Friday, April 23, 2004

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!!!!

Confession time. I’ve been in love with a married woman for a year and a half now.

A lot of my married friends are probably squirming nervously right now, wondering how to let me down gently. Well, knock that shit off! It isn’t you, okay?

So I know what you’re thinking. Wow, in love with a married woman! How could THAT possibly go wrong?

Thing is, she loved me too. Or she said she did. I’m seriously starting to think that the only key to this girl’s heart is not being her husband.

But you’ll have to bear with me. She’s this incredibly beautiful, funny, smart, sexy woman and at first, I couldn’t believe my luck that she was actually interested in me. I was terrified to tell her how I really felt, afraid that I was going to frighten her off. But she coaxed me and said all these amazing things and totally convinced me that I could trust her, that I had nothing to fear. So I told her I loved her, and she told me she loved me.

Here. I’ll cut to the punch line. She’s been involved with someone else since last year. All that bullshit she fed me about how special I was, about how I made her feel, about how much she cared for me? I can only assume it served her just as well the second time she used it.


And the thing is, I don’t even know how hurt I’m allowed to be about this. I mean, how indignant can I get when I’m accusing her of cheating on her husband with somebody besides me? It’s not like I’m on the high moral ground here. There’s no way I can write this story and make myself the hero or the hapless victim.

I’m just a dumbass who should have known better.

How long did she string me along? I knew something was up, but I was terrified to confront her because somehow I didn’t think I’d be able to bear hearing the truth. Now that I know, I only wish I'd known sooner.

But she couldn’t be bothered to tell me. She apparently decided it would just be easier to ignore me and avoid me until I got bored and went away. Did she even feel guilty about treating me like that? Or was I just a joke to her?


If you’re reading this (and you know goddamned well who you are), then you should know I’m not over you. I may never be over you. I think about the times we shared together, and it makes me hurt so badly I can’t imagine ever feeling happy again.

I’m not over you. But right now, I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anyone in my entire fucking life. I’m glad your husband caught you, and I’m glad it wasn’t with me. The fact that you’re utterly miserable too is my only solace.

So now I’m going to concentrate on putting this travesty behind me. After all, it’s time to move on to my next unhealthy relationship.

And that, my dear, is what we call “closure.”

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