I shan’t mince words. I’m a liar. And exactly 2 years ago, my lies created a life where I felt like someone was pressing the butt of a broom handle into my chest all my waking hours. I was in a relationship and living with a great girl. She was cute, generous, worldly, punctual, committed. But she was in a relationship with a liar (me) and we were fucked from the beginning.
The first lie was the most basic one: I thought that she was, or someday would be, someone other than who she was. I saw red-flags from our very first meeting. I rationalized them away to perpetuate the idea of the relationship—something I wanted to believe in. But rationalizations are not solid building materials for relationships.
The trouble, in short, was we had nothing in common. Our politics, spiritual views, tastes, communication styles were often diametrically opposed. I joked about these things at first, but as time elapsed and our incompatibility became more glaring, the humor evaporated. These issues would come out in fights and feeble attempts at communicating, but I knew, underneath my ideas and rationalizations, the relationship was DOA.
One night in February 2009, we got into a fight. It was the same fight. She accused me of not wanting to spend time with her. She was right.
I would typically cauterize the fight with lies that I wanted to believe were true, but knew were not. This night, I couldn’t do it. I knew this fight would go on as long as we were in a relationship. I knew things would not get better. I knew she was who she was and I was who I was and given that, we had to break up.
So I told the truth and was promptly asked to move out (it was her apartment so there was no question about who would leave). She went for a walk and I stuffed as many of my things in a large duffle as I could. It was a Tuesday night at midnight. I was a bum, but one with a modicum of integrity. Continue reading “Dames and Dumbfucks”