A Tale of Two Sh*ts: My Best Friend and my First Husband

My mum tells the story of what happened to her best friend who had been married twenty years. Let’s call her Susan. One day she came down for breakfast to find the table laid but her husband missing. She had two sons and in front of their plates were two letters with their names printed on the envelope. When the boys (who were 10 and 12) opened them they found an account written by their father who wrote that he was terribly sorry but he was leaving their mother (my mum’s friend) for another family. It turned out the affair Susan had discovered her husband had been having 15 years ago hadn’t ended, as he had promised, but continued to flourish and he and his mistress had gone on to have two children.

This devastating news he thought appropriate to pass on to his young sons via a letter. To Susan he had written nothing. Just left. She later discovered he had been earning twice what he had told her, using the extra money to finance his second family while Susan scrimped and saved, thinking money was tight. It took Susan years to recover.

My beautician told me one of her clients had the worst Christmas ever. She and her husband had been married for ten years and had three children. Throughout that time the woman’s best friend, who was divorced with two children, visited regularly, went on holiday with them and was part of the family. All was going swimmingly until the husband announced AT THE CHRISTMAS DINNER TABLE in front of BOTH sets of young children, that he and the friend had been ‘exploring their feelings together’ and was leaving the wife for the friend. They all had a big row and the husband and friend ran off leaving the wife to look after all the children!

Crappy behaviour by men is something with which we can all identify. Now don’t get me wrong, I am not a man hater. I have a gorgeous (second) husband and I love my brother, and of course, Daryl Dixon. Nothing against men. And of course the stories I hear tend to be from the woman’s perspective. I know damn well there are plenty of examples of shocking behaviour by women, but today – you lucky people – I thought I’d tell you the story of bad behaviour by two people who were very important in my life 25 years ago: my then best friend, let’s call her  Jezebel or Jessie for short, and my first serious boyfriend then husband – I’ll call him Arse.

I met Jessie at sixth form and we hit it off straight away. One of my closest friends had recently moved to America leaving a big gap in my life. Jessie was funny, irreverent and clever. An interesting and complicated personality, her slight darkness complemented my silly, optimistic naivety and we quickly became best friends. Along with Guy who quickly became a central pillar of our triumvirate, we rock and rolled our way through sixth form and I was sad to go off to university without her. By the power of the handwritten word and landlines (seems ridiculously old fashioned now) we kept in touch.

The first term I was away, the central topic of conversation was breathless descriptions of my first serious relationship with someone I met in the halls of residence. His name was Arse. He was short, but striking looking with high, Slavic cheekbones and thickly lashed dark brown eyes. He also had weirdly small teeth like little seed pearls stuck in his gums. Oh and a gigantic nose, but I didn’t really notice when I first met him as I only saw him head on and he kept his mouth shut. He also had a very thin long plait which came down his back like the young Darth Vader.

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At the time I thought it looked cool, but looking back it just made him look like a knob.

He would wear a long Russian great coat and DM boots. All very on trend in the early 90’s. Although I was over 18 by then, I hadn’t had any significant relationships so was pretty bowled over when he showed an interest in me. He was very confident, which was attractive and made up for the nose and teeth.

My most romantic moment with him ever was standing in a seething mob of students at a bar. Loud music, the stink of spilled beer and Guinness – oh and the ubiquitous Newcastle Brown Ale, or Newkie Brown Ale, which I used to pretend to like but absolutely hated. (I preferred snakebite and black). We were standing close together and Arse was holding two pints of beer. ‘I don’t know whether to drink my beer or kiss you,’ he said provocatively.

‘You could do both!’ I said.

Oh the romance!

So that was it. He moved into my tiny room in Halls and we were an item. Gushingly I wrote to Jessie spilling every detail. I couldn’t wait for them to meet. I’m sure they would get on. Both of them had difficult and painful backgrounds. I pictured us telling those stories all young people tell when they first leave home: dredging up all the awful things parents had done;  how they screwed up their poor children. We seemed stuck on repeating the narratives of painful childhoods as we were still too young to have forged proper narratives of our own – just reacting against perceived injustices and unfairness. Is that mean of me? I have a lot less patience with that kind of thing now!

The first holiday began and I couldn’t wait for Arse to meet Jessie and Guy. We arranged a big night out at our favourite pub. I volunteered to drive so everyone could drink. Everyone had a great time. My brother turned up and loads of friends from school. I didn’t miss drinking as I was high on catching up with everyone, buzzing from group to group. I noticed Arse and Jessie were getting on really well and was delighted.

Eventually the landlord threw us out and we made our way home. I was driving Guy’s white VW Beetle and had to focus really hard as the country roads home were very windy and it was pitch black dark.

I noticed Guy, who was sitting in the front seat next to me, was chatting with great animation. It made me smile and I was just thinking goodness he’s drunk a lot tonight, when I saw with a sickening, ice cold jolt, that Arse and Jessie were kissing in the back seat.

I remember Guy shooting me a concerned glance and I smiled weakly. To this day I don’t know why I didn’t stop the car and chuck the two of them out on the road before driving off to Ibiza with Guy.

You see this was just the beginning. Over the next three years I did not handle this at all well. I used to long for term to start so I could get back to university with Arse leaving Jessie and Guy behind. I cannot explain my behaviour. I think I was bewildered by the way both Jessie and Arse acted as thought everything was cool and this was completely normal.

When I tackled Arse about the kissing he just shrugged and blamed the drink. I didn’t say anything to Jessie as I simply did not know where to start. She was my best friend FFS!

I felt gauche and naive and stupid and young. The others seemed so together and with it, I felt I couldn’t express how painful I found all of this without sounding like a square loser.

For the next three years whenever I was home from university I had to brace myself as I knew at some point over the holiday I would catch the two of them together. Not seeing Jessie seemed out of the question. We were best mates. We hung out. We stayed at each other’s houses, we were family.

But every time we went out, the two of them would slip away. I would smoke and drink and smile widely and pretend everything was fine. Once, we had gone back home and stayed up late drinking. Arse said he needed cigarettes with a loaded look at Jessie. She said she would go with him – I carried on nodding and smiling.

They didn’t come back for 24 hours.

Arse and I got jobs over the holidays working in a petrol station. The hours were punishing but the pay was great. The shifts were tough: 2pm – 10pm, 10pm – 6am then 6am – 2pm. One evening I was on the 2-10 shift with the next one starting at 6am the following morning. Arse was down to take over at 10pm. He didn’t turn up at 10, or 11, or 12, 1am. I had no way to contact him as there were no mobile phones.

I alternated from rage to fear that something had happened. Eventually, he arrived just after 2am. Jessie dropped him off.  I had done a 12 hour shift and was exhausted but there was no way I was going to report him. I just left and came back to relieve him at 6am after about three hours of wretched sleep.

In my third year at university, Jessie wrote to tell me she was pregnant. At this point,  I had been assured, she and Arse had cooled off completely (‘for my sake’, they had explained with sickening, condescending faces) and Jessie, who had now started university herself, said she was in a relationship with someone there.

Of course, my instant response, when I read the letter was to stare at Arse. ‘Jessie’s pregnant,’ I said. I remember having to swallow down the bile that washed up from my icy stomach. ‘Is it yours?’

Arse looked shocked. Of course not, he protested. Was I mad? He and Jessie had knocked everything on the head months and months ago. We hadn’t even seen her at all the past holiday as she had been away, he reminded me.

Of COURSE I was suspicious. Of course I wasn’t sure. But he was so convincing I believed him. Well, I said I did. I think it was just what I wanted to hear. If I went on about it too much he started to respond as if I was stupid, or mad, or both so I shut up. I realise now this is a classic case of Gaslighting.

The baby was born. I played the supportive, delighted friend. When we met up I kept a sharp eye on on her and Arse but couldn’t find anything suspicious. When I asked Jessie about the father she would just wave my questions aside, saying he ‘was a dick’ and he was ‘better off out of it.’

A few months later Jessie asked if I could babysit as she ‘had a hot date’. I remember being excited for her. If she had a boyfriend it would help me to relax as hopefully she would leave Arse alone for good now.

Jessie dropped the baby off and away she went. After an hour Arse stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. ‘I promised I would pop in to see Gran tonight,’ he said. ‘And I’ll visit Aunty Sue’s grave on the way  You’ll be OK?’

‘Fine!’ I said, ignoring my heart sinking a little.

He didn’t come back that night. Nor did Jessie. When she finally returned to collect the baby I went ballistic. I screamed and I shouted that I never wanted to see her again. Arse got out of the car and bumped past me. He stank of her. I was revolted. Sickened. And I hated myself that I didn’t have the strength to throw him out too

This was the guy who I was living with. Who I had been in a relationship with now for years. Yet no matter what I said, if he got a chance to be with Jessie, he would take it. I caught them in bed together once, twice, three times. Each time they would promise was the last. This was the final straw. I didn’t know what was worse, getting your lover’s girlfriend to look after your five month old baby while you shagged him, or him lying about going to visit his dead aunt’s grave so he could shag his girlfriend’s best friend.

I spent a lot of time crying. I was in despair. I hated myself for being weak and not sticking up for myself and walking away. It was a mess. It turned me into a paranoid, insecure bag of nerves. I ate and ate to dull the pain. (Kick starting my serious weight problem, thanks, Fuxkfaces)

So why didn’t I walk away?

Because I was a fucking idiot.

Also, because she was my best friend. He was my first love. I just couldn’t imagine how I would cope without them in my life. God, looking back I feel such a mixture of pity and contempt for my twenty-something self. I cannot believe how long I put up with that crap for. It seems inconceivable I would put up with that now.

After Babysitting Gate I would have nothing more to do with Jessie. I decided, in true feeble-woman tradition to stand by my man – a decision that still makes me wince when I think of it today. I kept Arse under a tight a leash as I could. I questioned his every move, and went through his stuff all of the time to find evidence of contact with Jessie. Years and years later I discovered why he put up with it. My mum told me, long after the relationship had ended, that one night Arse has got drunk with her and confessed he had eventually chosen me over Jessie because ‘you guys (my parents) had more money than Jessie’s did.’

‘Why the HELL didn’t you tell me this at the time?’ I asked in shock. ‘You wouldn’t have listened,’ my mum replied. And she was probably right. Many of my friends also came forward later to say Arse would constantly hit on them, saying our relationship was ‘open.’ News to me.

For the next year I would have constant nightmares about Jessie and Arse meeting up behind my back. Any talk of her would make me go cold and nauseous. This was really hard on Guy who remained friends with us both. He learned never to talk of her around me.

Then.. I married Arse! I can’t think why, but I suspect it was because subconsciously I thought if I married him, then I would have finally won him from Jessie. In the six weeks running up to the wedding my aunt, my mother, and my brother kept saying that it wasn’t too late. I could always pull out. That I must not get married unless I was really sure. They could see so clearly that I was making a huge mistake. My mum knew I was doing it for the wrong reasons. She couldn’t bear Arse, but was wise enough not to interfere.

I walked up the aisle thinking, well, I can always divorce him. Then went on to have a blast, partying with my friends, playing bass guitar in the wedding band, wearing my dress and a big pair of Doc Martens. I completely ignored Arse.

As a revenge, at the hotel after the reception, he told me Jessie’s child was, in fact, his. As I had suspected. I shrugged. I knew anyway, but we were married now. Nothing he could do, he was stuck with me.

What a naive stupid fool I was.

Of course the next eighteen months were a farce. Just because Jessie wasn’t around it didn’t mean Arse stopped being unfaithful. He just found other women. I didn’t trust him. Couldn’t trust him. I withdrew from all my female friends in case he tried to get off with them. Strange men would ring me late at night while I thought Arse was working saying, ‘Tell your husband if he doesn’t stay away from my wife, I’ll fucking kill him.’

This wasn’t me. This wasn’t my life. I found all this sickening and squalid. I was always sad.

This was such a low point. I had no self-confidence, I was miserable and loathed myself. I alternated screaming at Arse with begging him to stay.

In fact, that’s the one thing I don’t think I can ever forgive Arse and Jessie for – their behaviour not only meant I never trusted another man for years, but also I abandoned my dear female friends. It left me very lonely. Only Guy, lovely Guy kept me going with his kindness and constant support. Only now can I appreciate how horrific and difficult this must have been for him.

But things were taking a turn. I had started teaching and I was good at it. I was playing in a band. I was slowly becoming more independent and strong. I tentatively made some friends with women at work who bolstered me up.

One freezing day, in Birmingham of all places I was at a marking conference. I had to stay overnight so called home from the hotel to see how Arse was getting on. It was after 10 on a Tuesday night and he didn’t answer. My first thought? ‘Who’s he out screwing?’

And that was it. I was worth more than this. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering where the hell my husband was. A husband who seemed incapable of keeping his dick in his pants. I didn’t care if I would be alone for the first time in seven years, anything would be better than this misery of a life.

I told him to leave. It was messy. It was sad and it was difficult. But I knew if I didn’t shake him off he would destroy me. He didn’t think I would go through with it but I did. I stood firm, even when he tried to run me over when he came to get the last of his stuff – the wanker.

Guy helped me move to my first house and even lived with me for a bit. It helped a lot over that lonely time. I met someone else who was a bit of a rebound but he thought I was great, and helped my confidence levels. I lost a lot of weight. I was still lonely sometimes but oh so much happier.

It’s strange how long you can drag round a great big suitcase stuffed full with numbing cushions of bleakness and damp unhappiness and you stop noticing the burden. When I let that all go, the difference was indescribable and worth all those quiet solo evenings when it was just me and a box of digestives.

I never saw Arse again. I have absolutely no interest in seeing him again. He tried to contact me on Facebook and I looked far enough at his profile to see he was a sad, ageing man living abroad. He  never settled, moving from woman to woman – an empty life whereas mine was full to busting with love and life and beautiful children.

I miss Jessie, though. We were such good friends. In a way, that was the biggest betrayal. And betrayal was what it was. They were the most important people in my life, and they both betrayed me.

I didn’t see Jessie for ten years. I thought of her sometimes, but my life had moved on. The one thing I am grateful to Arse for is when I finally met Rob, I knew he was kind, clever, and loyal. The most important thing of all. I am not sure I would have appreciated his good qualities if I hadn’t been so scarred by the bad qualities of Arse.

So ten years after I had screamed at Jessie to get out of my life, I met her again. It was Guy’s 40th birthday party. He said he really wanted me to come, but then told me he had also invited Jessie. I was so cross with him! It was unfair of me, but I was heavily pregnant with Daughter at the time and very emotional. She would be about four weeks old on the day of Guy’s party. He kept asking if I would come.

Eventually I said I would, but he had to promise to make sure that Jessie kept well away from me.

‘Consider it done!’ he said happily. Friends and family were put on duty to keep Jessie away from my end of the room. Rob and I arrived in full 80’s goth glory carrying a tiny Daughter. (It was a fancy dress party – theme: 80’s) Guy’s gran happily looked after her while Rob and I had a dance and a drink. All the time my eyes were constantly scanning the room. ‘Stop it,’ Rob would say, eyes looking concerned behind the guyliner. ‘Forget about her.’

And then it happened. Despite everyone’s best efforts, Jessie appeared and made her way over to my side of the room. I only noticed because despite the throbbing disco music, the whole crowd had fallen eerily still. Guy threw me a desperate glance and started mouthing something incomprehensible. His boyfriend of the time was gesticulating, and shouting to me. I was mouthing ‘what?’ back when I saw her make her way through the dancers. Wearing a neon boob tube and frizzy hair she had obviously come as a member of Bucks Fizz.

It was so awkward. It felt like everyone in the room was watching. But when she sat next to me it was really odd, I felt like I had zoomed back to being 17 again and part of me wanted to give her a big hug. I didn’t though. With a heroic effort I waited for her to speak.

I can’t remember much of what she said, but I know she began by saying sorry. And that she missed me, and that I had been the best friend she ever had. The saddest thing was she admitted she and Arse never loved each other, ‘it was just sex,’ she said.

In a way it would have been better if they had fallen passionately for each other. A Romeo and Juliet affair with tragic consequences. But no. It was just sex. They created such destruction, such a lasting impact on me, and it was just sex. Such a squalid and depressing biological urge.

I haven’t seen her since. We are now ten years on from then. I am friends with her on Facebook. Rob thinks I’m mad. I can’t really explain why I keep up that contact. Is it so I can show off my perfect (ha! Facebook perfect obvs) life, or is it simply I miss her? That friendship forged at such an important time? I don’t know. I don’t even know if I’ve forgiven her. I think I have. I feel like I can wish her well now without rancour. Maybe one day I’ll message her and we’ll go out and get drunk and cry, then laugh, then put it all behind us. If I do, you’ll be the first to know!

So there it is. More of those scars we all gather as we age. This was all so painful at the time, but losing a child puts all this into perspective. Nothing can ever come close to the horror of giving birth to a dead child. I am pleased that this story, which defined me for so long, now feels like a distant memory which has lost its power to hurt. Because it is so long ago, I am sure the others involved in this will remember events differently, but, as they say, this is my truth and it has been strangely therapeutic to write it all down.

How about you? Ever been mistreated by a man? Or woman! Let me know your stories. And do you think I should contact Jessie again or move on altogether?

Stay strong, warriors – wear your scars with pride!

 

 

 

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18 thoughts on “A Tale of Two Sh*ts: My Best Friend and my First Husband

  1. Sue - live and learn

    Wow! That’s a powerful story. Thanks for sharing that. I made a bad choice of husband, which changed the course of my life, I think, and meant I never had children – my life’s biggest regret. I will share that in a post one day. Meantime, what strikes me from your story is how little you respected yourself in your youth and how how you lacked the confidence to stand up for yourself. Same here! Same for many women, I think. Fortunately for me, and sounds for you too, that changed for the better. I question whether Jessie is a true friend . If she is, I think she would come to you to talk through what she did, apologise and ask for your forgiveness.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. middleagedwarrior

      Thank you so much for this – how sad for you – my heart breaks – I think your story would make an amazing post and I’d love to read it. Yes, I was an idiot in my youth but I wouldn’t put up with that now! I wish I had had more faith in myself then but you don’t, do you? Being young can be tough! Thanks for the read and comment x

      Like

  2. Violet

    I think this is a reasonably common thing to happen to young women, though you certainly got the most brutal version of it. When I was 19, my first boyfriend (older by a couple years) was a totally unsuitable mate. I hadn’t seen it for myself at the time, but he hit on all of my friends and cheated on me relentlessly. Other people tried to tell me about this behavior but I didn’t believe them for various reasons. I think I was fooled was because of my sheer naivety…I did not know men could behave so badly and lie like that, as I had never before witnessed this kind of behavior by anyone in my life. Perhaps I was sheltered, but I truly did not know people could be so terrible.

    I wanted to marry him but by some mercy of the universe, I escaped….though it was not by my own hand. Turns out he’d had a kid with another women while we were together and he just ran off and married her. He never broke up with me, he simply disappeared (I didn’t even learn about his marriage and kid until a decade later when I searched him on the internet). I was heartbroken to the extreme to be abandon like that and did not date for 2-3 years afterward he left me. This pisses me off because those were the most “date-able” years of my life.

    Fortunately I made a full recovery in my mid 20s, and found the most wonderful man who I married and have been with over 20 years. I don’t know that I would have recognized what a catch my husband was if I’d not dated Mr. Asshole first. When I look back I see Asshole as one of the most painful, but certainly the most important, life lesson I’ve learned. He taught me everything important I needed to know about people, and sometimes I feel like I should go back and thank him (but I won’t). Because of him I never made the mistake of being too trusting again, and it has saved me a million times over.

    As for you, I hope you can let go of the guilt you carry over this relationship…we evolve as people, and you just didn’t have time to evolve yet at that age. I am a bit concerned about your being FB friends with Jessie…this woman was NOT and will never be your “friend.” You didn’t just do a bad job of picking a boyfriend, you did a bad job of picking a girlfriend (I say this without judgement as it happened to me, too). Maybe she has evolved as well by now (probably not), but don’t trust her with any morsel of your life, even with FB pics. She is a toxic branch on your tree that should be pruned off ruthlessly, just like Arse. At least that’s my humble opinion, for what it’s worth.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. middleagedwarrior

      It’s really quite astonishing how badly people can behave and, trust me, I’m pretty sure I know exactly how you felt when your boyfriend was sleeping around. At least you had the good sense not to marry him! Also, SO TRUE and frustrating that you waste the years when you’re at your most gorgeous on absolute jerks! I wonder if there are men who make a deliberate attempt to hook in naive young girls starry eyed for a bit of romance. Like you, the good that came out of it was that when I finally met a good man, I knew him for what he was and snapped him up as quick as I could! You are probably right about the FB thing – I’ll think about it. Thanks for the read and the wise words!

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Claudette

    How do you feel now? Your anecdote looks… therapeutic, like catharsis to me. Does it help to have it typed out like this, chronologically? Like you processed it while typing?

    I love the name you chose for him. 😉

    Like

    1. middleagedwarrior

      Oh my goodness Claudette it was so therapeutic! It’s like I’ve written it down, sorted it out in my head and now I really can move on. It was absolute catharsis and it also put things into perspective – mostly in the sense of why the hell am I blaming myself?! They were the ones who were dicks!

      Liked by 1 person

  4. The Lockwood Echo

    Picking up on the ‘our most dateable/gorgeous years’, the risk of hooking up with someone just for looks must be high and lead to shallow relationships. That works both ways. That’s a very hard lesson to have learnt and my heart breaks for the treachery you endured. But, as above and from my own experience, all that crap leads us physically, mentally, spiritually, geographically to the place and person we are now, and who we’re with now. Wouldn’t trade that for anything. I give second chances less and less the older I get. As youngsters, of course we’re going to make mistakes, we’re human. But some mistakes are so big, you only make them once. Those two did a number on you, knowingly, not naively, time and time again. Only you know how you feel about the ‘other woman’, perhaps it’s the idea of what you had as friends rather than the person. Because what you had as friends didn’t seem to mean much to Trollop McSlut over there! If that was one of your friends or a sister, how would you view the situation? Ooh, I’ve gone into lecture mode, I’m so sorry!

    Liked by 2 people

    1. middleagedwarrior

      Trollop McSlut! Brilliant! 😂😂😂😂 yes you’re right – if we were friends the way I thought we were then why is she shagging my boyfriend? D’oh! I suppose they had both had traumatic childhoods and I felt sorry for them – I felt my childhood was relatively happy compared to theirs – but then again, I went through some crap as a kid and I didn’t sleep around on my best mate! Ah well, as you say – those scars make us who we are. No I wouldn’t have it any other way, really. And your new nick name made my evening! Lol

      Liked by 1 person

      1. The Lockwood Echo

        Bad childhood or not, as an adult you know what is right and wrong. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have the knowing or the need for lies, subterfuge, excuses or trickery. To do that time and time again over the course of years is some pretty low shit. Or Slutty McTrollop, whichever rolls of the tongue into a vat of boiling tar easiest 😉

        Liked by 2 people

  5. Juliet

    Oh. my. lord. What a wankery, skanky pair of skeevy scummy humans. I don’t know which of them is worse. I have to admit I was nearly the “other woman” in a really toxic triangle at uni (never admitted this to anyone). A girl and I were great pals – we met when we were both failing cell biology, she started going out with a guy who started trying to go out with me, he/she ditched each other (so he said) so he upped the attentions towards me, I was just a wee bit too resistant apparently as he then went back to her, she was upset (understandably after he added details) came back in my direction, I still wasn’t quite that stupid enough to get fully involved, he went back to her…. on and on. he ended up with her as she was willing to sleep with him – I was too repressed and angst ridden and hung about my fat puppyish body, my glasses, my problem hair, my “noted lack of personality” (his words), and pretty much everything else, I was one fat little walking ball of self loathing in a very untrendy way, not in that self-involved and cute / neurotic way – just inept and spotty. Just think, feeling shit about myself got me into a really awful situation but it also protected me in the end. Nuts. His excuse was a previous girlfriend had been found in bed with his best friend. Actually there is no excuse – none… and I don’t excuse myself either. I was stupid and had no sense of self worth and really settling for THAT – for him? Dear God.I feel sad for my former friend – we have long since fallen out of touch, poor kid that she was.

    And as other posters say – she was NOT your friend, it wasnt even a drunken oncer or a short thing – it went on and on and on, that is unforgivable… I think we have a special sort of love for our female friends that transcends our relationships, so the betrayal is even worse. I do feel a tiny bit sorry for the both of them (not enough to absolve either of them) as happy, well adjusted and even half decent people DO NOT behave like that – they deserved to stew in that misery

    Liked by 2 people

    1. middleagedwarrior

      ‘Noted lack of personality’! Christ! Those are the kinds of words which will haunt you for a lifetime – what a shit! Oh how I remember those years of hating yourself and, looking back, why is that? Because we didn’t fit some kind of ideal? What a big pile of crap. As you say, though, it stopped you falling into a really toxic situation which would have really screwed you up. He sounds like a manipulative little 💩 who consciously preyed on vulnerable young women too insecure to recognise his wickedness. Oh my goodness I am so glad I’m not in my early 20s any more, there is so much more to life than the roller coaster of those poisonous relationships! You’re final words are so right, happy people do not behave that way. I’m pretty sure I’m in a much better place now than they are. Karma? I tell my children all the time what goes around comes around – a good philosophy to pass on I think! Thanks for your comment, it was very thought provoking xx

      Like

  6. whenparkspeaks

    I have been there. Living with a guy for a few years , engaged come home from a company Christmas Party to a note on the apartment door that S was spending the night too late for her to drive home 20 mins. So the entire apartment building was now aware that he had another woman in bed, who happened to be my good friend. I slept on the couch, it was late, no where else to go and I had to wake up early to go to work. She calmly greeted me to tell me “sorry, he said you were not coming home”. Oh that makes it better. Years later he apologized but to this day she never has and unfortunately we work for the same company.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. middleagedwarrior

      Oh dear, it’s awful how many terrible stories there are. What on Earth was your guy thinking? It’s so humiliating when it’s public like that. And eek how awkward she works in your company!!! That must be difficult

      Like

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