It's Not Always About You, Darling : When to Come Down Off the Pedestal

So here I am, a week shy of what would have been 7 months in what I originally had thought was pretty much potentially the best relationship I had ever been in. WOULD HAVE BEEN.  Things were basically okay up until a couple of months ago, when my apparently-now-ex got caught up in a downward spiral of self-inflicted circumstances. And now she seems to have moved onto another lap around the counterproductive circle she has been living ever since she moved out of the house to piss off the parents at age 17 with her loser boyfriend and got married.

She hates her job, but due to her (we'll just say) very "un-hide-able" and very public criminal record, she cannot just go simply get another job based on her experience, or ANY job at all for that matter. It's hard for a convicted felon to find quality work, at least enough to survive as a single income household. So she's kind of stuck. But hey, it's an income...we don't always get to be happy, so we sometimes just have to be thankful we HAVE a job. Then on top of that, her injury from last year has prevented her from participating in her passion, roller derby, and that has led to a further-depressive state. Truth be told, while originally I thought the prospect of a relationship with a strong, badass derby girl was awesome, after I saw some of the inappropriate behavior, contact and discussions that went on between the co-ed teams and the even-MORE-inappropriate relationships between coaches and players, I personally was EXTREMELY relieved that she wasn't around those people anymore. But my opinion, I would find out, was not very important here or elsewhere. She then waited to the very last minute when her lease was coming up on her apartment before making arrangements to either obtain a new place or renew her lease, what can only described as a complete clusterfuck; she finally ended up moving in with her parents for the time being and every effort that I put in to try to help her find places to store her things and make life a little easier were shot down, and that's a little demoralizing, but we'll get to that later. And then came, right after that, the anniversary of her older brother killing himself just last year. She was admittedly not necessarily the most mentally stable person to begin with, and I had seen that for myself, but all of these things culminated into some completely different person than the person I met. All it took was us not seeing eye to eye on a couple of things for her to give up on a relationship. A couple of things, I might add, which if given the proper amount of time and approached with the right attitude, could have been worked through in my opinion. But again, let's not talk about my opinion right now.

First let's talk about the criminal record. I'm not giving a ton details, but let's just say that she ended up abandoning a newborn in a pretty disgusting manner during a low point in her life (it's no secret, it's all over the internet), and there was a lot of media attention (not just "local media" either). Now, the good news is, the little boy is alive and well today with his father and his family. But as I did some digging (due to her avoidance of talking about the issue) I was bothered that her family publicly claimed, even under oath, to never have known she was pregnant to begin with, but that's a different blog for a different day. However, I can't let go of the discomfort I feel when people who claim to be honest, good Christian people blatantly lied under oath to protect their daughter who had committed a pretty heinous crime; and insulting is that these people had all kinds of pre-judgment and distrust of ME because I wasn't a card-carrying, flag-waiving "Christian" and therefore am apparently some godless subhuman void of morals and decency, yet they seemed to be able to "turn it off" when convenient. I didn't want to see all of that before, and wanted terribly to try to give her the benefit of the doubt, but in the aftermath of the break-up, it kind of turns my stomach when I realize I could've spent the rest of my life associated with this act, haunted by proxy, or associated with liars of that magnitude. She never really wanted to talk about it, and honestly it aside from a very vague and marginally-regretful description of what happened from her, I got all of my information from news websites, social media posts, courtroom videos and other places where I got to read the disgusting details, as well as the commentary from her current husband at the time, the man who she had an affair with who fathered the child in question, and a LOT of angry locals. I never got to the bottom of that. I never got to the bottom of a lot of things, including the many alleged sexual assaults she claims to have been victim to over the years (which will be another blog at another time). And I was absolutely chastised and insulted for simply asking questions or wanting to know what happened. Why? Because she felt like I wasn't going to believe her and that I was somehow going to judge her, when in fact, all I wanted was to try to find a common-thread as to what happened. After all, I kind of found it a necessary priority to fully figure out what was going on with the person who I very well could have ended up spending the rest of my life with, and who would be exposed to my child. I thought I was being responsible, not just a jerk. More on that failure to see eye to eye later.

I've pretty much said all I need to about the roller derby thing already, because frankly, it bothers me that someone was so passionate about something that created such a mixed and hypocritical atmosphere about gender norms/acceptance, safe spaces, independence and political correctness, but that person would turn around and judge me harshly and react so viciously, to me simply asking questions and wanting to learn more about the person who claims to love me. It was a joke, and I will never associate with another derby girl in my entire life. I'm sure they're not all hypocritical, broken people, but I'd rather not chance it. The thrill is gone, The fetish was not at all what it was cracked up to be. Done. Ruined. Completely. Next.

The apartment situation, I have mixed reactions about. Because part of me thought that she figured I would have asked her to move in with me and would save the day, throwing caution to the wind and letting her come on in to cohabitate. Nope. Not yet, boo. I didn't have the heart to tell her that not only was I not ready for her to be around my child, since she kept avoiding questions and discussions and having meltdowns, but also, as much of a clutterbug as I am, my house is fairly clean, whereas her apartment was straight-up filthy, infested with roaches, and we were going to have to have a very long talk about just basic cleanliness and pest control before I even so much as considered sharing a living space. True story, one night that she spent the night at my house and two different breeds of roaches came shooting out of her overnight bag in my bathroom, I freaked out and knew right then and there I wouldn't let ANYTHING of hers into my house without bombing, dusting or spraying. I cannot imagine having to live with that every day. It was hard enough hooking up at her place every once in a while and avoiding eye contact with a roach climbing down the wall or across the back of the sofa when I was trying to get my groove on. That was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my entire life to be honest (along with certain odors that came from less-than-stellar hygiene, and wearing the same sleep shorts every night for months without washing). She didn't have any kind of plan for relocation, with only a couple of weeks remaining before her lease was up, and I had made arrangements for her to store her belongings at my band's rehearsal space while she moved back in with her parents to save up some money and eventually get her own place again. Her dad evidently didn't like my suggestions (any more than my religious lifestyle choice, but again, yet another blog for another day), and he talked her into doing something completely different at the last minute, just one of many examples why the relationship was doomed because of pious pre-judgement on their part and her lack of actually caring about my opinion. So she moved back in with her mom and dad while trying to continue our relationship, but things changed immediately. She could no longer stay overnight or even very late for that matter, like dating in high school again, but in a bad way. I went from seeing her a couple times a week to seeing her once every two weeks for a few hours. But then again, I'm not sure she actually wanted to see me at that point, because after I reviewed my finances a month before that and had to cut back on the dates out and expensive restaurants to stop bleeding LITERALLY all my non-bill money and then some, she seemed to start losing interest more and more each day. She'll never admit that. But she can't deny it either (at least, not "HONESTLY"). And yes, there will be a blog about that as well.

And then came the roller coaster of depression, self-loathing and mental health neediness that is a combination of genuine relationship PTSD, a lack of emotional maturity and some toxic defense reflexes that honestly are extremely abusive in and of themselves. She loved me hard and strong in the beginning, but she was feeding off of compliments and praise. When it became clear that she was "used to" it and I had to amp-up my compliments and praise more and more just to keep her "leveled out", I realized that I was becoming a supply again, enabling narcissism. It was her drug, and as her tolerance built up and the highs became less and less satisfying, replaced by complacency and an increasing apathy, it required exponentially beefing up the niceties just to prevent her from spiraling into depression. Not just "maintaining" but having to increase the "dosage" constantly. I couldn't keep up. Not without faking it. And was I supposed to let her use that as an excuse? She had her past stuff, I get it, and she (purportedly) struggled with physical, sexual and psychological trauma that most will never see, but that doesn't give someone a free pass to intentionally treat others like crap. Especially when those others (i.e. ME) have supported that person's need to seek professional help. Especially when that person (i.e. ME) puts aside their own PTSD and insecurities and gives that person the focus. No, it doesn't mean that my problems go away, nor does it mean that I can continue putting them aside to let someone pursue what becomes a never-ending saga of siphoning my psychic energy just to casually toss it to the side because it "wasn't enough" anymore to keep her out of her own depths. But it meant I was willing to try. When I started seeing that there would be no "compromise" (because compromise means BOTH parties are conceding and giving something), and instead was all a thinly-veiled ploy to have me submit to a completely one-sided commitment in every sense, I had to wake up. It was bad enough that intimacy was grossly imbalanced (yup, you guessed it, another blog to come, and kind of a follow-up to a previous one), finances were grossly imbalanced and I was expected to carry all of the heavy stuff and make all the decisions (most of which, as already mentioned, got shot down in lieu of something else or were criticized), but now I was also supposed to coddle destructive behavior and unconditionally just let her continue to repeat this unhealthy and counterproductive lifestyle that has gotten her nowhere in her life, and now I'm also supposed to be the one to watch things go down AND be there for support in every sense instead of helping her find a new/better way of doing things that actually WORKS? And now, on top of all that, she goes into this seemingly pre-planned depressive state because it's the anniversary of her brother's predictable, inevitable, self-inflicted suicide? No. We've all lost family and friends, but not all of us use that tragedy as an excuse. We all grieve. And we all grieve differently. But we don't get to take advantage of someone. And all of these things compiled became too much. I couldn't compliment someone who casually and coldly writes my compliments off, and who seems to thrive on drama and the attention that comes from letting everyone know they're depressed.  Howsabout telling everyone all those things you're NOT doing to help your mental situation, and how you tore into your boyfriend for trying to help you find a more productive path to healing, please. Tell them the WHOLE story.

I spent my two planned vacation days and the adjacent weekend at the end of last month lying in bed depressed myself, and never posted it to my social media, never told my friends or family (till after I was "over it"), and never fished for attention. The one person I WANTED to talk to didn't want to talk to me (but she had an absolute blast posting vague, passive-aggressive memes and quotes on Facebook the past week), and gave up on me essentially because I made the grievous error of [GASP!!!] voicing my opinion.

After a week of being ignored and watching her post endless "look at me, I'm a an abuse survivor and I need you to believe that my now-ex is just another person who didn't love me for me" memes, I decided I was done. No hopes for going back now. I don't want to anymore at this point. She made herself a liability, even more than she already was with her emotional and criminal past. In some ways, she was perfect. But that superficial beauty, those shared interests and the intellectual conversations were a ruse disguising the broken, smug narcissist and potential sociopath underneath. I truly loved her, and a few months ago, I was hoping by now we'd have been solidified in our relationship, her parents might give me a chance and we could've met each other's kids, thinking about a real future. But now, I wonder if I didn't dodge a bullet of constant mental health flux, unresolved emotional issues and the consequences (socially, financially, etc) brought on by the stigma of her criminal past.

I miss her, mostly. At least, the "her" that I thought she was, and who I hoped to spend the rest of my life with. But at this point, unless she shows up on my doorstep wearing nothing but some black thigh-highs under a long coat with an apology and a bottle of the finest personal lubricants, a plan to deal with her untreated issues, wanting to do all those intimate things that she neglected me with previously and ready to do some compromising of her own, I have no room in my life for her, and even then, it might not be anything more than reparations. I was not ready to be discarded again. But I can't help wondering if it was a blessing in disguise. Time will tell, I suppose.

One thing's for certain, I was immediately "okay" and "completely done" after a week of silence and then seeing the social media pictures of her and her girls (including one I had sincerely reached out to in order to try to save the relationship, who never got back to me and most likely was fed the "one side" of the story and didn't bother getting the FULL story) at "girls' night out" before the pillow was even cold, so to speak. The almost sociopathic contentment confirmed that ending that relationship WAS, in fact, for the best. And it put me at greater peace. So thanks for that, wherever you are.