When Tears Aren’t Enough

I realize that Mr. Etiquette isn’t worth my tears. It is pitiful how sick and manipulative he could be without even realizing how bad he was, how similar his mental illness is to Sara, the girl who caused him grief and anguish over the last 13 months, but he is not even worth my pity.

He claims he never was dishonest. He was dishonest by initially saying things with S were in the past, over and done with. He lied by omission, failing to tell me he was still in love with her and was just waiting for her to come around to wanting to be in a relationship again. He made me think he asked me to the baseball game because he sincerely wanted me to be with him and his German friends. I found out yesterday, from our mutual German friend, that he had in fact only asked me after S bailed on him. Two days later, he asked her to a picnic that she later also bailed on. He only became truthful when his “heart was crushed” when she told him she was no longer in love with him and asked him to stop bothering her.

He says he never meant to cause me pain. His friends and I told him repeatedly when he either hurt me or angered me by things he repeatedly did over the last almost two weeks now. He hurt his friends. He ruined our trip to Cape Cod by making it all about him and his confusion and anguish. She called and instead of not picking up the phone, he talked to her for a half hour. Then he came up to us and told us about their conversation for nearly a half hour. Then he went and called another friend to talk about her for another half hour. By then, the three rest of us were ready to go home.

One of the last nights of the German friends’ stay he called S for a “minute to schedule a talk to clear the air once and for all,” and that turned into a half hour argument. We didn’t bother to wait more than the 25 minutes he left us hanging so went to dinner without him. He acted all hurt when he came out to meet us and wondered why I was “shutting him out.” Dude, fine, bail on me, but don’t consistently bail on your friends who’ve traveled over three thousand miles to be with you.

I can’t pity even how weak of a man he is. The only reason he had the strength to finally confront Sara was because he felt buoyed by the promise of unconditional love that I had offered him. How twisted is that? (Oh, far worse.) I feel sorry for his kids to whom he cries his heartbreak over the phone. At ages 9 and 10, he tells them far too much than they should ever need to know. They know this woman has consistently hurt him for a year and a half. When here last summer, they commented on how they never knew if Sara was actually going to show up for some event, did they, since she was constantly breaking dates even then. What example is Mr. Etiquette showing his children by running back to her the moment she says “okay, now that you’re moving on, I want you.”

How can I have a soft spot in my heart for the king of manipulation? By the end of the charade of dating, he was asking even if we’ve become just friends at said point, would I still help him out in the last 5 weeks of summer when his kids come from Germany to visit? Today, I found out from our now mutual German friend that he was also hoping we could remain friends because I had all the music contacts that he needed to find a band(!). Earlier when they were still here, she yelled at him to wake up to the fact that he was hurting me,  and he replied, “I can’t think about that now. Right now, I need her here to comfort me.” Yes, comfort him through his heartbreak. He also needed me in the house so he wouldn’t be alone after they left. And I guess all that sex in the final days was trying to fuck the frustration over Sara out of him? What did I get out of all this?

A man who couldn’t stop comparing me to the other woman, even favorably. The “only area that you don’t win is that she has significantly bigger breasts than you,” he said, not thinking how this might feel like a slap. “But in all other areas, you’re perfect for me. Emotionally, spiritually, sexually, we are just perfect for one another. That’s the only area where she wins.” I know–what a dick!

By the end, the boob size had become such a obsession that he was gently trying to persuade me to consider getting a boob job. My body was perfect! But he got a huge rise sexually having bountiful breasts to play with and be a visual focal point (lazy lack of creativity?). I’m not going to lie and say I’ve never considered what it would be like to have fuller breasts, but that was when I was younger and more insecure. Frankly, I finally became happy with them; they are the perfect shape and pertness in my eyes. Harlequin Hero said they were perfection, that I didn’t need to change anything about them (he still fondly dreams of them, it turns out). The V-Man certainly appreciated the way they looked too even in clothing since I’ve regained the hospital-stay weight loss.

But I played along just because Mr. Etiquette seemed to get such a kick out of the idea. It was almost fun to envision me finally with the “perfect body” until he picked his top breasts. “Don’t hate me, but they look just like Sara’s, though maybe a little smaller.” Where’s that gun?

So it really is pointless to waste perfectly good tears on this man. What’s the point of feeling pain over an illusion? Why be hurt over a total ass who still thinks he’s “such a nice guy with everything in the world to offer, why doesn’t [Sara, ex-wife, any female] want me?”

I feel like a boiling tea kettle. I got enough satisfaction completely telling him off, in my polite pseudo-Southerner way, last night via text tirade, which allowed me to fall asleep peacefully. But I woke up raring to go for another round. I feel like kicking a punching bag. Hating that I was stupid for those first three weeks. I’ve been around the block for too long to be so duped. How could I have finally truly let me guard down again…for the absolutely wrong guy? One of my friends suggested breaking old worthless plates on the floor atop newspaper. That sounded appealing, but I don’t think that would be enough. Maybe I should hit the batting cages tomorrow. I feel most like messing around with bright paint colors and just spreading my emotions in angry swaths across a canvas.

What constructive things do YOU do to release the pent-up negative emotions when they start bubbling up inside of you?


3 thoughts on “When Tears Aren’t Enough

  1. GIRL.

    Oh, girl.

    Words can’t even begin to explain how wretched I feel on your behalf after reading that.

    My best friend went through almost exactly the same thing about a year ago. From being the rebound girl for a guy that wasn’t over his ex to putting up with him flip-flopping, she dealt with his bullshit for EIGHT months before he finally went back to the ex for good.

    She was so devastated and it took a long time for her to really accept the fact that it was not her fault and that she was better than that. She needed to believe that she deserved better before she could move on.

    I don’t understand what goes through a man’s head to make him think that kind of thing is ok. And to be fair, I don’t doubt that women are capable of the same tomfoolery, I’ve just seen it again and again with guys.

    It sounds like you’re already on the right track to getting over this wanker. It’s gonna hurt, but you really do deserve the best.

    And to answer your question – I usually go running and/or get intouch with my creative side. Usually painting. Yeah.

  2. I think its shitty that he talked to her in front of you or around you. That he also tried to drag you into his drama with her, because its one thing to be hung up on someone but dont throw it in my face by doing it in front of me.

    It also sucks that he ruined his friends trip. At least you made a new friend out of it. That is a definate bonus.

    Let me know if you want me to have him fitted for cement shoes.

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