When I used to look at you, I could see my—our—future. That, I believe, is the most painful aspect. You felt different right away, in this lovely, almost fairy tale way. I tried to tell myself that it was all a ruse, but you performed flawlessly. I tried but failed to resist you. You tore down every barrier I had, and I had a castle, baby. However, you were patient. You took your time and made me feel at ease; you made me feel like I could trust and love you. You went out of your way to ensure that I was protected and that I was addicted to you.
And the expression in your eyes the night we met spoke it all.
It was sheer elation; there were fireworks in those beautiful blue eyes of yours.
Those fucking eyes, so full of potential. They had me hooked on you all along. You turned like a drug I couldn’t get enough of, a magnet I couldn’t avoid. You took my hand in yours, swung me around, and stared at me with wonder and the greatest, purest smile I’ve ever seen in my life.
I think I grinned for three days straight after that night.
You used every opportunity to brag about me. I was everything you ever dreamt of, and you were everything I never knew I wanted. We were able to bring out the best in each other.
You asked me after a few weeks if I knew you were the one. I was honest when I said it took a few dates for me to feel comfortable confessing how passionate I was for you. My love for you terrified me to death. I was falling fast and hard, but you were falling even quicker; I couldn’t believe I was good enough for you to love me. You appeared to be too perfect. I convinced myself that you weren’t real, that I was fabricating something from nothing. You, on the other hand, saw straight through my anxieties. You went above and above to show me that you were the real deal.
As a result, I let myself fall.
Hard.
I’ve extended my heart to you more than anybody else in my life.
We weren’t perfect, but we were ideal for one other in some strange, almost cliché manner. Our shattered jigsaw pieces all fit together neatly.
You’d go out of your way to show me, not just tell me, that you wanted everything with me: marriage, children, and a life filled of limitless experiences. Why should I doubt you? And I wanted to share it all with you. We’d stay up all night talking about the travels we’d take, the house we’d one day have, and the tiny little beings we’d make out of the greatest parts of each of us, running about in our chaotic but strangely wonderful home. I would instantly grin and become happy whenever I imagined our future together.
I’m getting nauseated just thinking about it.
You made it a point to tell me how brilliant, great, and gorgeous I was every day, as though I was out of your league. You made it clear that I wasn’t just any girl, but yours, and that I meant everything to you. You restored my faith in love, in happily ever after, in the fact that everything I had gone through in the past was worthwhile because it had shaped me into the person I am today, and that it had all brought me to you—the guy I was head over heals for, the man I was falling in love with.
Then it fucked up and erupted.
It’s difficult for me to even consider it. It’s a medicine I’m having trouble swallowing.
My buddy texted me that she had a date that night with this fantastic man. We became acquainted, and she ultimately sent me a photograph of him.
You were the one.
When your filthy photo appeared on my phone, I almost puked. You informed me you had to work the following few evenings and wouldn’t be able to celebrate my birthday the next night. I stupidly trusted you.
There was a great deal of screaming and fighting. I’m not sure what your justification was, but it shouldn’t have mattered.
But I’m a moron.
I returned you a few weeks later, after much effort on your part. I didn’t want to waste all of your potential because of one blunder. You went out of your way to be romantic and lovely in order to show me that you were sorry. And I was so enamoured with you that I naively assumed you felt the same way.
God, I’m a complete moron.
The first couple of weeks back together were ideal. Perfect in the way that those stupid hallmark movies that I despise are perfect. We were together 24/7, and you went above and above to ensure that I never had to doubt your commitment. I didn’t do it. I never mentioned the past. I wanted to move on and not let it damage our relationship.
And we were flawless.
As a result, I believed it. My big foolish smile and that exuberant sensation were back, and I believed in us and that future we used to imagine.
Then I found out I was expecting a child.
I didn’t know how to tell you, but you sensed something was wrong and worked it out swiftly. When you interrogated me and demanded that I show you photographs of the positive test, I should have noticed it. When you didn’t speak to me for the following 24 hours, I should have known what sort of man you are. But I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt and assumed you needed some time to reflect. I was going insane. We had just gotten back together and everything was fine.
What was it that I desired? What were your intentions? What were our options? Too many thoughts were running through my mind for me to be concerned about you not calling for a day; instead, I was concerned about how I would care for the small life developing inside of me.
But you did call, and you naturally stated all you needed to say. You apologised, saying you were worried too, that you were looking into two-bedroom apartments and working out the mortgage, and that everything would be OK. We were going to work together to get through it. You said you couldn’t wait to tell your mother and how happy she’d be, and that you wished it was a young girl as perfect and lovely as I am.
However, when I went to the doctor, I discovered I had a missed miscarriage. My body refused to let go of the baby, so I lost it. I couldn’t wait for my body to pass it normally because of my medical history. I had to have consultation, which was effectively an abortion.
I was a shambles. I sobbed as I’d never cried before. I wanted this baby even though it worried me and I wasn’t ready for it. I wanted to do it with you. We’d work it out because it wasn’t the perfect moment, but it was the right man. It would be fine. I held me responsible. I assumed you would despise me for it. Although the doctor assured me that it was not my fault and that it would not prevent me from having children in the future, I couldn’t help but blame myself. I required your presence. I needed you to hug me, to reassure me that everything was OK and that it wasn’t my fault.
Instead, you turned into someone I wish I had never known.
I had to take an Uber to the surgery since you ignored me for 5 days after I notified you. After that, you went out, got drunk, and called me.
You said you needed a DNA test since the timing didn’t add up after 7 months together. You implied that I was most likely lying about everything. You stated that all I wanted was your money. You told me you despised me. You referred to me as a slut. It was entirely my fault. I lost the baby because you told me I wasn’t good enough to be a mother. You stated everything that was upsetting and hurtful.
Then you became completely quiet.
When I attempted to defend myself and tell you that none of it was real, when I tried to figure out what was going on, you disregarded me.
I was the lady of your dreams, and you were the guy, my wonderfully flawed person. So, what the hell happened? The next day at work, I was thinking about you so much that I convinced myself that you were going to show up at my workplace, that maybe you just needed some time, that you loved me and would fight for me, support me, and be there for me.
I hoped you would turn up and relieve some of the awful agony I was experiencing.
However, you failed to appear. In fact, you were never seen again. You refused to even bring it up in conversation. You refused to talk to me or respond to my messages.
You made me face the most agonising experience of my life alone. Not only that, but you put the blame on me. That is so much more than being a jerk, a cheater, or a jerk. That is causing someone purposeful harm and not caring. You would have talked to me if I had ever meant anything to you.
Radio silence, though.
Even yet, you couldn’t even apologise. You couldn’t even speak. At that moment, it was all about respect. I was in excruciating pain. I was perplexed and in desperate need of an explanation. I needed you to show me some respect by at least speaking to me. I earned it at the very least.
Then I discovered what type of man you actually were.
That you were presumably on every dating site and banging everyone who passed by the entire time. You were pretending to be at work or with your sisters when you were actually fucking another female.
I’m not sure why you worked so hard to convince me that you were a decent man. If you didn’t want everything with me, why did you say you did? That was not anything I requested. You went above and above to show me how much you cared and that I could trust you. You went above and above to make me fall in love with you. You deliberately chose to be harsh and harm me. Ted Bundy would be incredibly proud of you.
Why?
My heart had already been broken before we met, and I had patched it up; I know I’m tough, but you destroyed it totally, and I’m just keeping it together. I’m trapped here, trying to figure out what went wrong, how you, my guy, could be so cruel, leave me devastated, and not even care.
I have a nasty tendency of giving it my best when I shouldn’t, squandering my energy on someone who no longer deserves it.
Walking away from you with no answers will be the most difficult thing I will do. I’ll never know if any of it was true or if you were always playing some weird, twisted game. When you kissed my forehead and gently murmured “I love you,” I’ll never know if you meant it.
I’ll never understand why you did it.
However, I have no regrets about you. I have no regrets about letting you into my heart and falling in love with you. It reminded me of how loving I am and how the right person will not reject my love. They won’t sabotage something fantastic. They’ll return it immediately. I’m not going to allow the agony I’m in now overshadow all of the fantastic times we shared. This is not going to change me. I’m not going to let you take over my thoughts any longer. And I’m not going to waste any more time trying to figure out how we got here. Because you’ll always be known as the con artist who simply fooled everyone.
Next blog will be out soon.
Desai Thoughts MEdia.
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