the defamation and libel laws. ( “To prove libel, which is the same thing as written defamation, the plaintiff has to prove that the blogger published a false statement of fact …” – IOW, if it’s true, I can’t be sued for libel or defamation.) I’ve thought about posting his full name, DOB, what company he flies for, etc, so that anyone in the future who searches his name (future girlfriends, maybe?) will know. I’d love to let his mother know what kind of son she raised, let his sister know what kind of man he is, let his aunt know that her husband isn’t the only one in the family to cheat. I’m afraid that one day, I won’t be able to stop myself from doing those things.

I am so freaking mad at him, at what he’s done. I’m pissed that he lied. I’m pissed that I was fooled by him. I’m pissed that I’ve wasted a year and a half of my life loving a man that doesn’t exist. I’m pissed that his friends must think he’s such a stud, a girl in each city, and were high-fiving him behind my back the whole time. I’m pissed that I had unprotected sex with him, almost from the beginning, because I thought we were in a monogamous relationship, I’m pissed that he risked my health in that way.

And, yeah, I’m mad at myself, too. I’m mad that I believed him. That I didn’t sometimes push harder. I’m mad that I’m an easy-going person, that I respected him enough to allow his excuse of “I’m a private person” to dissuade me from posting more stuff online, on Facebook, where he could be found out sooner.

It makes me so mad, because things were coming to a head, anyway. I was determined to have a serious conversation about the state of our relationship, but I wanted to get through the holidays first.


I agree with It Never Rains In Seattle, that he probably cut and ran when he found out that the other woman had emailed me. I think she probably confronted him, and he probably lied to her and said I was just a friend, maybe a friend who had “imagined” a relationship with him, and then he cut me out completely, maybe at her request. It kills me that he essentially snuck into my house while I wasn’t there to drop off my house key, and didn’t bother to even leave a note. Not even a simple post it note with “I’m sorry” on it, so at least I wouldn’t wonder and worry like I did. Heck, even Berger left Carrie a post it note.  (And, as a side note, I like what I found on this website:  “Break up in person! This cannot be stressed enough… have the courtesy to say goodbye face to face…. Use integrity and be honest as to why you are leaving…. Both parties will have some closure….”)

I’m big on closure. If I don’t have closure, I will continue thinking about it, breaking it apart, studying it, trying to figure it out. It’s killing me that I don’t have closure. I want to know why he decided to have a relationship with two women. Was he not satisfied with one, and if so, which one? Did we offer different things? Did he honestly fall in love with both of us and wasn’t able to decide which one to keep? Or was it simply an ego trip, to see if he could get away with it?

I still wish I could talk to The Pilot one last time. I would love an apology, an explanation. I know that’s wishful thinking, but what can I say, I’m an optimist at heart. I simply can’t understand how you can carry on two relationships, the way he did. How you can love someone, and do this to them. And I’m not just talking about me – I’m talking about her, too. If he loved her, how could he do this? If he loved me, how could he do this? It’s simply beyond my capacity of understanding.


The Hurt

Ever been picked last for the baseball team?

This is why the women on The Bachelor cry, even when they are eliminated on the first episode. It makes you feel like you’re not good enough.

Is she prettier than me? Smarter than me? Thinner? Funnier? Nicer? A better person?

I know this is stupid, and that I am an amazing, beautiful, intelligent woman. But that doesn’t stop the questions. Why did he pick her over me? Was it because he was dating her before me? Was it because he loved her more?

I’ve been telling myself that it’s because he knew, if he picked me and I found out, he wouldn’t have me anyway, but he still had a chance at keeping her. Because once I found out it would have been over. I’ve always wondered if I would stay with a man who cheated on me, but in the scenario I’ve always imagined, it’s a one-time thing. This was so much worse.


The man I was in love with didn’t exist. I had an imaginary boyfriend.

Honestly, I hate to say it, but it would be easier to handle if he had died. And, actually, it would really be almost accurate to say he had committed suicide. He, the him I knew, ceased to exist.


The Worry

I don’t believe trust should be earned, I believe it should be given. I don’t think you can have a good relationship without trust already being a part of it. I still believe that, but I’m going to have a hard time operating that way in the future. How can I ever believe anything any future man I date says to me? I really worry about this. I’m going to constantly be questioning what he says, my own instincts, wondering if he’s lying to me.

I don’t lie. Of course that’s not true – I say “I’m fine” when asked how I am, because nobody really wants the truth. But I don’t really lie. I think that, because I don’t, I don’t know how to recognize lying in others.

Will I ever be able to trust again? To not wonder if someone is telling the truth when they have a “business dinner” or “have to stay late at the office.” Or the lovely, “She’s just a friend.” I’m terrified that this will ruin any future relationship I have. That me not trusting the man I am with will drive him away.

How do you learn to trust again?

The End (AKA Part 3)

Read Part 1, if you haven’t, and Part 2, before reading Part 3.  You want the full effect, don’t you?

A little bit of foreshadowing…

  • I noticed, a long while back, that one of The Pilot’s friends on Facebook – one of his female friends – had a profile picture of the two of them together. I asked him who she was. “My cousin in Augusta,” he said.
  • You’ll remember, when we went to Tahoe, that The Pilot had to turn around and go home because his uncle died. Shortly after that trip, I received a call from The Pilot, upset, because he heard from a friend of his that one of my friends was asking questions about him. I found out that the wedding photographer that went to Tahoe worked with a woman who knew The Pilot. This woman said she thought he was dating a woman in Atlanta. I asked The Pilot about it, and he said that he had gone on a couple of dates with a woman in Atlanta, but it was over by the time we got together. He said he went to high school with the woman who said that, and they only spoke about once a year, so it made sense that she may not have accurate information.
  • A few months ago, The Pilot thought I had been cheating on him. The reason isn’t important, but let’s just say that it made sense for him to think that, based on evidence, but that there was actually a reasonable explanation, and I wasn’t cheating on him. We had a heartfelt talk about it. “You know, my ex cheated on me,” he said, “and I still carry that hurt with me, so when I thought you were cheating on me, it just kicked me in the gut.” Understandable.

So, you may have guessed by now. When I logged on to my alternate email on January 22nd, I found a message from the “cousin,” the woman in Atlanta, saying she had read my blog and was wondering why I was writing about her boyfriend. She asked what he had said or done that had led me to believe he and I were in a relationship. Were he and I really just friends, strictly platonic? She asked me, “woman to woman,” what was going on, and I answered her honestly. I asked her some questions of my own, saying that I would appreciate the same, as this has happened to both of us.

I haven’t heard back from her.

He probably told her I was some psychotic stalker who imagined that our friendship was more than that. That’s not the case. I’m not delusional. He told me he loved me. We were sleeping together for a year and a half. I met his friends. He met mine. He met my parents. I thought he was The One, and at one point, not too long ago, we (very hypothetically) discussed marriage.

She also told me that when he came home from Tahoe, it wasn’t because his uncle died, it was because she found out. Found out what, I don’t know. That he wasn’t where he was supposed to be? That he was with another woman? That he was with me, specifically?

I wanted to wait to post any more here, until I heard from her, until I had some closure of my own. But I’ve lost hope of hearing from either her or him, so I’m doing what I need to do for me. I need to move on, but I needed to get this all out first. I will get through this. But part of getting through it involves getting it out, and this is my venue for that. As the tagline says, blogging is much cheaper than therapy.

That being said, it absolutely galls me that he lied to my face, at least twice, about issues I asked him about directly. It also galls me that he would have the nerve to be upset I was cheating on him, when he cheated on me what appears to be the entire length of our relationship. This wasn’t just some fling, a one night stand. He had a full relationship with me, and a full relationship with someone else. At least one someone else. Who knows, there may be more. I have no way of knowing.

(more to come…)

The Middle (AKA Part 2)

You’ve read Part 1, right? 

(Really, read Part 1 first.  It’s important.)

(Have you read it?  Make sure you do!)

So, something happened between December 29th and December 31st, evidently, to make The Pilot cut off all communication with me, including changing his phone number, without any explanation whatsoever.  I wracked my brain to figure out what happened, to make some sense of it all.

We’ve been together for a year and a half.  December 21st, things were fine.  December 25th, things were fine.  December 28th, things were fine.  January 1st, things were not fine.  What happened?

Did he meet someone else?  Did he get back together with his ex girlfriend, the one who cheated on him?  Did he decide he didn’t want to be with me?  But, then, why wouldn’t he at least tell me something?  It’s not like we’ve only been together for a couple of months.  After a year and a half, I definitely deserved some sort of explanation, if he didn’t want to be with me anymore.

Did something happen that he was ashamed of, and didn’t feel he could face me?  Did he get furloughed?  I didn’t see anything online about a furlough. 

I had spent the Wednesday before New Year’s at my friend’s house, had he maybe come into town to surprise me, and when I didn’t come home he thought I was cheating on him?  But, then, why wouldn’t he call, why wouldn’t he think something had happened to me to keep me from coming home, why wasn’t he worried about me, rather than jumping to conclusions?

Maybe his online poker games weren’t played with fake money, but with real money, and he had a huge gambling debt and was having his house foreclosed on and…

All of these thoughts went through my head, and more.  I spent two weeks in a state of confusion, trying to figure out why.  I was angry at his lack of respect, not even bothering to tell me anything, angry at his lack of balls, wishing he would fucking grow a set and just tell me something.  Anything.  I just wanted closure.  I was so very hurt, as you can imagine, wondering if he had ever  cared about me at all.  Because, if you ever truly loved someone, you couldn’t possibly do this to them, leave them in this abyss of emotional turmoil with no resolution.  You’ve got to know that the pain of unknowing is worse than the pain of any explanation you might have.

I emailed him repeatedly, but realized that he could have changed his email address as easily as he had changed his phone number.  I emailed his friend on facebook again, simply asking why.  His response?  “Have you talked to [him] about it?”

Ha!  That was humorous.  I responded that I had tried, with no luck, and all I wanted was an answer.  “I’m sorry, I don’t feel it’s my place to say anything.”  And he was right, it wasn’t his place.  I apologized for even asking.  What I wanted to say was, “Your friend is a fucking spineless fuckwad who needs to grow a set and fucking man up.”  But I didn’t say that. 

I created a fake facebook account and emailed him, begging for an explanation.  It’s been over a week, and I haven’t heard back.

It dawned on me, Thursday, that I hadn’t checked the email account associated with this blog in quite some time.  Maybe he emailed me there.  So I signed on.


And, yeah, I’m going to make you wait to find out what I found.  Partly because in telling the story I’m able to disassociate myself from it somewhat, which makes it easier, and the storyteller in me is building up the big ending.  But mostly it’s because I still have one more issue left to resolve, and I don’t want to resolve it here.  I want to resolve it directly, and that hasn’t been done yet.  So, stay tuned for Part 3.