Ok. I’ve got it. I have no close friends and no real family to speak of. I have my husband but as amazing as he is, I try not to lean on him too much because he has a lot of his own demons to deal with. His lows can cause me to spiral, and mine can do the same to him, so we’re careful with each other.
My two best friends live on the other side of the country and I haven’t seen them in two years. Even when I lived back home we were in different cities and saw each other a few times a year tops. I miss them so much and I’m so lonely.
I don’t share much with work friends because most people wouldn’t get the poly thing so I leave them at arms length. When I spend enough time with them to realize they’d judge my life if I told them, I stop hanging out with them.
I tried to form a poly family and that was a disaster. It led to so much heartache for all of us that I really seriously doubt ever wanting to attempt something like that again.
Then there’s Boss Man and he has been close to me since the beginning. We right away felt like we could be open with and trust each other. Yes there was a sexual attraction and a really strong connection that isn’t quite “in love” and isn’t quite friendship but something else unnamable. And I was lonely and sad and I asked him to fuck me.
Whatever was between us caught fire and exploded and expanded and took on a life of its own. And since then we have been trying to make sense of it.
Maybe we’re in love or maybe we’re soul mates or maybe we’re just sexy friends or maybe we’re best friends or maybe we hate each other. Maybe he’s using me for sex or maybe I’m using him for sex or maybe we’re just both unimaginably fucked up and can’t help self destructing together.
Today I finally talked to him about it. I told him I felt like I had no real friends, and he was not my friend. That he’d only spend time with me if he wanted sex and that he keeps blowing me off when we make plans to hang out.
He told me he feels like I only want sex, or that if we hang out together we’ll end up back at his place fucking and be back to square one.
I told him the way things are is making me feel used, and that is would really prefer to just be his friend but I feel like sex is the only way to get him to spend time with me.
So. No more sex. No more kissing or ass grabbing or dirty texts. Not because we feel guilty or because we don’t want to get fired or because we have no future. Not because of external situations. Because we want to be in each other’s lives and fucking just screwed it up.
I am dumb as a fucking brick. That’s why I did it. I did it because I felt ridiculous loving someone who didn’t love me back. He knew I loved him and I was embarrassed. I managed to integrate it into my life–this man I work with, that I love, with whom I have a close if not entirely healthy friendship, who is monogamous and has a girlfriend. I accepted it but I was embarrassed. But as soon as he told me he was still interested, that he was tempted beyond belief, that he loved me too, I abandoned my dignified embarrassment.
I told him I wouldn’t help him self-destruct, that I wouldn’t help him go behind his girlfriend’s back, that he should call me if he’s ever single again. And then I crumbled like a castle in the sand because I thought feeling his love would make me feel better.
All it did was make me hold my breath for when he’d pull the plug. All it did was give him control of my heart strings. I did not get any power or pride back because I am a fool wrapped around his finger. Before I may have felt embarrassed and pathetic, but now I feel both of those, plus guilt and shame too.
The heartbreak I feel is almost boring. I haven’t earned the right to wallow in self pity because I brought it on myself. I don’t deserve the breakdowns at work. Chick flicks won’t console me because they aren’t meant to placate the “other woman.” I want to skip the sad songs and the alternately starving myself and binge eating–forgo the long, hard runs through the rain.
This isn’t a breakup, this is stupidity on steroids. I get it now. I understand my motivations. But although I deserve to hurt, I haven’t earned the right to wallow. I brought it on myself.
I didn’t get in trouble at work. The big wigs contacted Boss Man that Sunday night for reasons that had nothing to do with him or me. Yet I can’t help thinking how reckless we were. Almost like we wanted to get caught, lying on the stairs with his fingers inside me, hiding in the kitchen pressed up against the wall.
Why did I do this? I still don’t know.
Am I just not used to being happy, so I feel like I need to court misery? Maybe I don’t know myself without it. Maybe I think that happiness will never last, so I need to keep pain around as a constant. And yet, its not like my life was perfect. Things with the husband are a constant work in progress, work can be stressful, there is never enough money and my kids are more of a handful than I have hands for.
Maybe I entertained a fantasy that he and his girlfriend would break up, and then he would come back to me and stay with me for longer this time. Not forever–never forever, he wouldn’t have it, he needs a partner who is all his. But maybe I thought we could be together, learn from each other, have something that we could look back on one day and smile about. One of those break-up that transitions nicely into a friendship between a couple who “remains close.”
But am I close with any of my exes, still? I want to be, so badly, but they won’t have me, not even as a friend. My first love who I think should be over it enough by now to be able to chat with me, will not talk to me. I wish I knew why–it was over more than a decade ago–but she says she can’t. She won’t be my friend.
The first lover I took after I was married, who was my best friend in jr. high, disappeared without a trace after our week of passion and presumably doesn’t care whether or not I’m alive. Sugar Daddy, he was never my friend, and I don’t talk to him because all he wants from me is sex and submission. Boss Man is my friend, first and foremost–one of my closest, one of my dearest. I know part of what I wanted was a lover who still wanted me in their life, even after the romance was over.
Was it worth it, though? God, it feels like it wasn’t. It feels like nothing could be worth feeling this way. Nothing is worth hiding in the locker room at work, sobbing and gasping into his chest while he rubs slow circles on my back and I beg him to tell me why losing something that never had a shot hurts so goddamn much.
He says we met at the wrong time, but at least we met. I’m glad we met too, but should I have slept with him, even once? Maybe. I did recover from that, even though it hurt. But after he had a girlfriend? No. No, it did nothing but fuck with me. And yet, at the time, there was something so sublime about finally knowing that he loved me back. That he feels our connection as deeply as I do. That he wishes to god we’d met ten years ago. That I will always also be his one that got away.
Of course, that changes nothing. Because we’re still not together, and we never will be again. Because he loves Tinder Girl and she wants to marry him and have his kid. Because even if they broke up, a few more months or a year with him would not change the ending. He will always end up with someone else. Better now than later.
I want to find another job. I never planned to stay for more than a year anyway. Its time to move on professionally, and he is the only reason I haven’t. And now he is my motivation for getting away as soon as possible. Its impossible, and it hurts, and it broke us both.
He has a girlfriend. If things go the way they plan for them to, he will marry her and make a baby with her. And she’ll never know how he cheated, and that is my biggest regret. It’s gross. I feel gross. If I can’t live with it, how will he? Just another question I don’t really know the answer to.
I really want to believe that I’ve learned my lesson. I do believe I’ve learned it. That I won’t enter into something doomed again because I don’t know that the experience is worth the heartbreak. Love is not rare and precious. I could fall in love with someone new every year, but that doesn’t mean that I should if it’s not right. I also want to believe that I’ll never get involved again with someone who is cheating, regardless of the passion.
I hope I have a good memory. I hope I remember this pain for the rest of my life. I hope I never go there again.
He told me he needs to stop. It’s a relief, but 💔.
It’s not the sex, or the secret touching, or the intrigue that I’ll miss.
I just wish I could be skin to skin with him one last time, him just holding me.
I keep having arguments with her in my head. Telling her what I want to say, imagining her response, and trying to refute it. It’s a habit I developed back when I figured that one day, for sure, we would have to sit down and hash things out. That there was no way we could move forward without doing that–without at least being heard.
Hearing from Papa Bear, however, what she thinks and feels about me, makes it clear that no amount of talking would make any difference. He says that once she has made up her mind about a person’s actions and motivations, there is no convincing her otherwise. I find this maddening, but I guess in a way its also freeing. Because it doesn’t matter what I do or say, I’m going to be the villain–so I don’t have to worry about what I do or say.
She believes that every action I have taken, every move I have made in my relationship with Papa Bear, has been carefully and methodically calculated in order to drive them apart.
She is still angry about the time she invited us to dinner, when we were on a date, and then suggested twice that if I was cold I go sit outside. She firmly believes that the reason I actually went and sat outside, was to snub her, and to take Papa Bear away from her (even though I told him to go ahead and stay inside with her). Apparently when she said she’d like to cook dinner for us, she meant she’d like all of us to cook dinner together, and I was rude for leaving. There is no room in her mind to accept the fact that maybe it was a misunderstanding.
She maintains that she is baffled–baffled!–as to why I would have got my feelings hurt over not being invited to their movie night at Christmas. The fact that this was a tradition that included all their friends, for years, and I wasn’t invited, should not have been hurtful to me. The fact that she and her boyfriend and his wife, sat three feet across from me and discussed it, knowing I would hear, knowing that I wasn’t welcome, should not have hurt me. Because it is their family event, and they have the right to decide who is invited and who isn’t, and the fact that I made a big deal out of this just shows that I do not respect their marriage. Papa Bear told her that I did not “make a big deal”–that it was a big deal, because I was actively hurt by her actions, but she refuses to see that she did anything wrong.
There is so much more that she is still angry about. The time that Papa Bear and I were 20 minutes late bringing food to the games night, even though we already had plans to hang out with someone else, and rudely and hurtfully cut it short because The Wifey decided to hold an event that same night that Papa Bear was required to be at. She is fuming because people were waiting, and refuses to see that she had no business requiring us to cut our plan short after an hour so we could be there for what she was doing.
In this entire thing–as it relates to me, but also, worse, as it relates to her relationship with Papa Bear–she has not apologized. Not once. She does not believe anything she did was wrong. She places the blame squarely on us, and mostly on me.
I would love to just move on. I would love to just sigh and say its in the past. But unfortunately, even though I have not seen her in months, she is still very much a part of my life, because she is a part of Papa Bear’s life. Before the break-up, she told him that she could not handle having me in the house while she was in the house. I did not want to be in the house with her either, but instead of merely going out whenever I planned to be there, she now wants Papa Bear to plan when he sees me according to when she has other plans. Papa Bear says he will give her a month as of the day of the break-up, but after that, she is just going to have to deal.
When I’m there, though, I feel like an intruder. Like I don’t have the right to be there. Papa Bear and I decorated our bedroom at his place to look like a cabin, and that is the only place in the house where I don’t feel on edge. On the weekend we spent some time in the living/dining room, and I remained perched on a dining chair, even though my body hurt, because I didn’t feel like I could sit on her couch. I don’t like using the bathroom where her vast collection of necklaces hang on display. I prefer to drink coffee only from the mug that I bought Papa Bear.
I wish he would move, but I know its complicated. I also know its his decision, and I’m not going to push him, because any decision he makes about any of it, needs to be 100% his. He confided to me that every option terrifies him. Staying in the house. Renovating the basement so they can rent it to cover the mortgage and house taxes and he can afford his own place. Selling and being buried in tens of thousands of fees from the bank. Renting the whole house and forcing her to leave her “dream home.” All of these options sound like crap to him.
So I just need to wait and see what happens, like I did when he and his wife were trying to work things out. Be silent, be supportive, wait and see. Like I’m doing while they are trying to see if they can be friends. Like I am doing to see how long he will let her tell him when I can and can’t be in the house. Like I am doing with all of it.
When the anxiety gets to be too much, I think about making another appointment with my therapist. I lose myself in a good novel. I go for a walk and let the fresh air and sunshine do their work. I talk to a friend. I blog. I clean the apartment from top to bottom. I tell Papa Bear how I feel, but not what to do. I let him do him, and I do me.
So here’s what happened. She came home one morning, after having spent the night at her boyfriend’s. Papa Bear asked her how her night was, if she’d had a good time, etc. She said “We need to talk.”
So he sat down across from her at the table, and she said “I can’t do this. This isn’t working.” She went on to say that she could never feel safe with him as long as he was in a relationship with me, because as long as he’s with me, he won’t care for her or prioritize her.
She went on for awhile about all the ways he’s disappointed her, and about how my goal since the beginning has been to break them up, and all he does is defend me. Blah, blah, blah.
When she was done, he said, “Okay. Then we won’t be in a romantic relationship. If you can’t feel safe in a relationship with me, then we shouldn’t be in one.”
I’m not sure what happened after that, but that was the break-up.
She spent the majority of the next week sick in bed, but he told me that on Thursday after he got home from work, they were going to have a chat about logistics. They were supposed to talk about what to do with the house, about their daughter Lucy, who still lives with them because she is disabled, about what to tell their kids and their family and friends, and what to do about the upcoming vacations they have planned for the year.
They started off talking about their trips, but then The Wifey got angry and started to shout at him. She said he was a “fucking asshole”, that he didn’t realize what he was giving up, that she couldn’t believe he was willing to give up on their relationship, that one day he would wake up and realize he’d made a huge mistake and it would be too late.
He told her that he didn’t “give up” because he stopped loving her, or because he was sick of her, or because he’d rather be with me. He gave up because he realized that no matter how hard he tried, and no matter what he did, it would never be enough. And so he could continue to beat his head against the wall, to try and fail at making her happy, for the rest of his life, or he could just admit that it wasn’t going to work, and they could both move on.
She either implied, or directly stated, that if he would break up with me, then he wouldn’t have to be frustrated or feel like he is failing her. And he said that one thing he has realized, is that he has to be free to define his own relationships. He has to be free to determine how they will go, what place they will have in his life, whether he continues or ends them, without coercion.
He told her that he had given up relationships with some of his best friends, because she didn’t approve. Because whenever he wanted to spend time with them, she would complain that he was taking time away from her, or spending his money on other people, or not considering her. Or, if she didn’t “get” the people he was friends with (which was usually the case–they do not have the same taste in friends or lovers at ALL), she would just say that his friends were completely fucked up, or that they were immature and childish and stupid, or whatever else, until it was easier for him to just not spend time with those people. That he wasn’t going to do it anymore. He is allowed to choose his friends, he is allowed to choose his acquaintances, he is allowed to choose his lovers, and he will not be in a situation where he is expected to do otherwise.
He told her that the only thing that would happen if he broke up with me, was that, in a very short amount of time, he would be back to doing whatever she wants, because that’s what would make her happy. And that the only difference would be, that now he knows he has the right to live his own life, so he would hate himself.
She didn’t have anything to say to that–for once. He says that’s because she knows that he’s right. Or maybe she was just shocked that she was “giving him another chance” and he still wasn’t backing down.
They finished discussing their logistics. Their mortgage isn’t up for renewal for another 2 years, so they can’t sell the house now without taking a significant financial hit. If she can be reasonable and stop attacking and trying to get him to leave me, they may try to be platonic domestic partners for awhile. If it doesn’t work, then he may have to move out, which means she would have to as well, since she can’t afford the house on her own. There’s other options floating around, so we’ll see what happens.
I’m still not 100% sure this breakup is going to stick. We’ll see.
I’ve decided that turning people down is never going to be easy for me. It’s never going to feel like the right time, it’s never going to be something that doesn’t bother me, or that I enjoy. I get majorly stressed, and so I tend to avoid it by, um, continuing to see people I don’t want to be seeing?
I am going to have to just rip off the band-aid. It’s like tackling a monster to-do list. You just do it. You complete each item, you check them off, and at the end you breathe a huge sigh of relief and you never have to think about those things again.
Carrying this stress and trepidation around is no good. I just need to get it over with, and then I’ll be done.
I am going to stop seeing The Sadist. You’ll have noticed that I’ve never written in detail about what we do. This is a sign to me that something is wrong. I don’t write about it, because frankly, thinking about it squicks me out. I invariably end up having my boundaries pushed, but not in a way that feels good.
What it boils down to, is the fact that we have different kinks–period. I never thought I’d find someone too kinky for me, but it seems to have happened. Different things excite us, different things turn us on, and it has been a struggle to find that balance. Compromising in sex, with someone I am not even in a relationship with, seems pointless. Neither of us is ever going to be completely satisfied, so I will just have to tell him, no matter how much we enjoy each other’s company.
As for Sugar Daddy, I know I need to cut him loose, but for some reason I can’t seem to. I need to figure out the reasons why I am having such a difficult time with this. I don’t even like him–he sucks.
1) I don’t like the idea of knowing other women have him, and I don’t. It doesn’t matter that I don’t want him.
2) I don’t like the idea of Jailbait “winning”. It doesn’t matter that he is not a prize. Doesn’t matter that he has absolutely zero emotional attachment to her whatsoever. It doesn’t matter that he pisses on her, and makes her lick his girlfriend’s ass. What matters is that–as unfeminist and jr. high as this sounds–she stole him from me. It will piss me off if she thinks she won. It will piss me off if I think she won.
3) He was my first lover in the city. He was the first person I got to know, and spent time with, when I moved here. In a way, I associate the city with him. I associate my life here with him. His condo was my first home away from home.
4) I know he will always want me. I know he will never stop craving sex with me. He is addicted. Like an ass, he told me that I am better in bed than Jailbait and his girlfriend. I don’t think he is lying, because of the way he has behaved when I have cut him off in the past. Knowing this makes me feel powerful. And until recently, I was addicted to his sex, too. And part of me is afraid to cut him off and then end up feeling like I need his cock again. I am afraid of being broken and feeling like I need him again. I would rather stay than go crawling back.
5) He is persistent. He is a freaking hound dog. He does not give up. If I tell him I no longer want him, he won’t accept it. He will continue to try to get be back. He will say things–sweet things, awful things. He will try to tempt me. He will try to hurt me. He will tempt me. He will hurt me. I am afraid of this. I am afraid of my response. I am afraid that we will be on-again, off-again, on-again, 0ff-again, on-again, off-again, into infinity.
None of this is good. None of these are good reasons. I just need to find the strength. I need to trust myself. But my track record isn’t so good, so I don’t trust myself.