There have been many times you treated me little more than some kind of dog shit you stepped into. There’s the time you denied sleeping with another girl even though I already have proof, all those times you never turned up to any of our plans, and the derogatory words you’d spout out to me.
That list makes me feel embarrassed that I let you back into my life after each one of them. I remember how I felt and how badly I hurt after each one of them, especially when I found out about you sleeping with that other girl. I’d obsess over your WhatsApp status to see if you were online at weekends or late at night, I found her on Instagram, and I found her anonymous blog … although it didn’t take much effort, so it wasn’t that anonymous. I found out intimate things about her that I’m sure not even you knew.
But I let you.
You treated me like shit, because I let you. I always let you back into my life even if at times, you were met with more resistance than others. Sure, I called you out on your behaviour, I told you to stop being a dick on multiple occasions, and I wore my heart on my sleeve as I told you how I felt. But I kept taking you back, some way or another. And, shamefully even when you didn’t apologise or explain. Shame on me for letting you do that.
Sometimes our parting was a mutual decision, but most of the time it was either yours or mine … mostly mine. For me, surely that should have been the biggest indicator of them all? Because every time you did another thing I didn’t like, I cursed myself for forgiving you so easily.
But there’s a side to you that makes me want you. I think you know that, and you play it to your advantage. Because there’s a proven record that I forgive you and I take you back. I think that’s why on Friday night you sent me a message out of the blue and tried to call me. I think that’s why you tried to call me again on Saturday. Maybe you wanted to see what else you could get away with or you did it because you missed me. Maybe you just wanted to see how I am these days.
Of course I answered your call as I stood outside in the cold to speak to you. I even cut my evening short so we could speak. As we exchanged pleasantries on how we were and what we’d each been up to in the month we hadn’t spoken, I was in a familiar place. It was nice to hear your voice and to joke about things like we used to. We had some good times together, I will never deny that, and we do get along most of the time. We fell back into our old habits, and conversation turned to sex.
You told me you could sense I was being ‘off’ with you, and I apologised. But what I didn’t say at the time was how confused I was – why you were now suddenly getting in contact after you dismissed me so suddenly when I got in contact with you.
I realised afterwards that even though I was grateful for your call, it left me more confused. I hadn’t received the answers I wanted. Were you still in your non-physical relationship? Why did you call me? I called you a couple of days later because even though I know I shouldn’t have, I wanted the answers to my questions. It turns out you couldn’t remember why you called me (I call absolute BS on that one), and that your situation hasn’t changed. It still hurts me a bit when I write that.
I don’t think this is about me anymore, it’s about you and an issue you have. I wonder if it’s your sex addiction that makes you like this – the mixed messages and intentions, and how you can be there for me a day or two at a time, but not in a regular way. But I can’t help you or save you until you’re ready for help … if it’s even this.
All I know is that this chapter certainly isn’t over yet.