Illegible's Sexual History Part 5: My Favourite Mistake
Part 5 was the episode in which Illegible got truly cunted.
The worst romantic experience of my entire life, now that I am officially over it I can only hope it will never be relived in any capacity, either by myself or anyone else I know.
I started my first full time job. I got on extremely well with my manager, M*. He had a girlfriend of six years, and seemed hopelessly devoted and a hundred per cent committed. I admired that. We became good friends and I didn't think much more of it. We'd find ourselves roaring with laughter at our desk, sharing lifts to and from work do's and I met his girlfriend once, who seemed lovely. It was on my part a completely innocent friendship.
Lots of business trips ensued. It was part of our job. We drove all around the country together, having in-depth conversations about life and love. Now and then he'd drop a comment about how good we'd be together, or how his girlfriend could have Colin Firth if he could have me. It embarrassed me more than anything, and made me feel a bit awkward. We'd have lunch together and sit in the park and he'd make suggestions that made me blush, but I wrote them off as innocent banter. Looking back, I was definitely falling for him even then.
Then one day it arose that we had to go on a business trip to Spain together.
We got very drunk and after a night of deep conversation (always my weakness) he started kissing me. On the Spanish beach lined with bars and restaurants, in an idyllic setting, it was easy to forget he was my boss. I tried to stop it from happening, but I'd already fallen for his game. It sounds stupid now, but it felt like it was meant to be. I felt like we were made for each other and nothing else mattered. Crazy times.
I got more and more emotionally involved. The words we exchanged were like something out of a film. "If we're meant to be together, we will be," he told me.
After months of headfucks and traumatising over the whole affair to my friends, who were growing increasingly bored of the fact that I wouldn't go near another guy and spent endless hours dreaming of him, he called me one night and declared that he and his girlfriend had split up for good. I was genuinely scared. If he didn't want me now, properly, as his girlfriend, that was almost worse than me being a bit on the side whilst he was in a relationship. The next night, I went to see him, and he asked me to be his girlfriend.
I found out that in fact he was on anti-depressants and their relationship had been in tatters for months. They'd agreed to part as they were only hurting each other, and she suspected he was having an affair with me. I knew I was a consequence of the problems and not a cause, and that he was only with me because it hadn't worked with her, but by that point I was such a mug I didn't care. Love is a cunt.
It was amazing while it lasted, although looking back it all moved so fast it was bound to die a sudden death. Sure enough, it did. He announced that he was too fucked up to have a relationship with me, that he didn't know where he stood with me and couldn't trust me. Quite how any form of doubt could have arisen, I'm not sure. I was entirely devoted and completely on my hands and knees.
And this is where the true fuck up commenced.
On the advice of all my friends and the ounce of sanity I had left in me, I decided he could fuck right off. I acted like I didn't give a shit. He took me out at lunchtimes and cried that he loved me, and I threw it back in his face every time. He said he didn't realise we'd actually broken up (hello, you made that perfectly clear?!) and wanted us to be together.
Of course, you can only be stubborn for so long. It wasn't long before we were sleeping together again, reverting to former tactics of in-car shagging and sneaking time out with each other whenever we could. It was officially fucked by this point. He was not only insane, he'd actually driven me insane as well. One night I drove 20 miles to meet him after drinking a bottle of wine, praying all the way that I wouldn't get stopped.
All this time, I wondered why we were shagging in cars, and could only presume he was back with the ex. Every time I questioned him, he categorically denied it and said he couldn't have me in his house since "Your ghost would stay here forever". I don't know quite how to explain myself or any of the stupid things I did, but I was more in love than I'd ever been in my life (and that's saying something!). He has a way with words, let's say.
I can't quite convey the level of fuck-up involved in this whole episode. We were shagging, and sitting next to each other every day, and talking like we were old friends, and yet at the same time we fucked each other over on almost a daily basis. We made each other jealous, we made each other cry, and yet when we were completely fucked by each other's games, we sat together like characters from Dawson's Creek, reflecting on the whole situation and declaring our ultimate love for each other and how we could never bear to be apart.
It ended, as these things always do. One night, we drove somewhere remote and fucked in the car, and afterwards we both broke down in tears. We were fucking each other in the head as well as everywhere else, and we knew it.
"I'm sorry if I broke your heart," he told me on the way home as we both bawled our eyes out, "but I broke mine, too."
I wanted to protest. Don't feel sorry for yourself, you fuck. You broke all the hearts here. I didn't break any. How the fuck is that fair? Who cares if you broke your own? It was YOURS to break!
In the end, I forced myself to believe he was a headfucking bastard that was never going to be there for me in any decent way, and gradually, I let go. The headfucking didn't really stop until he left work, and then the country, and even from the other side of the world he'd e-mail me, trying to screw with me, but by that stage I'd rejected any form of hope.
And eventually, I forced myself out of love. By the time he e-mailed me saying he was back with his ex and wouldn't be chasing after me again, I was immune to his words. He basically admitted that he was settling for stability and security. I was glad the end had come. I was glad the fuck-up was over. And I'd decided long ago that I would never go near him again.
I never thought I'd get to a point where I didn't care anymore. But I did. And I know that if I can get over that, I can get over anything.
And, besides, I know that love is a cunt.
The worst romantic experience of my entire life, now that I am officially over it I can only hope it will never be relived in any capacity, either by myself or anyone else I know.
I started my first full time job. I got on extremely well with my manager, M*. He had a girlfriend of six years, and seemed hopelessly devoted and a hundred per cent committed. I admired that. We became good friends and I didn't think much more of it. We'd find ourselves roaring with laughter at our desk, sharing lifts to and from work do's and I met his girlfriend once, who seemed lovely. It was on my part a completely innocent friendship.
Lots of business trips ensued. It was part of our job. We drove all around the country together, having in-depth conversations about life and love. Now and then he'd drop a comment about how good we'd be together, or how his girlfriend could have Colin Firth if he could have me. It embarrassed me more than anything, and made me feel a bit awkward. We'd have lunch together and sit in the park and he'd make suggestions that made me blush, but I wrote them off as innocent banter. Looking back, I was definitely falling for him even then.
Then one day it arose that we had to go on a business trip to Spain together.
We got very drunk and after a night of deep conversation (always my weakness) he started kissing me. On the Spanish beach lined with bars and restaurants, in an idyllic setting, it was easy to forget he was my boss. I tried to stop it from happening, but I'd already fallen for his game. It sounds stupid now, but it felt like it was meant to be. I felt like we were made for each other and nothing else mattered. Crazy times.
I got more and more emotionally involved. The words we exchanged were like something out of a film. "If we're meant to be together, we will be," he told me.
After months of headfucks and traumatising over the whole affair to my friends, who were growing increasingly bored of the fact that I wouldn't go near another guy and spent endless hours dreaming of him, he called me one night and declared that he and his girlfriend had split up for good. I was genuinely scared. If he didn't want me now, properly, as his girlfriend, that was almost worse than me being a bit on the side whilst he was in a relationship. The next night, I went to see him, and he asked me to be his girlfriend.
I found out that in fact he was on anti-depressants and their relationship had been in tatters for months. They'd agreed to part as they were only hurting each other, and she suspected he was having an affair with me. I knew I was a consequence of the problems and not a cause, and that he was only with me because it hadn't worked with her, but by that point I was such a mug I didn't care. Love is a cunt.
It was amazing while it lasted, although looking back it all moved so fast it was bound to die a sudden death. Sure enough, it did. He announced that he was too fucked up to have a relationship with me, that he didn't know where he stood with me and couldn't trust me. Quite how any form of doubt could have arisen, I'm not sure. I was entirely devoted and completely on my hands and knees.
And this is where the true fuck up commenced.
On the advice of all my friends and the ounce of sanity I had left in me, I decided he could fuck right off. I acted like I didn't give a shit. He took me out at lunchtimes and cried that he loved me, and I threw it back in his face every time. He said he didn't realise we'd actually broken up (hello, you made that perfectly clear?!) and wanted us to be together.
Of course, you can only be stubborn for so long. It wasn't long before we were sleeping together again, reverting to former tactics of in-car shagging and sneaking time out with each other whenever we could. It was officially fucked by this point. He was not only insane, he'd actually driven me insane as well. One night I drove 20 miles to meet him after drinking a bottle of wine, praying all the way that I wouldn't get stopped.
All this time, I wondered why we were shagging in cars, and could only presume he was back with the ex. Every time I questioned him, he categorically denied it and said he couldn't have me in his house since "Your ghost would stay here forever". I don't know quite how to explain myself or any of the stupid things I did, but I was more in love than I'd ever been in my life (and that's saying something!). He has a way with words, let's say.
I can't quite convey the level of fuck-up involved in this whole episode. We were shagging, and sitting next to each other every day, and talking like we were old friends, and yet at the same time we fucked each other over on almost a daily basis. We made each other jealous, we made each other cry, and yet when we were completely fucked by each other's games, we sat together like characters from Dawson's Creek, reflecting on the whole situation and declaring our ultimate love for each other and how we could never bear to be apart.
It ended, as these things always do. One night, we drove somewhere remote and fucked in the car, and afterwards we both broke down in tears. We were fucking each other in the head as well as everywhere else, and we knew it.
"I'm sorry if I broke your heart," he told me on the way home as we both bawled our eyes out, "but I broke mine, too."
I wanted to protest. Don't feel sorry for yourself, you fuck. You broke all the hearts here. I didn't break any. How the fuck is that fair? Who cares if you broke your own? It was YOURS to break!
In the end, I forced myself to believe he was a headfucking bastard that was never going to be there for me in any decent way, and gradually, I let go. The headfucking didn't really stop until he left work, and then the country, and even from the other side of the world he'd e-mail me, trying to screw with me, but by that stage I'd rejected any form of hope.
And eventually, I forced myself out of love. By the time he e-mailed me saying he was back with his ex and wouldn't be chasing after me again, I was immune to his words. He basically admitted that he was settling for stability and security. I was glad the end had come. I was glad the fuck-up was over. And I'd decided long ago that I would never go near him again.
I never thought I'd get to a point where I didn't care anymore. But I did. And I know that if I can get over that, I can get over anything.
And, besides, I know that love is a cunt.
posted by A Girl Like Me | 6:02 pm
That's the cunt. That one has to endure such a period of misery (which is total), in order to actually become versed in the ways of love, how it moves and it's true worth.