I couldn't believe my eyes. I read and re-read the article, hoping it wasn't true. I dissected the picture...surely it wasn't him. But it was and I officially was a fool.
I had dated a pathological liar, apparently.
None of my close friends would be shocked by this news. They always thought his behavior was shady. But I felt as though someone had just punched me in the gut. He had told me that he had retired. He told me how good he was with his money. He said all the right things to a single momma to get her to date him. None of it was true.
My friend just looked sad when he showed me the article. His response was, "I just don't know how you successfully date so many losers. How did THAT man make his way into your heart and your life? You are such a good person and you date people who are so not good people. Surely you know you're better than that."
I had no response.
I thought I knew better. After years of therapy and books on boundaries and trust, you would think I would know better. But I am legit naive. I believed EVERYTHING he told me. I had more than one reason to not believe him. His lies weren't stellar. He said one thing and did another...which is a repeat pattern in my dating career.
I don't listen to Oprah who says, "When people show you who they are, BELIEVE THEM."
My motto instead is, "When people tell you who they are, DON'T BELIEVE THEM BECAUSE THEY ARE JUST HURT PEOPLE WHO DON'T BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES AND IT'S MY JOB TO BELIEVE IN THEM SO THEY FEEL BETTER ABOUT THEMSELVES," I say in my most Co-Dependent voice.
I'm not sure how I've held onto this naiveté for the duration of my life, but I indeed have. I do not have the discernment that is necessary when meeting friends and potential partners. Or perhaps I have the discernment, I just simply don't exercise it. I like to live in La-La Land where the flowers are always blooming and the sound of waves is steady in the background for a quick walk on the beach. I really like the beach.
The reality is a bit more bleak. Most people are not beach-worthy material. Most are more like living in a scary movie. They are waiting behind closet doors to jump out and scare me. They live in a dark house that is falling apart with weird dolls and sleep with knives under their beds and drink black coffee at 2 p.m. with a piece of dry toastwhile a roach scurries across their empty kitchen table, the curtains drawn.
They do not own sunglasses or a beach bag.
But I'm at the door in a yellow sundress with both in hand, in my happiest persona complete with a cheerful Cold Brew from Starbucks and trying to ignore the dead plants, inches of dirt and debris, and spider webs on the porch. And when he answers the door all pasty white wearing dirty, black clothes, smelling of cigarettes and stale booze and tells me he forgot to water the plants just one day and that's why they're suddenly dead and the spiders come regardless of how often he sweeps, I believe him.
Everything about this picture screams that he is indeed bankrupt in his soul. But somewhere in my soul I muster up the hope to believe him and go inside...all the while fearing for my life.
Why don't I listen to myself the first time? Why do my flight responses not trigger a sprint to the door in my yellow sundress and happy sandals when I feel like I'm in danger?
I recently explored a relationship with someone that I dated previously, hoping this time would be different. Believing him when he said he had changed. Telling myself and him that time would tell. Well time told, and the shocking news... he had not changed. Thankfully, the only emotional result I felt from this revelation was a slightly upset stomach. I had cried enough in the past over him. I'm happy to say my tears weren't wasted again.
When my friend first introduced me to this song, I cried despite it's happy tune because it was me...through and through.
What you do with trash? You take it out
So why are you letting him hang around?
Girl, you gotta know when to clean house
And throw his shit out in the yard
If it was the first time, I would understand
But it's the third time, you got a second chance
There's a fine line between an accident
And an L-O-S-E-R
It's bullshit, you know it
Yeah, I see it in your eyes
Every time that you tell me
Deep down he's a really good guy...
No comments:
Post a Comment