This blog began as a way to defend myself against things that had been said about me on Twitter. My initial intention was to post it publicly so people could get both sides of the story and make their own minds up. I never did post it and even took the blog link off my Twitter profile because I realised I didn’t care what people believed, as explained in this blog, that was never the problem. If I’m perfectly honest, I had wanted to explain how the person had made me feel, to them, but he had long given up taking in anything I said that didn’t suit his own narrative, as is evidenced from previous blogs that were apparently read but dismissed immediately. But I did carry on rewriting and updating it as events unfolded, because I had nowhere else to unload. It stopped being about him, I knew he was no longer reading the posts despite saying he was going to go over every point with a red pen. I had known at the time that wasn’t true.
It became quite a monster, like the Confessions blogs, and infuriatingly,wtomepress glitches which made the text jump around when I tried to type or deleted wrong paragraphs and repeatedly force closed meant it’s a bit of a jumble, jumping from one point to something completely different, not unlike my brain. Last week I finally closed that chapter in my head and stepped away from the blog a final time. It’s only now I’ve realised it had stayed in draft form all this time due to a lack of internet connection. So here it is, the final draft.
If you follow me on Twitter, you might be aware that someone shared my last blog post a few days ago with the tweet “the arsehole character in it is me.” It was true and they were well within their rights to share a blog that was about them even though I hadn’t shared it on twitter myself. I had my reasons for that. I’ve never named and shamed anyone, not even the worst DM pests or perverts. While I respect other people’s rights to do so, I’ve always wanted to deal with things myself. I do talk about them, but no names are ever mentioned or anything that’d give away their identity, even removing their pictures and usernames from screenshots. That has enabled me to vent and discuss things without inviting a pile on, with other people getting involved. But most of my venting, especially the things I can’t talk about in a humorous way, are restricted to my blog. I figured if people were going to hear about my private life, it may as well be the full story and provide some context to the last post.
Those of you who read my blog will know this is more of a diary than a blog. It’s almost a form of therapy for me, where I get to think out loud, make sense of things in my head and occasionally find support or advice from others. The vast majority of posts are deeply personal and some are difficult to read, so I always make it clear that my blog isn’t for everyone. It’s not well written or meant to inform or be any kind of authority on any matter, it’s simply there to help me, as you may have noticed from the repetitive nature of it. What some of you may not know is that I don’t share every post on twitter. Though the blog has subscribers, only a handful of people read it if it’s not shared. Being aware of this, I often vent my hurt or frustration about someone and later delete it, knowing hardly anyone will have seen it. As mentioned earlier, no identities are revealed, no names mentioned, but it is in the public domain and people are free to share it even if I haven’t.
My only problem with this person giving away who I had blogged about, was the fact that they were the one who had always been incredibly private. We had pretty much cut off all twitter communication because they were afraid of anyone getting the wrong idea, so much so, they stalked my tweets but never RT’d anything, never liked my pictures and stopped talking to me publicly. It meant even wishing me a happy birthday on twitter was an issue for them.
I have always been open on social media and wouldn’t have cared. I’m linked to most straight men I talk to anyway, so it doesn’t bother me, but while it hurt that they would barely acknowledge me publicly, I had always respected their wishes. However, my openness doesn’t extend to having public rows with someone I cared about, and that is what this amounted to. They hadn’t wanted anyone to know we were even friends, but were happy for everyone to know we hated each other. My ex had done almost exactly the same thing, chosen to hide our relationship, but tweeted about the break-up, no doubt for the sympathy and to let everyone know he was available, (us women are suckers for a sob story) though even he hadn’t mentioned me by name. This person was aware of that, but my ex had become something of an inspiration to them. To clarify, on this occasion, there was no relationship, just a friendship.
I was completely unaware of any of this because I was blocked by him (by my own request) and the first inkling was when I suddenly started getting numerous hits from twitter. I did a search to see who had shared it, but Twitter doesn’t show link text in search results and I wouldn’t have seen it anyway because I was blocked. I figured it’d be a random subscriber and shrugged it off. It wasn’t till the following evening when I discussed the twitter hits I was still getting with someone, that they found out for me and were then put in the awkward position of showing me the tweet.
Several thoughts went through my mind. The first was the hurt, that this was the first thing they had chosen to go public with, while our friendship had been hidden for months. The second was the sense of loss for the anonymity I had always loved, when I needed it most. I knew mutual friends were probably whispering about it and who could blame them? I also knew it painted me as the villain who was being nasty about someone, even though every word of it was true and I had made sure to remove anything that could give away their identity, which isn’t easy when you’re talking about someone on twitter. It was written from a place of hurt rather than to upset anyone and when I had been hesitant, he had always encouraged me to write about him, saying it’d help him learn from it in the future. I felt tricked and didn’t know how to deal with it, all I wanted to do was cry.
There are so many things going on in my life right now I’m struggling with, the fact they hadn’t once asked about my health had been painful enough. I hadn’t expected any help or support, I gave up on that a long time ago, but I hadn’t expected them to make things more difficult for me. They knew my blog had been a lifeline during my toughest times. I had always feared someone from real life would find it and I’d have to shut it down. I had never expected a friend to “out” it. I couldn’t imagine writing in it again without people scrutinising every word and making assumptions about who I was talking about. But above all that, it felt like yet another betrayal from the same person who hadn’t given my feelings a second thought as had often been the case, because they were always so wrapped up in their own.
They held all the cards, always. Getting in touch when it suited them, not when I needed it, deciding when and how long we spoke for, when to do it publicly and when not. They never looked beyond their wants, needs and feelings, always expecting things to fall into their lap with no effort and feeling incensed if they didn’t. Genuine anger that they had to work at something, because they had never had to, never wanted to. The idea that any meaningful relationship of any kind takes effort, being completely alien to them, opting for any distractions to avoid thinking instead. It wouldn’t even cross their mind to think how their actions would impact on others, well certainly not mine. I can’t speak for others. Like I said in my previous blog though, they’re not the same person anymore. When we reconnected 6 or so months ago, I met someone else shortly after who has since become a good friend. Had anyone asked me at the time who would still be around 6 months later, I’d have got it completely wrong, despite the past. I had wanted to believe him.
In the end, I deactivated all social media, set my blog to private and hid. This doesn’t come naturally to me, but I just couldn’t cope with everything else that was going on. It’s only now that I realise how guilty that must have made me look. But I can honestly say, hand on heart, I don’t care about what other people think. I don’t care about any whispering. As a friend pointed out, real friends won’t be doing that. I also know many won’t believe me because I’m pretty outspoken and he’s the sweet guy who’s everyone’s friend. The only thing that has upset me is losing my blogging therapy and the complete lack of regard for my feelings from someone I cared about. Don’t confuse that with shame though, I stand by every word and I haven’t done anything wrong, that’s the only reason I haven’t deleted that blog post which would otherwise be long gone by now. If anything I’ve said is untrue, then they are free to write about it in their own blog, something else that’s suddenly either disappeared, or I’ve been blocked from visiting.
If the objective was to garner sympathy, then I’m sure they got it. But these were not the actions of a ‘private person’ which was the reason he had always given for not speaking to me publicly. He hadn’t wanted to be the subject of gossip, or for anyone to think he liked me, it was the single biggest issue for him, but was happy for them to think we hated each other. The former would ruin his chances with other women on twitter, the latter would signal he was available and in need of comfort. Although he still insists he did it to show everyone what a terrible person he is, not to make me look bad. I don’t believe it for a second. He could have done that himself. He often spoke publicly about needing a hug or not liking how he looked, but never about how he felt or how he treated me or any remorse for his behaviour, because there wasn’t any and he would never risk his chances like that. The only things he did say were the things that made people go awwww. Even reading this, his only reaction would be how it affects him and any technical details I might’ve gotten wrong. Not that he has made someone feel like this. He justifies everything to himself and plays the martyr. Having removed the tweet after everyone had seen it 2 days later, and reading this blog and seeing my reasons for why his sharing it hurt, he instead posted things I had said to him during an argument, out of context, on his bio. Knowing now that everyone would know I had said it. That’s how sorry he was, not at all. But his apologies had never been genuine in all the time I had known him. If he found out something had hurt me, he made a point of doing it again. It was an endless cycle that I allowed to happen. My fault.
That said, his behaviour isn’t limited to just me. He has a history of treating women like this. I had told him it was unacceptable when I had found out about them and he had seemed genuinely remorseful, but he still continues to do it and not only to me. Leading them on, showing just enough interest until they show it back, then backing off. He has done it to 5 women that I know of, in the space of a year. Probably more. He’s also tried to pit them again each other, but unluckily for him, I tend not to blame other women for how he has made me feel. Something that bothered him because I often got the feeling he wanted me to be jealous.
When we started talking again last Summer, he told me he was ashamed of how he had treated me, how sorry he was that it had cost him 8 months of speaking to me and how he would try his best to earn my trust again. Of course, none of it was true, but even though he knows that, it doesn’t stop him constantly lashing out at me, doing those things again and again, evading questions, using delaying tactics to avoid discussing something until he can run away, which he does without fail. Throwing accusations at me, not because they have ever been a concern, but to divert from a topic that makes him uncomfortable. The only constant I can count on is that he doesn’t want to be around me.
Every conversation is now just taunts and anger, no evidence of understanding or trying or wanting to make things right. Admitting (only when pushed) that he’s behaved badly, but resenting me for reacting instead of cutting me some slack. Getting off on technicalities, expecting me to believe what he tells me is in his head instead of showing it, expecting blind trust after everything, despite not trusting me, even though I don’t have his history of lying. There has never been one moment where he has thought that my anger has been justified, that hurt is a natural reaction, felt bad enough to let me lash out and take it like I have done so many times. If he’d really felt bad, he’d have tried to understand instead of always opting for “I’ll get her back for that, tit for tat.” Nothing to show he would stay, nothing to show he was steady, nothing to show I could rely on him, that he’d be there when I needed him. I despised him demonstrating everything I didn’t need, while telling me it was what I wanted. Always more comfortable talking about me than to me.
Not once has he asked me if we can discuss something that bothers him. It’s only ever brought up during a fight to avoid a question. I even gave him the example of how men do this to distract from women’s issues, but he deliberately played dumb, asking me to explain something that had happened 6 months ago, never mentioned before, and getting steadily angrier and angrier when I couldn’t accurately remember it. Accusing me of being a tease, a liar, squirming under pressure, ignoring his points, a projection of all his behaviour, though even he admitted he didn’t really believe any of it, but he never passed up an opportunity to make me his verbal punching bag. Making me feel terrible for just talking about an ex because it meant there was a link, while he had links to almost all the important women in his past. He lied to me about meeting his ex, telling me he didn’t care about her and would break contact, then meeting her again as soon as we fell out. A married woman, who wanted an affair with him. Telling me the first time it was because I had asked for a break and he was devastated and needed someone, until I pointed out that actually, he had his dates mixed up and he had been talking to me all day that day and massively overcompensating for the guilt.
This was a common theme, the “I was devastated by something you’d done, so I behaved badly”. He did it again when after getting sick of this treatment and feeling heartbroken, I told him to just meet his ex because he clearly wanted to at Christmas. He nearly bit my hand off in eagerness, and stopped talking to me for 2 months. He actually said the words “I decided to put you on hold.” Only he didn’t bother telling me at the time. Who does that? Who tells you they’re going to meet their ex, the one they previously lied to you about, neglects to tell you they’re putting you on hold while they do that for a couple of months, and expects you to just be waiting when they choose to get in touch? How can someone who does that, have any respect for you? More recently, telling me he had done it because I told him to, then arguing definitions that that wasn’t the same as doing it FOR me. Technicalities.
The blaming me theme continued, with the reason for his telling everyone my blog was about him and sharing it being because he was upset about me comparing him to my ex. Caught out again, because I did that in this blog, not the last, but like I said, it was a common theme. What evidence was there, what desire was there, what attempt was there to show he cared, could be trusted, felt any remorse? Only words and even they were forced and usually taken back and everything justified. Every conversation was like starting from scratch. Making me prove the same points, arguing semantics, until I got fed up and told him to leave me alone, and he’d be off. Repeatedly telling me he had had to walk out of work because he was upset, but never being too upset to miss a pub night or any of his ever increasing activities that gave him an excuse to disappear or avoid thinking about his behaviour, and meet new people instead, even when I was clearly upset or unwell, because the crux of the matter is this: he was lonely and he used me because I was chattier than most and showed an interest and while it we fun, he was interested and the minute it became serious, he wasn’t. But if I ever dared to suggest that he just wanted a bit of fun, he would lose it with me. Despite all the evidence. Even though that would have been more honest.
He told me repeatedly, over and over and over again, that if he got some reassurance from me, he would put me first, risk everything else. “You don’t have to say you feel the same, just that there’s a chance if I play my cards right.” So I did, having resisted for so long because I’d been scared he didn’t mean it, I told him I liked him more than as a friend. He ran away, nothing changed. When I told him I’d expected it, he changed the goalposts again “You may have said it, but I didn’t feel it.” Tricked again. I have no doubt that had we met, I’d never have seen him again…that’s if he even bothered turning up, or didn’t cancel, like he did with others because remember, knowing they’re interested is what’s important. I wasn’t his type, it wasn’t me he was interested in, just what I gave him.
The other thing that became an issue was me telling him not to ask how I was in relation to being sick. Like I’ve mentioned before, the first time I got sick, I was told I wasn’t real life enough to call, it was suggested I was faking it (because he logged out of twitter to read my messages, which meant the order was mixed up, which he took to mean I was changing my story) but called his ex, one he hadn’t spoken to for months, to ask about her sick cat, and also told me I had asked for less talking, so although he could send me silly messages and say “hope you’re ok” once, from his joke account, he couldn’t possibly ask. He also resented the fact that I didn’t tell him directly, even though I knew he read my tweets without fail and would’ve seen it. His hurt at not being told, trumped my sickness. This time, he had an added excuse for running away, “I didn’t want to upset you because you’re unwell,” knowing full well that keeping quiet, uncertainty and the silent treatment stressed me out more than talking. But it was never about me, any of it. What I needed and what he pretended I needed in order to justify his actions and play the martyr, were completely different things. He may as well have mansplained what I wanted and needed back to me. Leaving me alone was what HE wanted, not me.
He explained nothing, often unable to even answer for long periods of time without explanation, even if it was a short conversation after weeks of silence. It was like talking to someone who was always looking over your shoulder. (The strange behaviour often threw up more questions than answers, which add my anxiety far more than if he’d just been honest.) Something he never used to do, something he again learned from reading about my ex. The pretense of concern and for my wellbeing bothered me far more than the lack of it because as with meeting his ex, it was explained away as something he did for me, even though I hated it. He’d deflect from a point to say “please don’t upset yourself” or not answer when I asked about his health, under the guise of caring about my health but this, everything in this blog continued, so no real concern for my health, just a show of it.
He had told me several times either in anger, or as a supposed good deed, to start dating again but bar one occasion, I didn’t, nor would I have told him I was doing it for him, even though I had every reason to. I had a mind of my own, as did he and if I chose to go down that route, I’d be doing it for me. He even angrily told me that all it would take for me to get together with someone else was “a few months of silence from me.” I didn’t know where to begin with that. Surely I’d be justified, having already spent over half a year in limbo, not knowing if I’d ever speak to him again. Not only that, he’d spent that time weighing up his other options while ignoring me, which he saw as justified. Yet me moving on after months of being ignored, would in his eyes, still be wrong. The double standard was unbelievable. Was I supposed to wait indefinitely just on the off chance he might get touch one day? Something I’d already done several times when he left me. He wasn’t the only one who wanted to feel wanted or needed. Not even a text on Valentine’s Day, while my head was filled with images of him gifting his “late Christmas present” to his ex.
Feeling deeply upset, I told him how much that hurt and after weeks of arguing, he relented that it didn’t look good. Anyone in my position would think he didn’t care and who wants pity? Having said he’d learned from this (although how can caring be learned? You either do or don’t) when I was diagnosed with depression, I had asked him to leave me alone after putting me on hold, but he was still reading my tweets. He didn’t ask how I was but sent me camomile tea, which I threw away. I needed a friend, not a token gesture. When we eventually spoke again around our birthdays, I told him how much that had hurt and he apologised again, saying he couldn’t believe he’d made the same mistake twice.
Then more recently, I’ve been ill. It’s been months, I’ve had and am having tests, had some scares, been very poorly. Guess what? He didn’t ask, but he did send a message giving me the 111 number if I needed it, which was worse than not asking. Not once, not until after I tweeted and blogged about how much that upset me, did he finally ask, at which point I told him to sod off because he clearly didn’t care. Ever since, he has used that against me. “You told me not to ask. This is what I get when I do.” What choice did I have? It was far too little, far too late and completely insincere. I had never wanted him to follow instructions. I should have known when he chose to call his ex instead of me, that he didn’t care. I’m an idiot and I desperately wanted to believe he’d just been clumsy in showing his feelings. I should have walked away then.
His other excuse was “you had told me to leave you alone.” I had. But he had still sent the “call 111” message, he had still sent the teabags, he just couldn’t ask “how are you feeling?” Not my rules, his. I had repeatedly said go away or try your best, but he wouldn’t leave me alone and opted for half hearted gestures. He made up rules as suited him, the truth being he liked the idea of me more than the reality. The making presents, writing to me in a diary, making videos for me after I’d already told him I’d deleted the onedrive link. All of them worked one way with no input from me. The idea, not the person. He didn’t want an answer, any communication, but he wanted to cover himself so he could say he tried if I ever brought it up, despite knowing from past experience that the gestures were worse than silence to me. Oh, and he told me “You were online so you must be fine.” I wasn’t for a while, but even so, an insensitive thing to say, knowing people are quite capable of using their phones when ill. There were too many comments like this to count, some sexist, others mean spirited.
The worst part? Just a couple of days before I got sick this time, I found out he had upped his dosage on his medication. He didn’t tell me, I found out, and I immediately texted him to find out if he was alright. This was after I had told him to leave me alone, knowing how stupid it made me look, but his health was more important to me than my pride or any rules. I had been half an hour late for a work appointment because he was upset after his diagnosis and I called to cheer him up, not leaving till he sounded happier and told me to go. Then finally, the terror attack happened, minutes from where I work. No, of course he didn’t ask. Why? “You told me not to.” I gave up.
Hilariously, he did find find time to have a go at me for not asking after a mutual friend, with no trace of irony and assuming our lack of communication must be my fault, with no information. Another dagger, knowing it was a sore point, expecting the worst of me. And he wondered why I stopped confiding in him. For someone whose whole image was of a nice, sensitive guy, he could be shockingly insensitive to me. He was incapable of thinking about anyone else, it all came back to him. My illness was about how it made him feel, how it affected him. Only he could hear I was unwell and his first thought would be “well she should’ve told me” not “I need to know how she is.” I had never met anyone so selfish apart from my dad. The whole world revolved around them without a care for anyone else.
Since then, there have been more games. Telling me he had never used FB much and that was the reason he never sent me a request, despite repeatedly telling me I showed up as a suggestion, but had now downloaded messenger, coincidentally after reconnecting with his ex there and the one place he was never keen on me friending him because messenger timestamps can’t be hidden. Insisting he had never stopped me friending him, but always trying to put me off, and I had no intention of being anywhere I wasn’t wanted. It was odd that he wanted me away from there despite stalking my whole web history. It didn’t inspire trust. Neither did him repeating everything I ever told him someone else had done. From meeting his ex and lying, to assuming I was at fault when a friend and I distanced ourselves, ignoring me when I broke down, hiding me away online even after once saying in an email that he wanted to prove to me that I wasn’t someone to be ashamed of, saying he’d tried everything despite not once picking up the phone, they all were things he knew others had done. Yet he expected me to confide in him.
WhatsApp statuses were directed at me, saying how worried he was. Just as I allowed myself a smile at seeing it, he deleted it after a perceived slight, so not that worried. In hindsight, it was a long shot that I’d see it and he hadn’t counted on it, much like the videos and diary, it was just the idea of me he wanted, no reply. It reminded me of when my ex told me he’d called me every night, but on a phone he knew I never turned on except when he told me to. Leaving it upto fate, on the off chance I might see it. Games. Given and taken back, a running theme that made it impossible to take anything at face value, yet he still resented me for doubting him. He used every excuse to run; can’t get upset at work, going out, sleeping, yet entire holidays went by without a word from him. He only ever made contact when he had other plans so if I replied, he ran. The will wasn’t there, but if I dared say it, I’d get an angry “Don’t tell me what I want.” He even made a point of telling me he’d deleted the videos he’d made for me and I was grateful I hadn’t watched them.
Everything was conditional with me, but he accepted friendship with others on their terms, even his ex. Asking me if I was looking for an excuse to talk to him, when I finally did react to one status and making me feel small. An arrogant thing to say, a trait I had always found offputting in men and never seen in him before December, not the words of someone with self esteem issues as he claimed. “You had to seek it out” he told me, just like he did, with my blogs and tweets. Hiding his “last seen” on WhatsApp immediately after our last fight, doing it on another number that he didn’t even use, just to be petty, yes, all the signs of being concerned about me. Yet posting a seemingly nice, contradictory status, with my name written formally, not what he called me. Something that he’d done on twitter on my birthday and knew had upset me. Just in case anyone thought we were friendly enough for him to call me by a shortened name. That’s how paranoid he was about anyone thinking anything was going on. That ashamed. And even that, he projected, telling me I was ashamed of him when I didn’t @ him into a picture of a present he’d sent me, despite me always saying I didn’t care what people thought. Always projecting. Still making excuses for all of the above, arguing every point till I gave up, ecstatic when I told him to go because “It’s what you want, I’m just doing as you ask.” Claiming to be ashamed of how he’d treated me, with nothing to back it up, no attempt to do things differently or to make it up to me, no making amends, but shouting at me for saying there was no desire to try “Don’t speak for me.” He read this blog and the only thing he took in was a technical point about how Onedrive works.
Our last conversation; he made a big deal of trying to change his plans, then when I told him to go, couldn’t wait to get away. When I pointed it out, he pretended to be really upset at not being able to get cover. In all the time I had known him, come sickness, tears, arguments, he had never once tried to cancel his plans. Not even a regular drink. No matter how bad the situation. So I didn’t believe him. Nor did he offer to talk at another time. I sat there and sent an essay’s worth of WhatsApp messages, getting everything off my chest. Crying, talking about how I felt, how upset I was. He kept looking in, never replied. I was transported back to years ago, as a child, crying, pleading and screaming at my dad to talk to me, while he stared at the TV like he couldn’t hear me. Completely calm. He likened the idea of just cancelling one drink in extenuating circumstances, to giving up his friends. Telling me it meant giving up his social life. I looked at the stats page for one of his activities. He attented more than anyone on his team, yet he never ever missed a game for me come sickness or arguments. I had done it more than once for him and managed to keep my friends. And yet he was the one who “loved me and nothing else mattered.” Though I did find it amusing how someone who repeatedly made out he had very few friends, was always out every night and his phone never stopped pinging with messages.
The one thing I can’t forgive more than anything is the lying. Not having the guts to say he doesn’t care and never loved me. Getting angry when I suggest it and telling me he’s just following orders. Making me fight every point, every single time. The anger, the accusations, the lack of concern, the covering up, the sneaking around, the lying, doing things he knows others have done and how much they hurt, betraying my trust, being disloyal, false promises, passive aggression, drawing parallels despite our different histories, disrespect, no regard for my feelings, no compassion just as a fellow human being, let alone more, compounding my insecurities, giving just a little and taking it away. Nitpicking and arguing technicalities to ignore the bigger picture. I constantly had to worry if I could believe what he said or he’d find some clause to get him off the hook later. Making me feel like a dirty secret, someone to be ashamed of on twitter, then going over the top with other women in front of me. Telling me he’d do certain things only for me, nobody else, then doing them publicly when he put me on hold. Using things against me that were precious to us before. Making me a too short scarf and saying he wanted to make me something different, not the same old thing, to show he cared, something I would wear and think of him. I treasured it. Didn’t care it was short. Then afterwards “putting me on hold” and hooking up with his ex and tweeting and instagraming about making a scarf for someone else as a late Christmas present, how it had to be the right size, posting pictures, until I sent mine back. Deliberately not blocking me until I had seen it, despite having agreed to.
He admitted nothing, even after I showed him a screenshot where he had said “love was saying no to that extra pint or game because she’s waiting.” His reply? “I read it.” Nothing changed. But how dare I doubt him, not believe him, not trust him. He knew the silent treatment was the worst thing someone could do to me, I had deep rooted issues with abandonment, and he did it repeatedly. He knew how anxious I got not knowing if I’d speak to him again, how I found uncertainty difficult and tried to say goodbye properly on good terms several times, yet he put me on hold without telling me. Insisting even then, it was what I wanted, even though I had stayed up talking to him all night, because he was upset. In return, he fobbed me off for 2 days, saying he’d talk to me, then saying he’d overslept or was going out, but not telling me till the last minute and not checking his messages, something he’d never done before, until I gave up, humiliated. No apology was ever given for any of this when he got back in touch 2 months later, (even then I made the first move for his birthday) expecting things to just go back to how they were after making a fool out of me and leaving me a mess for the second Christmas in a row. I can’t even talk about it now without feeling a weight on my chest and a lump in my throat. My only question to him; why continue to lie about your feelings?
I know why, because admitting to me would be admitting to himself that he didn’t mean it and got carried away in the lie. A lot of his reluctance to see things as anyone else would, stems from his need to feel like a good person, the anti lad, not a player. He thinks that because he doesn’t use lad language, it sets him apart, even though he treats women the same, as there for his convenience. His whole image is of the geeky nice guy, it’s what I found so endearing. And it’s real except where women are concerned, once feelings come into the mix. He will gravitate towards anyone who tells him what he wants to hear. Again, that doesn’t inspire trust.
He felt rejection from me and chased until I felt something for him. It was the same with his ex and her newfound interest in him after rejecting him for someone else previously. He didn’t need the relationship with me or the affair with her. Just the interest so he could get that boost, the..”still got it!” He did the same with women on twitter and the other ex with the sick cat. Just enough interest from them to lose his. And don’t worry, if anyone had said all this to me about him, I wouldn’t have believed them either.
The sad, self deprecating, yearning, upset tone he adopted around others, was not the one he used with me anymore. One thing that didn’t change was his excuse for all of it, “I was doing what you wanted.” The similarity to my ex, in the Confessions blogs, was staggering. And he read them and still did it, continues to do it and say it’s what I want, not that he’s left me no choice. Even though there have been occasions where I have sent him screenshot after screenshot of me saying it’s not what I want, all ignored of course. No remorse. No conscience. Only an abundance of self pity. He picked his moments though, either the worst times of the year for me, birthdays and Christmas, or the worst times emotionally, ill health and depression lows.
I had always said to him, either try your hardest, give it your all, or go away and never return. I couldn’t cope with the half hearted and needed either to sort it out properly, or a clean break. The not knowing ate away at me, he knew that. But he always wanted his cake and to eat it too. Going away and just as I started getting used to it, he’d throw a message or note or something out, then go again. Sending a card at Christmas ‘To the one I love’ which upon opening, turned out to be from his cuddly toy, bearing in mind this was when I was on hold, so not really in the mood for jokes which could be seen as games. It left me feeling wretched every time and I’d be back to square one. Just one of a steady stream of options as back ups.
I had to back him into a corner to get him to admit he had wanted to meet his ex. And he said “I didn’t need her when you were there. I needed someone to ask after me.” Not only disrespectful to me, but to her too. To be used for his convenience. Enjoying the attention. Only ever needing to sense an interest to stroke his ego and pretending it’s fine to do that as long as he’s not having an affair. He lied and said he’d backed off after she expressed an interest in him, but not enough to not go to the trouble to make a late Christmas present, though I’m sure that was as much about making me feel shit than doing something for her. To use someone like that. It was then I realised I could have been anyone. It was only ever about what we could do for him. He liked the attention, liked that I was there for him no matter what. Who gave him those things almost didn’t matter. I wasn’t willing to settle for that. We were all replaceable. And yet, she hates me, not him, because society teaches us to blame women for everything. I don’t subscribe to this and feel sorry for all of them. They were as much a pawn in his game as I was. The objective of the game? To make him feel desirable at any cost. He’d justify anything with “I needed to feel wanted.” I no longer had any doubts he’d go to any lengths to feel that, use anyone, ignore anyone, play with anyone, and still explain it away. This didn’t inspire trust.
And this, all of this, because he couldn’t cope with rejection. I should have seen it, all of it, especially when he spoke about how he could be a dick to women who fancied him if he didn’t care about them. I’m just grateful I never met him, especially after bearing in mind all the claims about loving me and never having felt like this before, dismissed in the end with “Oh there were caveats. I’d been on Tinder dates I got on well with but were bad when we met.” There’s only one way to take that, but he tried to put a different spin on it later.
The first time he had stopped talking to me was when I had said no to a date because I barely knew him. He then suggested going to a show as friends and I had agreed, then he cut me off. No real desire to meet me, just wounded pride that it wouldn’t be on his terms, a date. Suggesting a meeting and backing out was another thing he did more than once, it was another reason why I was reluctant. He just wanted to know there was that interest there, not to actually do anything about it. And still I tried to be friends even after that, no apology, and paid for it. He never cared about me, I could’ve been anyone. Just a name on a list, and yet, he kept telling me not to blame myself, that it was all in my head when I said I was unlovable. It made me want to laugh and cry at the same time, because that was exactly what he had painstakingly proved beyond any doubt and he was the last person whose pity or platitudes I wanted.
Yet, he told me he loved me. Months ago. Had never felt like this. Missed me terribly, wanted every message to be from me. He only said it for a week or two, (using emojis, even then, struggling to say it directly after an initial email.) Then during an argument, I told him it was just attraction, he fancied me, not the same thing and just to be honest. He refused, adamant that he was certain and would never take it back. Just as I started to believe he might actually be telling the truth, he abruptly stopped saying it. This was in October. The only time he did mention it after that was in the third person. “I fell in love with someone”, not “you”, “someone.” I brought it up in conversation many times, he always swerved it. Taken back, like everything else, but no, he didn’t lie, “his language changed.” Technicalities. Although to be fair to him, I’ve yet to meet a man who has honestly said he doesn’t love me anymore/never did, and walked away without someone ready to walk to. They usually just treat me like he is now, keen to get away, angry, spiteful, until their prowling proves fruitful, usually with another woman like me, who is a sucker for a sob story.
Like I said, I wasn’t his type either physically or as a person. Wrong hair colour, skin colour, unwilling to settle for scraps. He hated it that I didn’t need his help or make him feel useful and was capable of fighting my own battles. He’d always said he hated confrontation and I had accepted that, him putting himself in a difficult position for me once, being the single gesture that touched me most, because he’d stuck his neck out for me unprompted, even though he hadn’t actually said anything.But I’ve since seen him defend someone vociferously, someone I’d always said he was interested in, and realised it was just me who wasn’t worth the effort. The final tiny thing that had meant something to me, diminished. It made me realise just how little I had been willing to settle for, such a small thing that I told him meant so much to me. And I didn’t even get to hold onto that. He made sure of it.
And this, all this, is just the tip of the iceberg. The blaming me for keeping him up late, then staying up all hours when we weren’t speaking, no wonder he decided to cover his tracks this time. Telling me he grew his facial hair because I liked it, then shaving it off every time he met his ex, who didn’t. Complimenting other women, never me, until I made a throwaway remark, after which it was all “you’re stunning, you look stunning” I was never not stunning according to him after that, but it was never genuine. Stopping speaking to me on my birthday, saying he felt terrible about tweeting and ignoring me on it, then doing it again the following year, waiting till almost midnight to say it, my name written formally in case anyone mistook a Happy Birthday for a “I want to jump your bones.” The very next morning, wishing a mutual friend a cheery Happy Birthday with no regard for how it’d make me feel. Hating me for saying everything was prompted even though he never did anything of his own accord for me, but did with others. Once, even saying how hard he found conversations without hearing tone, but still not calling me unprompted after the first time. Not even when we fell out, insisting he’d tried everything, all the more unbelievable because he’d just read the Confessions blogs at the time where I repeatedly said my ex did the same thing. When he eventually did call, he didn’t have much to say for himself, no explanation, nothing. Where once he had been scathing of people who had treated me badly, he was now sympathetic, telling me I had imagined or assumed things. Faith gone. Loyalty gone. Except where my ex was concerned, whom he hated for no apparent reason other than he had behaved the same towards the end.
All this, the behaviour of someone who was supposedly trying to earn my trust, who cared, who loved. Stalking my history on Google, telling me he wanted to find out about me so he could impress me, yet taking no notice of the most personal things, like my blogs, like my tweets, and opting to look at my Spotify and Jams history. His Spotify profile the other thing he hid when his whatsapp last seen disappeared. But yes, earning my trust. I pressed him on it, but he had no answer so evaded. He clicked on my blog less and less as time went on, but only to check for new posts, not actually read them. I suspect he skimmed them, because I mentioned things several times that he didn’t appear to know about. Or maybe he just ignored them, so set was he on defending himself. This happened a lot during conversations as well. He’d switch off and be thinking about a defence for something I’d said earlier or thinking up things to accuse me of, things even he didn’t believe, but would ease his conscience, but he was hardly ever present in the conversation we were having. He also deleted my number for a time and told me he was going to give away something that had become an in joke between us. All of it supported what I’d said about weaning himself off, but he still, caught red handed, wouldn’t admit it. He went from being someone who was worried enough about me after just a work night out in December to risk asking me if I’d got home safely, to not caring about me during illness and a terror attack. A significant change.
It’s always been the same. He’s keen to talk until I give in, then he disappears. I told him he had started to wean himself off me when he first started disappearing. It was obvious when a guy who once struggled to talk less for a few days, started leaving longer and longer gaps between talking. He still denied it, never honest. Days to weeks to months. Now at a stage where he just wants occasional small talk, something I’m not prepared to do. I tried one last time to see if there was anything there. He spent the week saying he was busy at work, going out, or went to bed when the topic of conversation got too serious, though he was happy to keep it flirty. If, like he’d kept saying, he’d wanted to really make a go of it, he had that week to prove it, to show he was still the same guy, but he just reinforced everything I’d said. Although when I finally gave up, he pretended to get upset again. He even went from thanking me for giving him the incentive to seek help, to telling me it was me who left him needing therapy, then got into an argument about how technically, that wasn’t the same as saying it was my fault. If someone told you you left them needing therapy, how would you see it?
He needed everything spelling out because nothing came naturally and yet, resented me for saying it was prompted. Reading my diary, all these blogs and feigning ignorance about knowing what I wanted, needed. Never admitting it when I said we were too different, that I wanted to be with someone who WANTED to do those things, not a robot following a manual. My equal, someone who had my back, someone who showed they cared, didn’t make me feel like I came last all the time, having spent a lifetime being made to feel like that. And nothing. He did nothing. It was all lies. None of this was about earning trust, just actively destroying it. Expecting forgiveness instead of earning it. Angry that I was unwilling to just turn a blind eye. I’d love to know how much he’d have been willing to forgive me. After silence again on Valentine’s Day, after big claims about what he was going to do earlier, I finally gave up and agreed to go on a date with someone who had been asking for months and I had dismissed, even while I had been “on hold.” One date, but I still haven’t been allowed to forget it. Not because he cared about me dating anyone else, but because he wanted to keep his options open. In reality, I think he’d be relieved because then he could blame our issues on another man, and make it about my choice instead of his behaviour and play the victim. One of the reasons why I didn’t take it any further.
There was a time he hated being away from me. I remember once when we weren’t speaking for a week and he wrote in a diary to me. When he did get in touch and I told him how much it had hurt that he left me, there had been genuine remorse. He beat himself up about it for weeks. It wasn’t for show, like everything is now. Back then, a week was a long time for both of us and he always tried hard to sort things out because both of us hated it. This guy now is not the same person. Always looking for an alternative, the grass is always greener, angry, deflecting, sneaking, with no desire to try beyond empty gestures and words. Keeping people hanging and playing them and using them, nothing like he was. I don’t recognise him, he’s not my friend, and it’s frightening. I read back some of our email conversations from late September, through to November and it was like a different person had written them. Even the tone he speaks to me in is different, not apologetic, not concilliatory, just angry and accusing or worse, indifferent. I would no longer trust him not to cheat on someone, get off on a technicality and tell them he did it for them.
He has treated women badly before, then apologised years down the line to clear his conscience. I’ve made it clear that will never happen with me. I let him do it once, when I got in touch and he didn’t even apologise, and still I gave him friendship. He did it again at Christmas, I’ve yet to forgive him. In fact, he hasn’t even apologised. But now, with everything I’m going through, how he’s behaved is inhuman. And no apology in some distant future to absolve him of his guilt will ever be enough for what he’s put me through. I’m struggling and I need a friend and he isn’t here, and he’s done his best to make me feel worse when it is barely possible to feel any worse. No apology will ever make up for that.
I’m leaving him alone now, for him, only for him, what he wants. Can’t say clearer than that. It’s either that or more of this, so not a choice, but that didn’t stop him even during our last conversation, saying that he kept getting angry because all he wanted was to talk to me and I didn’t want to hear from him, so he behaved in ways he later regretted. If he really believed I didn’t want to talk to him, then he either hadn’t listened to a word I’d been saying for 6 months, or he was using his tried and tested get out of “I was devastated by something you did, so I behaved badly.” I knew if he hadn’t listened to me by now, taken in any of the blogs in which I repeatedly say it’s not what I want, screenshots, emails, phonecalls, then he never would, and just sighed inwardly instead of having the same argument again. It had taken months for him to admit that not asking about my health had been his choice and he’d rewritten it, but if we’d spoken again, I’m sure he’d have taken that back too. How can you argue with someone who lies to himself and rewrites everything to avoid guilt? I know my anger and hurt stems from how I’ve been treated and all the memories it’s brought back from my past, but I’m not sure where his hate for me is coming from. I finally deleted him from WhatsApp after my monologue. Fortunately or unfortunately, I have bigger things to worry about. I have said my piece, I just didn’t want to leave the readers wondering, or for people to think I’m hiding. I’m many things but I’m not a hider. I confront, I’m open, and I’m honest. I got played, taken in, hook, line and sinker. All I can do is learn from it and move on. I have no interest in slagging anyone off either privately or publicly to anyone, so please don’t get in touch to do that. I wanted to give my side of the story after being gossiped about for weeks. They may have made it clear they don’t care about me, but I still care, that doesn’t just go away overnight, even though I’m angry, nor am I after anyone’s sympathy. I’ve said my piece so let that be an end to it.
With most men I know, out of sight means out of mind, so I’m sure my online absence will help him move on even though he denied it. I can see he has already but as with everything else I’ve ever said to him, it’ll take him a while to admit it to himself and even longer to be honest about it out loud. I feel physically and emotionally exhausted from going around in circles every time. It was unnecessary and he hadn’t tried even once to make it easier for me, so when he would tell me not to upset myself to deflect a point, it just felt patronising and had the same effect “calm down dear” has when said by soneone who has enraged you. Only he did it over and over again until he broke me and I let him because I desperately hoped for a different outcome, but he didn’t care or have enough respect for me to afford me that. By now, I genuinely believe that if something did happen to me, all he would feel would be overwhelming relief. Why else would you not even pick up the phone during an emergency instead of hiding behind excuses? There really is no answer to that other than he didn’t care. Having been in this position so many times with so many men is soul destroying. I look at the world, look at my experiences and I just want to give up the fight. What a society we have that raises men like these who treat women like this, who continue to do the same things repeatedly while we forgive them, but who still feel shocked and outraged when you dare to challenge them and more often than not, women will side with them. It’s not one I want to be a part of anymore. I have no fight left. I gave everything and it was never good enough even though all I asked for in return was honesty.
I always did say behaviour makes a man, not words. I should’ve taken my own advice. He once told me I cared about him more than anyone ever had. I’m still paying for it. If I could speak to him one last time without him thinking I was making excuses to talk to him, I’d tell him to admit it was all a lie, the things he said he’d do, how he felt. He’d admitted taking things back many times, but never specified what they were. Even when asked, he told me all the things he had tried to be in general in how he presented himself, but nothing specific about what bits he faked with me. No confession about lying about his feelings, just change of language and other excuses which amounted to the same things. Everything was either ambiguous, or given a different meaning with technicalities. It was like trying to solve a cryptic crossword puzzle, where the obvious would be refuted in favour of one in his head. More games. He claimed all he wanted was to hear from me, that it lifted his mood, yet accused me of looking for excuses to talk to him when I did. Not something you’d say to someone you were pleased to hear from. I couldn’t believe anything anymore. Nothing made sense and it was clear he didn’t know what he wanted, but that didn’t stop him pretending.
If he was just straight with me, I could at least leave it with a degree of respect for him, knowing that though he’d put me through the wringer for months, I’d finally got some honesty in the end. It would almost have been worth meeting up for, so he couldn’t wriggle out of it, but I’ve learned the hard way that people can look you in the eye and lie to you, so it wouldn’t have made much difference. I just wanted and needed to hear it, it was all I had ever wanted and asked for, so we could both move on without any doubts, but it was always too much to ask. I decided that if he disappeared again, it’d be for the last time. Despite saying he was sorry, I hadn’t deserved any of it and he shouldn’t have let it get this far, that it was upto him to try to prove I could trust him, he agreed to talk to me after he’d run an errand. December still playing on my mind, I asked if he was going to fob me off again and he assured me he wasn’t. He disappeared again. I can’t explain what it had cost me to give him that chance. I’m not sure how he justified it to himself, but there was no apology and no remorse because shortly afterwards, he stopped reading this blog and started publicly giving away things on twitter that had formed a part of our history. So much for worrying about my health.
I asked him to block me and mercifully he did, but only when I said to do it for the sake of my health because then he could say he did it for me. Martyr. I had never understood his reluctance to block me before, because he’d still be able to see my profile on both Whatsapp and Twitter, it’d just make it more difficult for me to see his. He knew I found it easier to stop reading his tweets if it meant logging out. It had worked previously. Perhaps he wanted me to see his tweets and statuses, it was the only reason I could think of despite him having no intention of talking to me. I still had to block him on WhatsApp because for reasons known only to him, he refused to block me. I can only imagine he got some joy out of taunting me with how kind he was to others on Twitter and how happy he was without me, which is what the scarf and defending someone and giving away his toys had been all about. But I can no longer see and I’m grateful. One thing I’m absolutely certain of though, is there was no thought for my feelings or my health. Only how it related to him and how it made him feel. Seeing things from my perspective or feeling empathy wasn’t something he was capable of, which would come naturally if you cared about someone. He didn’t.
He had a series of addictions, either people or things. He would always drop one and move on to another. Something else he denied, but once again, proved me right about. It’s 2 days later and it’s the last time he gets to do that. No apology of course. I had set myself up for disappointment after everything and he obliged, fobbing me off again, not so much as a good morning, even though he’d been up since 8am and I waited till 12.
The hope was the cruelest thing. He knew he didn’t want me, he knew we wanted different things, he knew we were incompatible and he knew he was unwilling to try or risk anything, yet he wouldn’t quite let me go and continued to feed me hope that he wanted to try and was seeking help for me. In reality, he was curing himself of me, but wanted me to hang around until he was done. No different to insisting to me that he wasn’t interested in anyone else, but then later admitting that he had secretly questioned his own motives when it came to how I said he treats me compared to others, which led to having a break from me, but neglecting to tell me, more than once. Had he been honest about it, I’d have at least respected him, but he wanted to keep my hope alive while he looked elsewhere. I can’t begin to explain how used, worthless and humiliated that made me feel, but again, all those emotions, he applied to himself while everyone told him he was wrong and how wonderful he was. I wasn’t even allowed to keep my feelings for myself.
I know he’s been unwell and had he treated everyone the same, I’d have understood, but he still goes out of his way for others, is willing to fight for them, put himself out for them, I’m singled out for hate and derision and indifference. It has nothing to do with his illness and everything to do with me. I never did get an explanation for the anger or what I did to deserve any of it. And yet, still, the expectation is for me to risk getting hurt again by giving him another chance while he risks nothing and stays firmly in his comfort zone protecting his pride, saving face and keeping his image intact and options open. I have hammered home the fact that you should never accept being hidden away in previous blogs and yet, I never learn. Accepting being hidden even as a friend, something even my ex hadn’t done, at least on twitter. Nobody needs to tell me how stupid and gullible I’ve been.
We never got to celebrate any happy occasion together in all the time I knew him. Christmas, Birthdays, NYE, Diwali, Easter, Valentine’s, not even Halloween although he dud send me some videos at nearly 2am on New Years Day, drunk, long after I’d given up and suspected someone had had a word, but he’s rewritten even that as a reply to a message from me even though I hadn’t contacted him since December. But knowing all that, made his effort of making a late Christmas present for someone all the more painful. He made sure I couldn’t miss it and later, said it hadn’t occured to him that it might upset me. And yet, when I sent my scarf back, he claimed he knew what it was before he opened it. How would he, unless he’d known that it would have that effect? There was so many games, wanting me to be jealous and posting things on twitter deliberately to contradict what he told me, it messed with my head and health because I knew that nobody who cared about me would want me to compare myself to others or feel insecure. I couldn’t understand how someone who claimed to not feel good enough and said he hated himself, could be so intent on making me feel the same instead of empathising. They were only inflicted by people who wanted to boost their own self esteem. Yet with all the games he played and the things he accused me of, he still acted the victim, the martyr and like the injured party, telling me he was worried I’d accuse him of pestering or saying he was looking for excuses to talk to me, all thing he actually had said to me. That, along with how he remembered conversations differently to the point where I got him to read them back, made me wonder about his grip on reality. All I wanted to do was forget.
I spent much of December and January getting drunk with friends. Friends who never told me I pestered them or was looking for excuses to talk to them, who looked after me, cared for me and had no ulterior motives. Unconditional friends. He spent that time being a general dogsbody to win the affection of friends and women. He was terrified of ever letting them down in case he wasn’t needed anymore. Letting me down was never a concern because he didn’t care about losing me. If I told him he was good enough, he’d immediately tell me he didn’t mean for me. When talking about the possibility of a relationship, he’d say “Why would you?” And always, ALWAYS followed it up with “Why would anyone?” And during a discussion about someone who had previously asked me out, he scoffed “Oh he wasn’t the best looking guy who just wanted the best he could get.” No opportunity was passed up to make me feel like I could be anyone. My self esteem was in tatters.
By his own admission, people treat dogs better, so my choice was to put up with it or ask to be left alone. The ONLY choice. Friends who can only be found during the good times are not friends. Had he been linked to others on twitter or FB, he’d have enjoyed the attention. In fact, he’s gone out of his way to encourage that with someone, just not me. “Do wish it hadn’t come to this” he told me when I deleted him from my phone. “I should never have let it get to this” he said a few days later, and all the while, he continued to ensure it did. “I want to get better for you, I’m doing it for you” as he gave away things he associated with me. Someone with any intention of trying wouldn’t painstakingly remove every trace of you from their life. But I had been right, out of sight really was out of mind.
He’d been slowly eliminating all traces of me from his life for months, but too much of a coward to tell me, lying till the very end, keeping me hanging for fun with no desire to try. Yet me moving on after months of silence was something he saw as wrong because I’m expected to be at his beck and call on the off chance he decides to get in touch. I lost count of the things he said he wanted to do, but never did. Not only did I lose a friend, I lost every good memory I had of us because he systematically destroyed, diminished or tainted it till there was nothing left, which no doubt helped him move on, but left me feeling heartbroken. As I sit here now, I can’t remember the last time he said something nice to, or about me. All I know is he has seemed at his happiest when away from me these last few months.
The funny thing about putting people on hold is, if you leave them waiting too long, they hang up on you and move on. If I had to, I could accurately predict what will happen next, but I’m tired of being proved right. It seems ridiculous now that I asked his advice last Summer about how to stop men treating me like this, what I was doing wrong, making myself vulnerable and giving away my gullibility so he could do it all over again. My fault. Even for someone as cynical as me, who doesn’t have faith in people because expectations bring disappointment and who has learned the hard way that everyone I love will either leave or be taken from me, who expects very little from the world and people, they still have an endless capacity to let you down. I had so desperately wanted to believe in him. To believe he was a good person. Even after that first time he assured me he wouldn’t be funny with me and then had ignored me, replying to silly things on twitter while ignoring my DMs till I gave up. I tried several times after that before the 8 month break because I didn’t want my judgement to be that poor and because I had cared. Even after he stopped talking to me on my birthday, I made excuses for him. He chased after other women in front of me and I still told people he was a good person. He hung up on me when he was in tears and I called him back, only for him to go when I started crying. He destroyed everything I held dear, messed me about, kept me hanging, shared private things, left me when I needed him most and still, to this day, like all gullible idiots, I choose to believe there is good in him. It’s just not for me.