Here's the thing. You're with someone for a long time, and you love them more than you've ever loved anyone, so you overlook things logic tells you you shouldn't overlook. And you get used to things. You get used to things, and you rationalize them, and you tell yourself that maybe you're crazy, maybe you're irrational, maybe you're overreacting, maybe you're imagining, and you don't want to be rash. You tell yourself these things because you're so in love, and the alternative to all of the above is that the love - your love - leaves. Your love takes the deep, dark, slightly downturned eyes that you can't break contact with while he's beneath you and the familiar fingers your fingers intertwine with while you're holding him down and the cafe-con-leche-colored shoulders that you're wont to grasp when he's above you and the itty bitty butt that's so itty bitty it fits perfectly in your hands and the part you love of his most - your favoritest part of all, the part he's always said he thinks you'd be having a very happy relationship with if it just weren't for him - and he goes, leaving you all alone.
And you don't want that. You don't want that because your love came into your life at a time you needed him horribly, and he paid attention to you in a way that nobody else had, and he spent time with you in a way that made you feel special, and he loved you in a way you had desperately been wanting, and he gave you these butterflies - oh my God, the butterflies you felt - even years into your relationship, you loved your love so much, you got so excited about your love coming home, that your stomach was aflutter when you knew he was on his way. He gave you these butterflies, and he sat on the loveseat with you and held your feet, and he slept next to you in bed while holding your hand, and he took turns being the little spoon, and he washed your back when you took a shower together, and he said he'd be with you for the rest of your life.
And so, because of all these things, you ignore or maybe if you don't exactly ignore, you try to live with, try to move past. When your love who's been your love for almost two years starts liking almost every single thing on Twitter that the girl who he works with tweets, the one who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for, you try to ignore it at first. You try to ignore it even though you've already had problems because of Twitter and even though while he interacts with this girl on Twitter, the one who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for, he almost never interacts with you. You ignore it because you don't want to be one of those girls, jealous and insecure, but one day you just can't ignore it anymore.
So you start saying things. You say something and you say something and you say something more. You say it passive aggressively and you say it earnestly and you say it angrily and you say it pleadingly. And you cry. You cry to him while you're going to sleep at night, the two of you side-by-side but not holding hands, and you tell him how worthless it makes you feel, how left out. How embarrassed. And when one day you wake up in the morning and go to work and way past the time that your love normally texts you, he hasn't text you yet, you decide to check his Twitter, and you see that despite not having sent his routine Morning baby I love you text, he's liked a tweet of this girl's, the one who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for. And you text him about it, and he texts you back, and on September 2, 2022, at 11:01 a.m, he texts, And so you have an issue with my likes for Carla then I'll stop that too. I'm sorry. But this isn't like the crap with twitter in the past. This isn't like any of that. Carla and I are platonic.
But he doesn't stop. He says he will, and it seems like he did, but he doesn't. You're even driving in the car a few weeks later, and he mentions that he stopped, and you say, Yeah, kicking and screaming. Look at what it took, and he says but yes, he did it, and then a few days later, you're looking on Twitter, and you see after all the fights, all the tears, all the discussion, all the times you told him how bad this made you feel, he liked one of her tweets. And you try to stay rational, you try not to lose your mind, you try not to be rash. You try for all these things because you love your love so much and you don't want to lose him, you don't want your love to go, leaving you all alone, so when he comes home, at first you don't say anything but then he asks you what's wrong, and of course it doesn't take long for him to guess. But you try to stay rational still. You try not to be rash.
And then he tells you he did it for your relationship.
He tells you he did it for your relationship, and when you ask him to clarify, he says that his therapist said there was nothing wrong with his liking this girl's tweets, the one who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for. He tells you that he had to be a better person for both of you and not liking her tweet because of your relationship, because you didn't want him to wouldn't make him a better person, and that's why he did it.
And then you are rash.
You break up with him. You tell him he needs to move out of your house. You tell him the two of you are done. But he breaks down and he cries and he even stays home from work the next day because your breaking up with him made him so miserable, he was sick, and you love your love so much, and you don't want to lose him, you don't want your love to go, leaving you all alone, so you tell him you two can try to work things out. And you do.
You work things out, and he never likes that girl's tweets again, the one who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for, but then you notice while you're driving in the car one day that he's listening to the band Citizen, and you ask him about it because this is your kind of music, the music he can't stand, and he tells you the girl from his work recommended them, the girl who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for, the one who he couldn't stop interacting with on Twitter despite the boundary you'd drawn, and you feel sick. You feel sick but you don't want to push, and not only do you not want to push, you want to show you're not one of those girls, jealous and insecure, so when you two go out of town for Christmas, you help him find a Christmas present for her, for this girl who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for, the one he couldn't stop interacting with on Twitter despite the boundary you'd drawn, the one who he started listening to Citizen for. You also let him put the whale shark she gave him for Christmas on the nightstand next to your bed just to make sure he understands how not that girl you are. You let him put it right underneath the embroidered Goku hanging on your bedroom wall, the one that she embroidered for him for Christmas the year before. After all, they're only friends; he's assured you. They're platonic. Nothing more.
Even though in two years' time you've never met her, even though your love never once invited you to go out with the people from work when he went out, you know nothing is going on. Your love wouldn't do that. He's assured you. They're platonic. Nothing more.
And you love your love so much, and you don't want to lose him, you don't want him to leave, so when he tells you he's going to her going-away party because she's leaving their mutual job, even though it's St. Patrick's Day and you wanted to go out, you say it's fine. Not only do you say it's fine, but you actually understand - after all, you're not one of those girls, jealous and insecure - and you tell everyone who will listen that yes, this girl has been a source of problems for a long time, this girl who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for, the one he couldn't stop interacting with on Twitter despite the boundary you'd drawn, the one who he started listening to Citizen for, and how could you not let him go to her going away thing? Plus, he told you that once she stopped working with him, he'd stop talking to her, that he'd let their friendship peter out.
So your love goes to the going-away thing and then when he comes home after uncharacteristically not having text you all night, he mentions he's disheveled from playing at the park where the going-away party was, and he tells you he's taking a shower, and you know. You know and you say something, and he gets angry, and he reminds you that this girl, this girl who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for, the one he couldn't stop interacting with on Twitter despite the boundary you'd drawn, the one who he started listening to Citizen for, is a virgin who's never even had a boyfriend, and was he really going to have sex with her in a car or at the park? And as he goes up to take a shower, you're thinking you never said sex, you just thought kiss, and then you realize you were being dumb, you were being one of those girls, jealous and insecure.
But that whole week, things just don't feel right. You feel a disconnect between you and your love, you know something is wrong, and you tell yourself so many times that you're being stupid, that you shouldn't be angry, that you shouldn't start a fight because you love your love so much, and you don't want to lose him, you don't want him to go, leaving you all alone, but finally you can't take it anymore because you're irrational, because you overreact, because you're rash. You start a fight with your love, and while he's sleeping that night, you look through his computer because you know.
And that night you find out.
You find out, and all those thoughts you've had in the past about not being irrational, about not overreacting, about not being rash have fled. You march right up to the extra bedroom where your love is asleep, you wake him, and you start a fight.
But alas, it's 9:41, and I have to get ready for work tomorrow, so that, people who read my blog, is a story for another night.
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