"Here's the thing, we started out friends; It was cool, but it was all pretend..."

It’s been a year since I called out my deceased father on here.  I’m not looking to “call anyone out” right now, but I absolutely hate feeling like I was forced to be silent for so many years in regards to a secret emotionally and sexually abusive relationship that I was in for years.  No names, no locations, nothing like that.  Filters are up on Facebook so as not to disturb family or have people who know him put two and two together.  But if you live near me, I bet you know him in some way or have some connection to him.  Facebook is pretty crazy in displaying the connections of who knows who, especially in a small town.  

How do you even begin with something like this?  Should I start with background?  Should I erase that first paragraph and begin with a dark and impactful opening sentence?  Should I be purposefully vague about everything?  Or should I just be honest and say what’s been bugging me for seven…SEVEN…years now. 

He was my boss.  It was a very casual and loose retail environment.  We had conversations behind the counter that made me very hesitant to attempt anything with him even though I liked him.  (Anti-monogamy? Not a fan of condoms?  I’m sorry, is it the 1970s?)  But he had a sparkle in his eye when we first met, and I felt desired and liked.  And I liked him too.  I tortured myself for a weekend whether or not I was going to do something about it.  Mind you, I had little to no experience whatsoever, and I was 23, about to turn 24.  He is 6 years older than me and had a preteen daughter.  I told him on a Sunday before the store opened, and he followed me back to the stockroom and kissed me like I’d never been kissed before (at the time, mind you).  I floated for the rest of the day. 

The rest of the timeline is almost hazy.  After a discussion at a diner, we figured (or, more like he figured) it had to be secret.  I understood that to a point, especially with what an asshole our next level boss was.  Then we parked.  Then 2 days later was my birthday, and we did things that night that I had never done before.  But he said words afterwards that I will never forget because I almost recoiled in horror (and a little amusement):

“Don’t fall in love with me.”

Excuse me?  Who said I was going to do that?  I kept myself from feeling anything deeper, probably because I felt disgust.  It was all so sordid and exciting at first, but then we started seeing each other based on his schedule.  I practically begged for him to come over for most of the 2 years.  I would come up with ways to entice or cajole him.  I would flirt desperately at the store when no one was looking.  I knew he was seeing other people, and he wanted me to do the same.  But I didn't really want to.  I realized then how monogamous a person I am and how I’m personally not into casual dating/sex.  He told me he got tested a few times per year. Yay?  We still hadn’t had sex because he was mildly impotent thanks to “wearing it out” over the years, thanks to being a sex addict, thanks to being an 80s cokehead who sucked dick for drugs and was pretty openly bi.  He even had a bullet wound.  He had a pretty dark past that immediately stopped once his daughter was born.  You would think that with all these dark qualities that he’d be kinda hot in that bad boy-leather jacket-rock t-shirts-Parliament cigarette smell way. 

Yeah, well, he looked very much like my father, and I tried to deny it for years.  But it was always in the back of my mind.  (And aside from that fact, he still wasn't my type at all.)

I think I made my body shut down.  I wouldn’t let my body open for him, literally and figuratively.  I was terrified because I didn’t know who he was with (could’ve been male or female for all I knew) and I didn’t want to let someone that careless into my body for the first time.  I read everything online about sex and safety, and I went to Planned Parenthood.  Let me tell you, they are AMAZING there.  I stayed with my clinician for years because I felt so safe in talking to her about the situation. (P.S., she was so happy when it all ended.)  My best friend told me maybe he was just good for some fun and that he wasn’t the right one for the big v-card.  But I was so insistent by that point that I HAD to do it, otherwise I'd be the biggest loser in the world, and I wasn’t about to give up.  One of my big defenses was that I had to make my own mistakes.  And every time we tried to have sex, it just didn’t happen.  And he wouldn’t “waste” his little blue pills on me.  Gee, thanks.  He said it was the condoms.  Bull and shit.

Nonetheless, I wanted to experience all these new things.  So we did pretty much everything you can think of aside from penetration.  We only ever did that twice, and that might have totaled 1 minute.  I don’t even think that counts.  It’s pretty funny because I was 25, and that was the week I saw 40 Year Old Virgin and finally accepted myself.  And then all 20 seconds of “wait, was that in?” happened.  I was so annoyed because my mother was the same age for her first time, and I was trying so hard not to be like her.  Trying hard not to be like her while I was with a manipulative and emotionally abusive guy who looked like my father.

I wanted so badly to not be “vanilla.”  He told me about books and movies out there that I would probably enjoy, and I did.  Secretary is still one of my favorite movies (that I found on my own, thank you).  I thought I had a “Mr Grey.” (ha, funny how that name takes a different connotation now.)  I wanted to be Maggie Gyllenhaal so badly.  I actually enjoyed when I felt pain.  I will say that he never forced me to do anything with pain and always stopped immediately when I wanted to.  I kinda took the submissive reigns.  And I was proud of my bruises.  Proud.  It was like a mark of honor.  When I bent over to get something at work, one of my coworkers saw the green and yellow marks all over my chest and started freaking out.  I had to make up an excuse that I don’t even remember. Later, I started nudging his hands around my throat.  We started the whole asphyxiation play very slowly, and I can’t believe how far I let it go.  I was never hurt, but I knew what I was doing was very dangerous.  

All my coworkers loved to joke about what a player he was, and I wanted to vomit every time.  Part of the reason I stayed at that shit job was so I could keep an eye on what he was doing.  He started making a new group of deviant friends who we worked with (who I tried to get in with, but I just wasn’t right for their crowd), and I felt so left out.  

I never really wanted more with him, but I wanted more.  I wanted to be acknowledged.  I wanted someone to be proud to be with me in public and introduce me to family and more than one friend.  I introduced him to my friends, and they were polite, but they hated him.  H-A-T-E-D him.  I knew this, but I just kept wondering if I could change him.  Or if he had fallen for me more than we planned on.  OR if he was just a big chickenshit who didn’t know how to stop a situation that went on for wayyyyy too long. 

I had to quit…our asshole boss was on the verge of firing me for other things.  I’ll never forget sitting outside with him as we discussed it and then hugged as he said he loved me, but it was obviously meant as “a person.”  I think that had to be the moment we broke it off.  We had my goodbye dinner at work (where I got drunk and was a hoot), and he refused to come inside with me after he drove me home (maybe he was being honorable, who knows).  I would still text him and try to get him over or to help me with something…I think we saw each other a few more times.  I was unemployed that whole time because I needed a mental break.  We got each other Christmas gifts (he always did get pretty cool gifts for me) and I last saw him January ’07 when the store officially closed. 

He ignored me after that, and I went through all the motions of breakup trauma/crying/singing Since You’ve Been Gone and Sin Wagon at the top of my lungs while avoiding the mall.  Hell, I even made out with one of my lady friends for a weekend.  I got a new job a few months later.  I hadn’t seen him at all, and I was happy, yet pissed, since I wished I could just yell and scream at him.  How did he have all the control?

I met my (now husband) in ’08 after some pretty shitty online dates, and I seriously consider him to be the one who took the v-card.  It’s like I was waiting all those years for him.  I ended up bumping into the fucker (my nickname for him) a few times over the years, mostly at conventions.  The first time was at another store location, and we made awkward small talk.  The first convention, my (now husband), BFF, and I were stuck behind him and his daughter in a line to meet my favorite celebrity for an hour.  That was one of the most surreal experiences of my life.  And she wouldn’t have even been into the celeb if I hadn’t lent him the DVDs for her.  Of course she didn’t know me.  She knew me as Daddy’s coworker, if anything.  The only time he turned and said hi to me that day is when my now husband left for a few minutes.  I was very cold and abrupt.  We see each other at local cons and put up a sheet of ice.  By this point, I’m finding it amusing.  I still feel the initial Uhhhhh punch feeling, but then I’m like PFFT WHAT A LOSER GOD MY HUSBAND IS HOT AS ANYTHING AND AN AMAZING MAN WHO TREATS ME LIKE AN EQUAL WITH RESPECT AND LOVE AND IS PROUD TO BE WITH ME AND I’M PROUD TO BE WITH HIS AMAZING SELF.

Part of the reason I’m obsessed with Lena Dunham is for the first season of Girls.  I sat and wept the first two times I watched that season because of Hannah’s relationship with Adam.  The way he treated her, used her like a piece of meat, all her worries about “the stuff outside the condom” and trips to Planned Parenthood, him lying to her along with freely being with other women in their “friends with benefits” situation, avoiding her friends…it hurt me so badly to watch.  And then something happened.  Hannah made it clear to Adam what she wanted, especially after learning more about him when bumping into him at the Brooklyn warehouse party.  The writing seemed so choppy with how Adam suddenly went from asshole to pretty decent if not weird and overly passionate and dramatic dude.  

Some people may think that Lena backtracked and made him good because she’s so obsessed with the actor Adam Driver.  But watching it through the third season (no spoilers) and seeing and thinking about the arc of Adam, I truly believe that he IS good.  Lena makes a point in her writing to show how internet porn has really affected the young males in society today, and it’s very obvious in early eps of Adam.  He’s had a shit life and is highly defensive and monosyllabic and afraid of being hurt.  He also likes to take care of people and likes to be in control.  He and Hannah are rather perfect for each other, especially as we see with her condition at the end of Season 2.  He can’t be with someone “normal” or with someone who wants to control him.  

What I find interesting and poignant is how Adam is an amalgam of the guys I’ve dated in my adult life. (3, ha.)  I can watch Season 1 without crying now, but I had to talk about it in therapy for half a session.  Now, his character reminds me so much of my husband that I just want to squeeze the bejesus out of him.  I used to think that Lena Dunham was reading my old diaries or livejournal.  It’s crazy how she just taps into the young neurotic 20-something girl.  I can’t get mad at the TV because my ending with fucker didn’t end up like Hannah and Adam.  It doesn’t make Hannah and Adam any less valid as a couple, every relationship is different.  Just because I related to it doesn’t mean it needs to be identical.  And I never really wanted him anyway.  I just wanted validation.  And I just wish I had true closure.  Maybe I did that day before I quit.  I never really thought about it until this past year. 

I will never judge other people's relationships.  If both partners are committed and in full agreement, then honestly, who cares?  Don't let yourself be emotionally manipulated into something you don't want.  And don't compare yourself to others or how you think you "should" be.  If anything feels wrong, try to work it out, and if that doesn't work, move on.  Please learn from my past mistakes.  I may have wanted to "make my own mistakes," but it's sure taken me a hell of a long time to purge his toxicity out of my system.  

I still get nightmares and stress dreams and night terrors about him and the mall.  It often happens when I hate my job.  But I was yelling at him and lashing out in night terrors months ago.  My poor husband.  Lately, I’ve been having some uh, very interesting vocal and physical dreams about Adam.  And I can’t remember ANY of these.  I wish I could so I could deal with what’s really going on in my subconscious.  I hate how all this comes out when I’m asleep and can’t control myself.  It’s humiliating!  Are there no boundaries?  But my husband is the most amazingly understanding and kind man in the world.  Patience of a saint, that one! 

Maybe now that I’ve finally put it all on paper, it can finally start leaving my brain.  I’ll never get closure.  I don’t want to make a scene, I don’t want to see him, and the only time I’ve purposely made contact with him in 6 years was to tell him my mother died.  He was very considerate and kind in his response.  But I just don’t want any part of him.  I want to purge the fucker from my life.  Hard, when we live so close and have so many connections.   When I inevitably see him at the con on Saturday, I think this may be the hardest my heart will ever be.  I plan on cosplaying with my husband, I look the best I’ve looked since early college, and I couldn’t be happier with the geeky and loving life that I lead with the best man ever- who held my hand in public the first time we went to the mall together.  That one gesture erased the sleaziness that malls and I shared for 2 years.