However, an exception to the rule for some of us is when those who have harmed us get bitch-slapped by karma. Then we find ourselves becoming the poster-child for internet acronyms, as we do everything from LALB (laughing a little bit) to ROTFLMFAOSHIPM (I’ll let you translate that one yourselves).
So when I heard through the grapevine that the man who made a liar out of himself by tossing away our eight year relationship so abruptly and replacing me with a cheap trick had gotten tricked by her (yeah…that couldn’t’ve been seen coming from a mile away…) and is now upset about the turn of events in his life, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit like karma was on my side.
Unfortunately the problem with being happy about someone else’s relationship problems is that the person you’re in a relationship with may misinterpret your reasons for going all “Joyful, Joyful”, and while I discussed my complex flood of emotions with the good man in my life, there’s still that nagging feeling in his mind that maybe I’m still in love with the man who did me so wrong and maybe counseling and a trial reconciliation is in order.
I’m at the point where my response to such suggestions is “no way in hell”, but I suppose accepting the random Facebook friend request from my estranged spouse might’ve sent an opposing message (which is why I did discuss the decision with him ahead of time). I know there will always be a scar on my heart for my “baby-daddy” and the years we spent together. After all, a long-time reader of this blog will note the ridiculous number of times I sung his praises–love isn’t blind; it’s retarded!
Sure…in a perfect world el diablo wouldn’t’ve tossed me aside, or at the very least would’ve sought counseling and a treated my time in Arizona as a trial separation. Maybe we could’ve gotten the whole family in for family counseling, and all of us for individual counseling, and he and I for marital counseling, and maybe we could’ve restructured a more solid foundation for our marriage so that the next several decades were stronger for it…but that was a silly faerie tale pipe dream I had when I first got out here.
I would lie awake at night begging any deity that perchance had been listening if he or she would bring him back to me…and then I found out about the skank…I channeled my rage at him into rage at the both of them and said some horrible things about this woman I don’t even know…but since she was fucking my husband in my bed I felt justified in what I said…
At some point I began to realize that not only did I not need him or any man to survive with my girls in this world, but I also didn’t want him anymore–if he was destined to always be the same man he had become by the time I left. Sure…I really really loved the sex, but I could say that about previous or future lovers. Sex is, after all, primarily a biological function. It is not meant to be the sole basis for a long-term relationship. And, sure, I enjoyed his romantic side and his spontaneity, but–again–those are qualities many men posses. He said that we had nothing in common and I protested that fact, but having some things in common is also not a solid foundation. What it boiled down to when I stripped off all the things any other man could also give me was an eight year addiction to a horrible drug and maybe a little love for the pedestal-posed version of him I’d erected in my head.
I either needed to break the habit or accept it…but since the habit had all but broken me I picked up the pieces of my heart and pushed forward. The tears no longer flowed. The other day, Luna found a random pic of her daddy and put it in my purse–a fact I didn’t realize until I was digging for my locker combination before a work shift at the part-time retail job I was lucky to land during the holiday season and will be working a full shift at in about seven hours. Seeing his smiling face from five years ago didn’t induce the gush of tears and emotions it once had. I simply shoved it back into the purse (because it would have been wrong to litter the halls of my place of employment) and kept digging for the combination.
When I started talking to the boyfriend I thought, “Well, here’s a nice cute guy who might be interesting to talk to since we have mutual friends and all…” Now I am smiling every time I see that he’s calling; I love seeing text messages or IMs from him; I think about him constantly. Some friends say that it’s puppy love and that I should move slow. Others suggest that perhaps there’s a deplorable dark side of him that he has yet to show me that’ll hurt me because I’m in a vulnerable position right now. Others tell me I should jump right in with all the enthusiasm of a base jumper and that in all probability we’re perfect for each other. Others are simply apathetic to my whole ordeal (as a side note: why do I still consider such people friends? Farmville?).
I know that my girls need me to be on my best game, so I’m not talking about throwing caution completely to the wind, but why should I put my life on hold completely either? Why should I feel any guilt about following my heart? I can’t imagine a worse scenario than the rabbit hole I just crawled out of. As long as I make sure that the girls are safe and well cared for, I should be able to have the same rights as anyone else to date and to fall back in love. And while the asinine individual I once proudly called my husband has loved and has lost with both me and now his rebound hound (as a friend so eloquently called her), maybe I won’t lose with the boyfriend. But even if I do, if we mutually decide being together is not what either of us needs, I know that I will survive that too–I’ll just need a little more superglue for my heart.
One thing that worries me, though, is of all the people who are doling out unsolicited ad(ded )vic(es) to me these days, the one person I never expected to suggest reconciliation with the nearly-ex was the one person who did…meanwhile el padre de mis hijas remains silent since our last text fight, despite his Facebook friend request to me. I’m acutely aware of our past and his previous successful attempts at getting me back under his thumb; I’m acutely aware of how many mountains he would have to move and how much Smirnoff I’d have to drink before I’d even consider entertaining the idea.
Ani Difranco–I’m still here, ’cause I got nothing else to do. You’re an asshole, but I’m getting used to you. I could love you; yeah, I’ve entertained the thought, but I could never like you, so I guess I’d better not.