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- Feb 27, 2006
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- 38
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- Lukas
I was chatting with a friend on MSN tonight and the subject quickly turned to our relationships. Having both endured less than glamorous break-ups quite recently, it was somewhat therapeutic to share stories and unite in ubiquitous dislike for stupid men and the stupid things they do. So I thought I would broaden the conversation and invite the fine people of qcdn to partake 
My Story:
I was studying abroad for some time as some of you know and whilst there I met a guy. We got on extremely well, moreso than with anyone else I had ever interacted with and started a relationship. To date I can say, without qualms, that it was the most effortless and wonderful relationship I've been in. We had so much in common it was eerie, yet were complete opposites in some regards that it was almost like I'd been walking around with a piece missing all this time and I had finally found said piece.
So yes, everything was going swimmingly and we were finishing each other's sentences and I was seeing rainbows and love hearts and flying unicorns and all that tired crap.
A few weeks in however, I noticed that he seemed to avoid conversation concerning past relationships. I was fairly open about my history, so it was odd there was no reciprocity. All I knew was that his last major relationship was with a guy (pseudonym: "HM") he knew in high school. My then boyfriend's sister and I quickly become good friends and one day she told me all about HM. Without divulging too much and putting the most positive spin possibly on it, let's just say that he was... unstable. Now there was greater transparency, and my ex and I talked about it. He assured me that HM was well in the past and that they still maintained a friendship. He also promised me that he would tell HM that we were dating, which I appreciated immensely but that only made things infinitely worse for us.
HM was part of a clique of friends my ex had from school. While we were dating, I naturally met some of them and we had great fun, but I heard through them that HM was saying all manner of things about me, without of course having met me. I only spoke to him one time when he called and I answered the phone, not knowing who the fuck he was. He would make fun of the way I spoke Spanish (I'm a native speaker, but I speak a South American dialect and had to learn Spanish when I was a kid because I grew up with English). He said all this crap about me being a stupid, affected, materialistic foreigner (he nicknamed me Gabacho, which is a pejorative term for a foreigner). I was doing a modelling gig at the time, and he saw my portfolio and then took to calling me "skeletor". This all coming from someone who was actively exploring the promotional opportunities of a K-mart equivalent, but I digress.
I ignored it. I knew this guy was damaged, and I was the one in the relationship so what did I care? So a few months passed and my ex and I were fantastic, aside from the fact that we now had to treat HM with fuzzy gloves because of his "difficult history". He would call constantly, and on several occasions I had to cancel things because HM would get a hangnail or some shit and my ex would have to run off. I actually had the opportunity to meet him once, but my ex wouldn't let me for fear I would "damage" him. Apparently I can be fairly mean when I want to be, but I'm a kitten and not violent in any sense.
I would however, have gone verbally postal on his ass and reduced him to a sorry mess of a person, so it was probably for the best. But look, I don't care if the guy was a cancer patient (he wasn't), why did I have to endure veiled attacks and intereference in my relationship? Where was my protection?
Finally I booked tickets for us to go to Melbourne so he could meet my sister and we could catch a production of Wicked! The day before the flight, we find out that HM was in hospital - so you know, fuck me let's drop everything and run down there. Apparently he was dehydrated from sun stroke and was sent home the next day - but the plane was gone. I... was fucking livid. I got all my ex's crap from my apartment, went to his place dumped it on his door-step. He kept trying to call me and messaged me saying that he was sorry, and that he realised he was in love with HM all this time.
And that's it. He still called me for some time after to tell me I was a great person, but he wasn't in love with me and he hoped we could be friends (possibly with benefits). Yeah... I held out because I was still in love with the loser. But this week I told him that I'll never be the bi-polar, codependent, professional shelf-stacking degenerate he needs and so he should never call me again.
Fuck that shit.
My Story:
I was studying abroad for some time as some of you know and whilst there I met a guy. We got on extremely well, moreso than with anyone else I had ever interacted with and started a relationship. To date I can say, without qualms, that it was the most effortless and wonderful relationship I've been in. We had so much in common it was eerie, yet were complete opposites in some regards that it was almost like I'd been walking around with a piece missing all this time and I had finally found said piece.
So yes, everything was going swimmingly and we were finishing each other's sentences and I was seeing rainbows and love hearts and flying unicorns and all that tired crap.
A few weeks in however, I noticed that he seemed to avoid conversation concerning past relationships. I was fairly open about my history, so it was odd there was no reciprocity. All I knew was that his last major relationship was with a guy (pseudonym: "HM") he knew in high school. My then boyfriend's sister and I quickly become good friends and one day she told me all about HM. Without divulging too much and putting the most positive spin possibly on it, let's just say that he was... unstable. Now there was greater transparency, and my ex and I talked about it. He assured me that HM was well in the past and that they still maintained a friendship. He also promised me that he would tell HM that we were dating, which I appreciated immensely but that only made things infinitely worse for us.
HM was part of a clique of friends my ex had from school. While we were dating, I naturally met some of them and we had great fun, but I heard through them that HM was saying all manner of things about me, without of course having met me. I only spoke to him one time when he called and I answered the phone, not knowing who the fuck he was. He would make fun of the way I spoke Spanish (I'm a native speaker, but I speak a South American dialect and had to learn Spanish when I was a kid because I grew up with English). He said all this crap about me being a stupid, affected, materialistic foreigner (he nicknamed me Gabacho, which is a pejorative term for a foreigner). I was doing a modelling gig at the time, and he saw my portfolio and then took to calling me "skeletor". This all coming from someone who was actively exploring the promotional opportunities of a K-mart equivalent, but I digress.
I ignored it. I knew this guy was damaged, and I was the one in the relationship so what did I care? So a few months passed and my ex and I were fantastic, aside from the fact that we now had to treat HM with fuzzy gloves because of his "difficult history". He would call constantly, and on several occasions I had to cancel things because HM would get a hangnail or some shit and my ex would have to run off. I actually had the opportunity to meet him once, but my ex wouldn't let me for fear I would "damage" him. Apparently I can be fairly mean when I want to be, but I'm a kitten and not violent in any sense.
I would however, have gone verbally postal on his ass and reduced him to a sorry mess of a person, so it was probably for the best. But look, I don't care if the guy was a cancer patient (he wasn't), why did I have to endure veiled attacks and intereference in my relationship? Where was my protection?
Finally I booked tickets for us to go to Melbourne so he could meet my sister and we could catch a production of Wicked! The day before the flight, we find out that HM was in hospital - so you know, fuck me let's drop everything and run down there. Apparently he was dehydrated from sun stroke and was sent home the next day - but the plane was gone. I... was fucking livid. I got all my ex's crap from my apartment, went to his place dumped it on his door-step. He kept trying to call me and messaged me saying that he was sorry, and that he realised he was in love with HM all this time.
And that's it. He still called me for some time after to tell me I was a great person, but he wasn't in love with me and he hoped we could be friends (possibly with benefits). Yeah... I held out because I was still in love with the loser. But this week I told him that I'll never be the bi-polar, codependent, professional shelf-stacking degenerate he needs and so he should never call me again.
Fuck that shit.
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