So, what does it mean to finally face the music? How have I ignored the music THIS long? I mean, it's like, this blaring, terrible, piece of shit misogynistic song and SOMEHOW I've been like "lalalala," just singing along with it for a year-and-a-half? What could finally (and this is far from final) compel a woman such as myself to start seeing things straight?
Woah, woah, woah, I'm getting ahead of myself. I didn't start to see things straight for several months AFTER these events. And you, dear reader, might not even KNOW what happened next! So, here it is: I came back to "our" apartment and found evidence of EG everywhere. There were TIES on our BED POSTS (for ze kinky secks). She left clothes. There was gum on our windowsill (she had a disgusting habit of chewing gum and leaving it on windowsills...). There was a giant can of Rockstar in our garbage can (she had another disgusting habit of drinking like beventeethreeve Rockstars/day). OH, and a pair of my underwear and a pair of my tights had been HACKED TO BITS and thrown in the bathroom garbage. All that, and he still played things off as if she hadn't been there! Here's a sample conversation: "Oh hey, why are there ties on our bed posts?" Mr. Kite: "Oh, I thought maybe we'd try something new tonight". No. That was a big ol' lie. He'd never tied me up, he hardly so much as even TOUCHED me these days, so those were leftover. F'real.
And I'm not just postulating on this, lovelies. Aside from the evidence she left behind, she posted pictures to FB of the two of them canoodling in our apartment. Yes, indeed. And he continued to lie through his smelly-ass teeth about it. Incredible. OH and when he finally did come clean (which, honestly, I don't think ever happened) he claimed it was because: "You went off and fucked your FWB." Yes, that was his logic. I was with my FWB, so clearly I was having the intercourses with him, and clearly it meant he should have EG over to the apartment we were renting TOGETHER. Logics! Even if I WAS having sex with FWB (which, I did not, although there may have been some physical contact), there is NO excuse for having her over to OUR place. Also, I was the one he had already at the very least emotionally cheated on. I was the hurt one! He completely turned it around into: you broke my heart by leaving me that night for your FWB. Manipulative. Bastard.
So I moved back to Sonoma County, my friends. It wasn't immediate, and it wasn't until after a lot of weird and uncomfortable conversations. It wasn't until after he told me that, hey, maybe we should try being in an open relationship! Yea, maybe then he could be with me! It wasn't until AFTER I had actively sought out weird swingers activities that I had no interest in. It wasn't. Right. Away. It should have been.
When I moved home, he continued to mess with my mind. He'd periodically come and stay at my apartment, he'd sleep in my bed, and he'd try and get naughty with me at night *in his sleep*. You see, he had sleep-sex-somnia or whatever, he always had, but it's a lot weirder when you're super-duper not a couple. But I liked the comfort of a warm body, and I was insane. A glutton for punishment. Lest ye ever love so deeply, take heed you do not end up with someone who LIVES for manipulating sad little girls. Because, some more crazy shit happens next, in the final installment...
*=DSM still stands for Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, criteria for classifying mental disorders.
Why was it again that I wasn't supposed fuck him up?
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