Life After Divorce











Steve and I worked on our relationship for several months.  After the incident, I was terribly insecure and became a little obsessive and neutotic (you would be too, admit it).  I was always worried about where he was or what (who) he was doing.  I hate being clingy, but there I was… I was THAT GIRL.  I hate that girl.

So, things are going along just fine for a while.  We would enjoy each other’s company, and I practically moved into the apartment with Steve and his roommate, Billy.  Billy was gay and a ton of fun.  I remember the day when Steve gave me a key to the apartment.  It was really sweet.

Then, one night, we are talking and he tells me that he thinks we might want to go out with other people.  He says to me, “I love you, but I don’t know if I am IN LOVE with you.”  I seriously could have stabbed him in the eye with a spork for that.  I told him, “Look… we have both been around the block.  I do not need to date someone else in order to know that I love you.  If you don’t know that yet, dating someone else will not help, and I refuse to stick around for that.  You are either with me, or we break up.”  Of course, he didn’t like that.  What is it with guys wanting to have their cake and eat it too?  I would understand if we were each others’ first, or if we had been high school sweethearts or something.  But, believe me when I say, that was not the case.  I am not the kind of girl who is going to sit at home while my boyfriend is out on a date with someone else.

It is interesting looking back just how many red flags there were to the eventual demise of our relationship.  In fact, those red flags are now on fire in the dark – signaling me to get out.  But I didn’t.  I stayed.  After learning that I was not going to allow him to date other people AND still be with me, he decided that being with me was good enough. 

We moved in together after one year of dating.  That second year was really hard.  We fought about everything.  Money, mostly.  Oh cursed money, how I hate you.  We had an agreement when we moved in together that we would have an unlisted number in my name.  We had a problem in the first year where girls he had dated would call, and he would never tell them he was dating someone.  The unlisted number in my name was a test of his loyalty.  I would know if any of them (or new ones) called, it would be because he gave them the number.  This was 1999, and before people were carrying cell phones all the time.  This was during the big pager rage.  During that second year, there were no calls from girls, other than those on the “approved” list (friends, family, co-workers, etc – basically no one he had ever slept with).  So, I was lulled into a false sense of security…

Advertisements


et cetera