I used to live with this man. We were together for many years until the day, when all of a sudden I left him. Just like that.
For months, it could have even been longer than that, he had a “friendship” with this young girl who he was associated with through work. Like any teenage girl who is insecure and trying to find her way in the world she looked up to him. Idolised him. And adored him. I hated her. I hated her mostly because she was a version of me, I wanted to slap her and say “Don’t waste your time here. You are better than this 25 year old boy who is getting a kick out of having someone idolise him for a change.” I had been that teenage girl, instead of believing of what was inside, which was more than good enough, I searched for it in boys. In men. In anyone who would make me feel wanted. Special. Even if just for a few hours. Stupid girl. Stupid me.
The friendly text messages became more often. I found myself distrustful. Doubting. Wondering. When he would get home from work and hop in the shower, I would check his phone. I memorised her number. This stupid girl’s number. I scoured through his phone bills (that were incidentally in my name and being paid by me) and saw tens of calls to her in any given week. I questioned. I wondered. I doubted. I fought. For truth. Just an answer. All the while sick with wonder and doubt and distrust in my partner and myself. That mother fucker. Making me doubt myself. It ate me up. Consumed me. Suffocated our lounge room, our time in the car, our home. My biggest regret about it? About all of it? I never heard the truth. I couldn’t live with myself sitting around and hoping for it.
My Dad had an affair with a family friend while he was married to my mother. She is now my step mother and after many, many years we all have a wonderful relationship together. I love them both, dearly. Not long after he left my mother I begged him for the truth. For me sure, but for my mother. An answer. The truth. Something, just to fucking man up and tell the goddamn truth. I gave him an ultimatum to tell me the truth, or not have a relationship with him. He chose the lies, they were so familiar I suppose. I’m not sure how long I didn’t speak to him for after that. I think it was 6 months, it could have been weeks. I am stubborn and fiery and look out if you get in my way. But give me your heart? Your honour? I will walk over broken glass for you. Before too long the sadness and anger just made me tired. It took a whole lot of energy to be that angry with someone all the time. Eventually I sucked it up because I wanted a Dad in my life, as broken as a father figure as he was, than no father at all.
I am desperately, constantly seeking the truth in my world. I need it, just like I need oxygen or pork. If you don’t like my dinner, tell me. Tell me. If you think I am wrong about something. Tell me. If I have upset you in some way, tell me. Let me make it better.
Talk. About. It.
Is it messy? And uncomfortable? And hard? Of course it is. But it’s real. It’s the truth. I know all about not knowing. I know how hard it can be. I know the questions and doubts that make a person sick to the stomach. The wondering. The sheer mind fuckery that comes from someone holding something over you because they are weak and they cannot face the truth.
I hope for any of you out there currently seeking the truth, that you find it. And take comfort in it. It will set you free.