Tag Archives: cheating

Age has nothing to do with being an adult

I recently spent the day with a friend of mine, a friend who’s been having some boy troubles.  Her boy troubles are not similar to mine, but they are.  I don’t want to get too far into her problems, because it would be a horrible betrayal of confidence, but let’s just say her “boy” doesn’t want to be monogamous, but he keeps dragging her back into this nasty little storm of his making.

So we spent the day together, shopping, going to the Farmer’s Market, having lunch, and she asks me to stay for dinner and a movie.

lars and the real girl

Image by mandyseyfang via Flickr

We were watching Lars and the Real Girl, and there’s this part where Lars asks his brother how he knew he was a man, an adult.  And his brother, Gus, says, “Well, it’s not like you’re one thing or the other, okay? There’s still a kid inside but you grow up when you decide to do right, okay, and not what’s right for you, what’s right for everybody, even when it hurts.” Lars asks, “Okay, like what?” And Gus replies, “Like, you know, like, you don’t jerk people around, you know, and you don’t cheat on your woman, and you take care of your family, you know, and you admit when you’re wrong, or you try to, anyways. That’s all I can think of, you know – it sound like it’s easy and for some reason it’s not.”

I blinked at the TV, floored.  I started to say something, but stopped myself.  And three seconds later, my friend says, “Wow.”

You grow up when you decide to do right, not for you but for everybody else, even when it hurts.  You grow up when you don’t jerk people around, and you don’t cheat on your woman, and you take care of your family, and you admit when you’re wrong.

It sounds so simple.  But “for some reason it’s not.”

This is it.

It’s not as easy as everyone thinks it is, as everyone expects it to be.  Getting over a betrayal is more brutal than the betrayal itself, if that’s possible.  At least the betrayal is only done once.  Getting over it involves going over it again and again in your head.  It’s like beating your head against a wall, or placing it under a car tire and putting the car in reverse, then back in drive, then back in reverse, then back in drive.  The entire course of the betrayal is remapped, again and again, in an attempt to figure out when things went awry, to figure out if you should have known.

There’s hurt.  Hurt that the person you loved, the person you thought loved you, could treat you so cruelly, could have so little respect for your feelings.

There’s anger.  At him.  At yourself.  The anger at yourself is actually the hardest to take.  You should have known.  You should have known. YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN. How stupid could you possibly be?  How did you not know?  The signs were everywhere!  And you know everyone else is thinking the same thing – how could she not have known, the signs were there!

You have your days.  Good days, when you’re relatively okay.  Great days, when you’re happy and you don’t even think about him or it until you realize you haven’t thought about it.

Then there are the bad days.  The days when it eats at you, and you feel like you have holes in your gums, your esophagus, your stomach.  You feel like you really might throw up.  Your salivary glands actually start producing the sourness that indicates impending upchucking.

The bad days come less and less often, because that’s the way life works.  It moves on.  They (the ubiquitous they) often say that life moves on “with or without you,” but that’s not really accurate.  It can’t actually move on without you.  Even if you don’t want to move on, Life will still pull you along, like a recalcitrant puppy on a leash.  It pulls you until you forget that you don’t want to be dragged along, until something shiny captures your attention and makes you forget, even momentarily.  It’s therapeutic, in that way.  Life doesn’t care about you or me or what we are going through. It just moves along, a tornado, ripping this house apart, then veering like a drunk college student at Oktoberfest, leaving the house next to it completely unscathed.

That’s what I imagine he is – unscathed.  Going about his life, unencumbered by the hurt and pain he has caused, unperturbed by the lies that he told.  Not a care in the world, certainly not a care about the woman he led on for a year and a half.  A charmed life, happy-go-lucky.  That is, after all, his personality, and part of what I liked so much about him, even as it drove me crazy.

There’s the self-doubt.  Was it something I did?  Was I not good enough?  Does she have something I don’t?  Why did he choose her over me?  What’s wrong with ME?

***   ***  ***

I wrote that back in April, as part of a fiction piece I was working on.  Autobiographical?  You think??

I still have bad days, days like the ones described above.  I hate to say it, but almost every day when I pull into my condo I half expect to see his car, expect him to be there, waiting for me to get home.  Waiting to explain, to apologize.  I sometimes expect the phone to ring, and it to be him.  The doorbell rings, and I think, for half a second, that it might be him.

Am I still angry?  Yes.

Am I still hurt?  Yes.

Do I still want an apology?  Yes.

Do I still want an explanation?  Yes.

Am I ready to forgive?  The answer might surprise you.

I’ve had people ask me, “What would you do if he showed up and asked you to take him back?”  I wish I knew the answer to that.  My head, my pride, says that I’d say Hell No.  But I can’t deny there’s a part of me that wants what we had back.  Or, I should say, wants what I thought we had back.  I don’t deny that it would be a hard road; forgiveness would be a long time coming, trust even longer.  I hate myself for even thinking about it, but I can’t help it.  It goes deeper than loving him – it’s more about loving me when I was with him.  Loving the happiness he brought me, the way I felt when I was with him.  I felt different.  I felt like a better, happier person.

And I’m not saying better, happier than I am today.  That’s pretty obvious.  I’m saying better, happier than I ever was in any other relationship I’ve ever been in.  Better, happier, than I was in the past.

You know how they say love is like a mirror?  I saw myself, and I liked myself.  Even more to the point, I wanted to be a better person, for him.

***   ***   ***

The good memories:

  • We’d be sitting on the couch, watching TV, and he would bend his head down and just inhale – my hair, my skin.  He said he loved the way I smelled.
  • The feeling I would get when he walked in after a trip – I felt like the sun was bursting out of me.  Even on days when I would be mad at him for being late, he would walk down the stairs and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.
  • The intellectual discussions we would have.
  • The stupid conversations we would have.
  • The random texts that let me know he was thinking about me.
  • The way we fit together so well, curled up in bed.  I don’t mean this in any sexual way – I mean, snuggling, we fit.  And he mentioned it all the time, remarking on how rare that was.
  • The way he loved everything I cooked and truly appreciated the effort I made, even though one time I made pork and he thought it was chicken.

The bad memories:

  • His habitual tardiness.
  • His inconsistent communication.

Obviously I’m not including the lies I didn’t know about, the cheating I didn’t know about, the hurt that was to come that I couldn’t foresee.

***   ***   ***

It’s hard, coming to terms with the fact that the person you loved never loved you.  I’ve been trying so hard to move on, but it’s not really something you can rush.  It’s not something you can bend to your timetable.  I wish it was.

Yes, there’s a part of me that wants him to read this and feel bad and finally grow a set and apologize to me.  Will that ever happen?  I don’t know.  I feel like if he were sorry, he’d tell me so.  And the fact that he hasn’t tells me he’s not sorry.  And that hurts.

I’ve wondered if the reason he hasn’t contacted me is because of Her, The Other Woman.  Maybe he’s worried that if he contacts me in any way, I would blog about it, and it would mess things up with her.  I’ve considered sending him a letter, c/o his friend, but really, what good would it do?  I don’t want to involve his friend any more than he’s already been involved, and besides, can you imagine what it would do to me if he still didn’t respond?

***   ***   ***

I’m getting it all out on this one, because I’m sick of just letting bits and pieces out.  I hope that in just letting the floodgates open and purging all of this, I will be done with it.  With that in mind, a couple of random things:

I was looking back through some blog stats recently.  Through wordpress, I can see search terms used to get to my blog, how many times a specific post is viewed, and, if someone links to my page from somewhere else, I can see where they come from (for example, if someone has me listed on their webpage, and someone clicks on that listing to get to me, it will show an incoming link from that webpage).  I noticed that the most visits I’ve ever had in one day was 191, on December 29th.  I figured that was The Pilot’s girlfriend viewing each and every one of my blog posts, since it was right about the time everything went down, and the day before she emailed me.  But then I noticed an interesting incoming link.  The incoming link was from a Facebook account.  The Pilot’s mother’s Facebook account, to be specific.  So evidently she knew about all this.  Which I found interesting.

You know that Lady Antebellum song “I Need You”?  I HATED it when it first came out, couldn’t stand to even hear it.  I recently realized that I wasn’t ready to admit the truth to myself.  “I wonder if I ever cross your mind?  For me it happens all the time.”  I feel that way entirely too often.

He asked me, in December, if I would move to Dubai with him if he got a job out there.  Literally a week before the shit hit the fan, he asked me that.  I told him I would, if we were married.  He nodded, as if he were taking it into consideration.  I feel so dumb for actually thinking that was a possibility.

***   ***   ***

What it comes down to is this:  I can’t come to terms with the fact that he cared so little for me.  I feel like, if I knew he felt bad, if I knew he regretted what he did to me, it might be better.  But I can’t say that’s the case.  Everything points to the fact that he cared nothing for me, that he lied to me, told me he loved me when he didn’t, purposely led me on and then dumped me.  Dumped me like he was taking out the trash.  And all of that is so…

Demeaning.  Humiliating.  It stripped me of my self-worth, my self-esteem, and I haven’t gotten that back yet.  And it’s hard to admit that someone could do that to me, that someone could have that much of an influence on my life.  Damnit, I am a strong, independent woman, and yet this sorry excuse for a man has essentially broken me.

What does it say about ME, that someone could do that to me?

There’s nothing worse than hating yourself.  And I hate myself for still loving him.

***   ***   ***

The bottom line:  I want to be able to stop thinking about it.  I want to make it stop defining my life.

This is it.  I’m done.  I genuinely hope that I never blog about The Pilot again, that he is only mentioned in passing, in the same way Soccer Guy and my Denver boyfriend have been.  If I do feel the need to blog about him again, I will make it a private post.  I know everyone is sick to death of hearing about this, and I know I’m sick of hearing the phrases, “You’re better off without him,” and “It will all work out,” and “Everything happens for a reason,” and “”You’ll find someone better,” and every other well-meaning words of wisdom/encouragement/kindness.  I know you all mean well, I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m sure you’re all sick of saying them.  So please don’t feel like you have to.

A final note to The Pilot, should he happen to read this, or should someone he knows happen to read this and want to forward it on:  If you cared anything for me, give me the chance to forgive you so I can move on.  Give me closure – I deserve that much, at least.  I know you ran into my friend, and it was mentioned that too much time has passed.  It hasn’t.  It’s not too late.

I wish he HAD been imaginary

My friend had bought me something for Christmas, but then at the last minute put it away. Probably a good thing she did, as it would not have gone over well at the time. She found it recently and gave it to me last weekend, hoping I would get a good laugh out of it, now, now that things are behind me. And she was right – I laughed. It really is funny:

Of course, there’s an entire back story behind this bumper sticker. Some…stuff…went down last September, with someone I considered a friend. It involved The Pilot. I wrote up a whole blog post, and passed it by The Pilot. Since it heavily involved him, I wanted to get his thoughts, and his okay to post it. He asked me not to post it, he just wanted to forget about it and move on. I accepted that, and posted it privately, with this note: “The Pilot is not happy with my posting this post, so I won’t post it…publicly.”

Of course, things have changed. I know now that The Pilot didn’t want me to blog about it because it was true. Because then his lies would sit there, online, for the world to see.

I’m reposting the blog post, publicly, and I’m sure everyone will get a good laugh out of some of the things I said. This post is unedited, and shows just how f&$#ing stupid I was. Re-reading it for the first time since everything went down, I simply can’t believe how trusting I was. You can view the post here.

Anyway, the big joke at the time, with the very few people who knew about this story, was that I had made The Pilot up, that he was my “imaginary boyfriend.” Oh, how I wish that were true. Would have saved me a lot of heartache (and embarrassment) in the end.

Shooting Stars

I admit it – I still look up. It doesn’t hurt like it once did. It doesn’t eviscerate me anymore. It still hurts occasionally, but it’s not as bad. It just sucks that there is quite literally a constant reminder of The Pilot, every minute on the minute it seems, as planes use the flight path above my office or over my condo. I can rarely go outside without seeing an airplane. Oh, God, but those days I can? Heaven.

(Just out of curiosity, I decided to keep track of the number of planes I saw today. On my 15 minute drive to work, I saw 8 (5 within 3 minutes). I saw 9 in the twenty minutes I spent running around at lunch. On my 25 minute drive home, I saw 11. And looking out the office windows randomly throughout the day, I saw 5. This is just planes taking off and landing, by the way.)

You may remember, from this post, that I hear airplanes overhead almost every night. It’s really hard, because there’s nothing to block out the noise, nothing to block out the thoughts, when you’re lying in bed in the dark.

“Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars? I could really use a wish right now…”

This song came out at the perfect time. I thought I would hate it, that it would make me think of him, but actually, I love it. Because now, when I hear an airplane at night, while lying in bed, I just pretend it’s a shooting star, and I make a wish.

And, surprisingly, my wishes rarely have anything to do with his d*ck falling off.

I’ve kind of surprised myself lately. I actually don’t wish any ill will toward The Pilot or his relationship anymore. I never really wished any ill will toward The Other Woman, as she’s not the one who did anything wrong. I think she’s a bit of an idiot for staying with him, letting him get away with it, but she didn’t have any part in causing me pain (other than not giving me the courtesy of answering my email). While I do hope that one day The Pilot gets what’s coming to him (karma is, as they say, a bitch), I don’t wish any of the hurt I’ve felt on her.

I think I’m growing, as a person.

Really, all I ever wanted in all this is closure, so I can move on easier. Just some explanation, some apology. That’s what I wish for. (If wishes were horses…)

What do you wish for when you see shooting stars?

…and I just threw away a perfectly good cucumber

My eyes are swollen nearly shut.  I used to have some cold ice packs to put on my eyes, but they dried up (because, thankfully, I didn’t have to use them) and I haven’t replaced them.  Even though I’ve needed them several times over the last few months.  Including tonight, which took my by surprise.

The shower is a great place to cry.  You can’t really tell you’re crying, because your face is all wet anyways, and you don’t have to worry about snot getting everywhere.  That’s one of the reasons I keep my shower clean – in case I have to have a good cry.

I started the night fine.  Met a few friends for drinks.  I had three beers, so this break down really wasn’t alcohol related, although I’m sure it provided a pair of crutches. 

And then.

And then my friend, who I love and hate in equal measures, said something that ripped all the nicely healed scabs off my wounds.  I don’t even remember what he said.  But, basically, he said something about playing the field, even though he’s been in a relationship for well over a year now.


“You People.”  I’ve always hated that phrase, because in my mind, it’s usually said by some small-minded asshole who lumps a larger group of people into some pigeon-hole in his mind, based on race or gender or hair color or creed. 

 “You people.”


You people.

You people who go through life hurting others, who think only of yourself and your own gratification and your own happiness. 

You people who don’t have one ounce of concern for other people’s feelings. 

You people who don’t give a rat’s ass about what happens to “the other guy” when you screw him or her.

You people who take and take and take and take.  Take people’s self-worth, and respect, and trust, and love, and piss on it. 

You people.

Do you even consider the pain you cause?

Do you think about how unloved you make these people feel?

How unlovable you make them feel?

How worthless you make them feel?

How much pain you cause?


Sliced cucumbers placed over the eyes help with the swelling.  I had a cucumber, but I threw it out.  Just yesterday, as a matter of fact.

If I had only known…

He’s a cheater

I ran across an article today: 9 Signs Your Guy is Cheating. Let’s go over them, shall we, and determine if I should have known, based on these signs, that The Pilot was cheating on me.

  1. Less Sex. Nope, we had a pretty wonderful sex life.
  2. Jumpy Cell Phone Habits. Did he get nervous when receiving calls or texts? Nope.
  3. Gushing or Talking about Someone Suddenly. Nope. In fact, when I asked him about the woman who turned out to be his girlfriend, he brushed it off, saying she was his cousin, and never mentioned her again.
  4. Disconnecting. He’s drawing away from you, not laughing or seeming as passionate as usual. Nope, no problems there.
  5. He’s Pulling “Houdinis.” Disappearing, traveling. Well, that’s a pretty obvious one.
  6. His Friends are Acting Strange. When I saw them, they seemed normal. However, I was friends with one of his friends on FB, and one day I noticed we were no longer friends. So….
  7. He’s Been Caught in Lies About Other Things. Nope.
  8. Been There, Done That. This is the whole, “once a cheater, always a cheater” thing. I don’t remember him saying he had cheated on a woman before. I do remember him talking about his ex cheating on him, and how much it tore him up. Of course, that was probably a lie, too.
  9. Your Gut Tells You So. Nope – I had no clue. Not even an inkling.

So, out of 9 signs, I can only count half of two: #5, because although he was traveling, that was his job, and #6.

Should I have known better? Should I have seen The Signs? Was I deluding myself?

I really feel sorry for his girlfriend, as I’m sure she’s forgiven him and they are still together. He is a very good liar, and he was able to get away with it for a very long time. Why wouldn’t he think he could do it again?

May 6th

Another memorable day forgotten about.  Last Thursday was the two year anniversary of our first date.  I didn’t realize it until last night.  On Friday, I even had another first date at the same place I met The Pilot for our first date, and while I was thinking about that date, I didn’t realize that the anniversary was just the day before.

Today was a bad day.  I’m pretty sure I’m PMS’ing, so the hormones are a little ragged.  Tears welled up today for the first time in a long while.  I still have a hard time reconciling the man I knew, the man I loved, with the man who lied to me, the man who cheated on me, the man who didn’t have the guts to face me, the man who hurt me so badly.

Some days, I actually forget.  The planes taking off and landing at night still bother me.  I swear they change the flight pattern at the exact moment I turn out the light, so they fly right overhead.  There’s nothing to block the sound out, and I can’t help but think about him. 

But I’ve finally migrated away from “my side” of the bed.

Smug SOB

I had a dream about The Pilot last night. In my dream, it was a Sunday night, about 10pm, and I was cleaning. The doorbell rang, and I wondered who it could be, even had the fleeting thought that it was The Pilot before dismissing it from my mind. I went upstairs and opened the door, and sure enough, it was him. I started to slam the door in his face, but then I stopped. “You know what, I’d really like to hear what you have to say.” He came in and sat down, and he had this incredibly smug smile on his face. He said that it seemed like we were always having to start over from the beginning, and he had gotten tired of it. He mentioned a magazine quiz I had done, and when he read it he knew we were going to end up starting at the beginning again, and he decided he had had it. (Side note – I didn’t take any magazine quiz.)

I kept asking him, “But what about the other woman? The quiz had nothing to do with the fact that you were screwing around with two women!” He would never really answer that, he just kept that smug smile on his face, and at some point I actually reached up to smack him, but he caught my arm. I was yelling at him, demanding that he answer me, and he went into the bathroom and was mumbling something in there, and I said, “I can’t hear you in there. Would you just answer the question honestly?”

And that’s it. That’s all I remember. Hidden meaning anywhere in there? Who knows. All I know is that I can still see that damn smug-ass smile in my mind, and it’s still pissing me off.

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….