You Aren't The Man I Thought You Were —​ And That's What Kills Me

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Heartbreak, Love

I was wrong about you.

When I met you, you seemed perfect. You were gorgeous and handsome in that frat boy way that doesn't look like a date rapist. We had fun together.

You rubbed my back and went lower, lower, lower until we were hooking up. We ran off to the local crappy tourist destination together. We dared each other to drive to Vegas and get married until a phone call miraculously, luckily, stopped it. But you aren't the man I thought you were.

I thought, through the haze of fun, that you were a good guy. More than good  I thought you were wounded by girls you'd dated before and that I needed to save you.


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You loved your dog. That's usually a good sign. You were fierce about social justice causes. I thought, without really forming the idea, that only good people do these things.

But I interpreted your kindness to dogs as kindness to women. I saw your incredible intelligence as a moral virtue. I thought of those past girls who had cheated on you, who had done you wrong, and I hated them along with you. And the sex was so mind-blowing I didn't think too hard about anything.

Then I realized you were lying all along.

You were wild, certainly. But you only pretended to be a bad boy to get attention. At the crux of it all, you were an obedient little boy who wanted people to look at you. You did only what you thought you could get away with; you toed the line, but loudly, complainingly.

I thought you were wounded. But then I realized you'd done to them what you ended up doing to me. You might like dogs but you sure as hell didn't like women very much. All those girls who'd done you wrong, you'd probably done them wrong. You starved them of affection. And you probably cheated on them.

After the first blush had worn off, they were no longer interesting. You moved on to the next interesting thing: your work, your social life. If it happened with them like it happened with me, you suddenly didn't want sex very often.


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You blamed it on some medication, but you were lying. My interests, once so compelling and consuming for you, no longer mattered. I felt baffled. I felt ignored.

Then I realized that on all those weekend trips, you were probably sleeping with someone else.

You were honest enough to tell me her name, and to admit you had been friends with her for a long time. Starry-eyed me didn't think anything of her man running off on business and meeting up with some other girl.

You admitted to me that you did body shots off her, and I was angry. But you were a good guy. I didn't realize you were telling me half-truths and if you were doing body shots off her, you were totally f*cking her.

We broke up when you accused me of cheating on you. After a long, painful dribbling off  after being ignored, after losing the great sex, after missing your company and probably being cheated on  this was all suddenly my fault.

You might like your dog, but you sure don't know how to love women. We were finished. I just wish it hadn't have been on your terms.

 

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