I need contact lenses or glasses to see. Without either of them, I couldn’t be in the world. Without them, I can’t see far away or even up close, even my boobs are blurry. I’ve torn one contact lens and been forced to wear just one for a few hours, but it’s hard to see that way, my equilibrium is thrown off and I find myself closing the lensless eye to better see, something I’ve also done when drunk and seeing double.

I liken my breakup with W to living my life wearing one contact lens. I can function, I can make do and get by, navigating through life just fine, but it’s not easy. I can’t see as well as I used to, I feel off kilter, as though I was walking along the beach and suddenly there was a dip in the sand that the waves prevented me from seeing. I’ve lost my balance.

W is, was?, my best friend. He was my person. I would share everything with him, any good news or bad, and all the things in between. He would be the first person I would think of when I woke, and the last person I think of before falling to sleep. I put him even before my own children, making so many concessions to make him happy (many he didn’t even know about), doing things for him because I loved him, his pleasure was my pleasure.

I’ve never been so solicitous and giving in a relationship, so submissive and patient. I wanted to be with him ALL THE TIME. Seriously, I would never want to leave his house, his bed, his arms. I loved being in the Nook. That was my favorite place ever. My head resting on his hairy chest, resplendent with black and gray hairs, I could hear his heart beat from there, and I would lay my head there, my right hand pulling gently upon his hairs, our legs and feet intertwined.

He had video of me like this, sleeping and snoring softly. He had video of me writhing in ecstasy from his ministrations. Video of me crying after he made me cum, disbelief, shock, wonder, gratitude. All the videos and pictures, they’re all gone, erased, just like our relationship. In the course of two weeks, I lost my man, broke my phone, and got in a car accident. I suppose it’s better in a way to not have access to all those pictures and videos, to not be able to scroll through 2-1/2-years of text messages. Because I’m sentimental and I reminisce, I look through images, videos, texts, and I think why? How? Why would you say that you appreciate me and now you’re gone? How can the man who says “I wanted you to know how much you mean to me and I value the positive impact you’ve had on my life and how much you’ve improved it,” just WALK away from me? How is it that 15 days have passed and he hasn’t called me? Hasn’t texted me? Nothing??????

“Well, I wouldn’t say nothing,” says my friend Laura, “based on his social media posts, it sounds like he is reaching out to you.”

“Well that’s true,” I say, “I hadn’t thought about that.”

But if that’s true, what is he saying? His not a care in the world posts, his singing songs with lyrics like “I’m a player, and I’m playing just to play,” or “I’m living the single, single, single….life!” well, all those do are tell me that he is moving on and yet underneath it all, I think he’s hurting too.

Social media is like a highlight reel of what’s going on in peoples lives, but there is more than what meets the eye, like the divot under the sea that causes you to lose your balance, or the riptide, the undercurrent, that pulls you out and can cause you harm. It’s not pretty, it hurts, it’s scary. But people don’t want to hear or see that which isn’t enviable or fun. People want the highlight reel. W’s highlight reel would never give anyone any idea he was grieving the loss of me. In fact, it never even showed that he had me in his life.

We were never Facebook or IG official. I attributed it to his career of choice, that he had to seem single for his fans. But now I wonder about that, wonder if it was more because he was playing the field. I mean, think about it. When we first meet, so many years ago, I was the side-chick. He had a girlfriend and yet he would have me come to his house, even stay the night on occasion, and he didn’t even suggest I park my stand out like a sore thumb classic car one street over, no, just park right in front of his house!

We wouldn’t have sex, but we did make out, A LOT, and have lots and lots of oral sex. He wanted to fuck me but he said out of respect for his girlfriend, he couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to cross that line. We did this for some time, but he eventually proposed to her and we went our separate ways.

I should have remembered this mentality more when we got back together again, 13 years later. Does a leopard change his stripes? A dalmatian change his spots?

When he tells me that two months into our relationship, he slept with someone, a FAN no less, someone he met on Periscope, I should have been blinded by the red flags waving away in front of me. But did I leave? No. I lay in his bed crying. He of course lay beside me, but did nothing to calm me, except sigh. He eventually said he didn’t mean to hurt me. He would understand if I wanted to go. I then wondered if maybe I should, but then thought he needs to hear and see how hurt I am, to be in this fucked up moment of his creation with me.

I made a list of all the things that gave me pause, that made me think that maybe he wasn’t being true to me. There are 27 things on my list. I read them now when I am romanticizing him. The problem is there are way more than 27 things on the Good List. He made me feel special, he made me feel bad. He made me feel appreciated, he made me feel untrustworthy. He made me feel ecstasy, he made me feel blue. He made me fall in love, unequivocally.

In 2-12-years he only verbally said, “Love you,” one time, on July 23, 2017, as we hung up the phone. I thought I almost didn’t hear him. And then again, in December 2017, he texted, “Luv ya,” when I was questioning him about why he never takes me on his trips with him. “Luv ya, we will go on a trip.”

Now I sit here in this hotel bed of white sheets and pillows, on a trip, all by myself. I think about you constantly W. I think of you ALL the time. When I wake, when I sleep, even in my dreams. I keep crying, I’m crying now, I have to pull over sometimes because I can’t see through my tears.

I don’t want to have a life without him in it. But I guess that isn’t my decision. It’s like he was the sunshine and now everything is overcast, dreary and grey. Gives new meaning to don’t take my sunshine away.

It’s been 15 days since we last communicated. He has gone away, disappeared, left me. But he haunts me. Like a ghost, he permeates my being without even being present, and he lingers even though he isn’t there. And by cold turkey not calling or texting for 15 days, he’s ghosted me.

I wish I could be strong and not stalk his social media, but I can’t help myself. I look at his IG. I don’t look at his stories anymore though. I am trying to just stop looking all together. Of course when I got back to the hotel last night, as I’m channel surfing, WHY does his movie come on? And like, right at the beginning? Perfect timing. I started to cry and changed the channel. Now if I only I could do that in real life.


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