Last night I cried myself to sleep. It was mostly ridiculous but the tears came anyway. I tried to remember the last time I had cried over a man. It was probably Married but it feels like forever ago instead of four months. This year has flown and yet nothing has really happened. I mean, sure, globally, the world is a fuck cake, but at an individual level … it’s all kind of blah.
Anyway, crying over a man. It was stupid and all completely of my own making. My head gets away with me and before I know it, I’m hyperventilating into a pillow convinced I’m the ugliest, fattest, most unlovable creature to bellyflop the earth. When really, it’s nothing that dramatic. Nothing at all, except …
Last week we went away camping together. Four days, three nights, two other couples. We were both excited about it and we had an amazing time. But, the first day, the first afternoon, as we set up the van, he made a joke about us each having a bed as we weren’t married. I responded with something like “well we’ve both been married, does that count?”, everything in jest. Then he said “or we’re still married”.
It turns out that while they have been separated since 2016, they are still married. Why hadn’t he told me? He thought he had. Nope, pretty sure I’d remember that.
The kicker is, I know they are truly separated. I know there’s nothing there between them. But I couldn’t get my head around why they hadn’t just done it already. He gave me his reasons and I get it to a point, and I tried to let it go, unsuccessfully. I brought it up a few more times with follow-up questions over the rest of the weekend and a few times in jest.
Then, the moment we parted on Sunday, the doubt started to creep in. The memories of too many married men. The lies of AndrewNotChris. The months and months I convinced myself there was something there that wasn’t with Married. All the heartache came back. But it wasn’t this guy’s. He wasn’t responsible for that but by association, my head was connecting dots that weren’t there.
I think, given a day or two, I would have been fine except …
He was going away camping again this week with his daughter. His ex had already asked to join them for a few days staying in her own accommodation. It would be like a family holiday and I didn’t really have a problem with that. It would be nice for his daughter to have those memories and when he told me, I told him that I accepted that his ex was always going to be part of his life.
But then, on Monday, he messaged me to say she had asked to come up early and spend the first night in the van, with him and their daughter. I thought on it and, while inside I was squirming, I told him it was OK. Because to me, it really was. I trusted him. I had no reason not to. I care about this guy. I didn’t want some misplaced jealousy to become an unnecessary drama.
Then I didn’t hear from him. A message yesterday morning and then nothing. She posted on Facebook, a happy snap of them all smiling at the caravan park with “Holidays” and heart emojis and she had tagged him in it.
It cut me like a knife. And it’s not rational or fair. He has done nothing wrong. I worked. I watched Netflix. I read a book. I climbed into bed and text him goodnight. He didn’t reply. And minutes later, the pangs came. Fists inside my throat threatening to choke me. The tears spilled out and I sobbed. I felt so rejected.
And I know this isn’t him. I know these are hurts from my past eating me up, making me doubt, making me believe I am so unworthy of someone who, actually, is so good to me.
I’ve battled with this kind of self-fuckery before but this time, I’m terrified it’s going to ruin this relationship. I want to get these feelings under control.
He text me this morning about seeing me Friday night. My place or his, he asked. And I felt angry. Stupidly angry at myself for doubting him. I hate this version of myself.
Now I don’t know if I should tell him how this all affected me or just keep it to myself. Thoughts?
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