The source of all my troubles.

Remember when I told you guys I was anxious about my magazine meeting on Friday because I would have to see JB? Well I decided to do myself a favor and skip the damn thing. I just couldn’t do it to myself.

After a particularly long and exhausting week, I went home Friday evening a zoned out in front of the television and was asleep before 10. When I awoke around 1 am, I had a few texts from JB: No meeting today? Did you tell me you were going out-of-town? I tried my best to be on time and look presentable…

I replied, telling him I was in a bad mood and had just been very busy at my day job.

“Don’t worry about it. Just as long as you’re not mad at me.”

As you can see, the JB situation continues to be rather confusing, and will probably remain that way until we know each other better, or not.

I was talking with my mom on the phone over the weekend and she asked me about The Ex—where did he stand? Her question arose after I told her he kindly brought me Never Say Never last week. I told her a story that I realized I’d kept to myself…and it’s pretty important.

It was a little more than a month ago, The Ex was in town, doing some work on his parents’ home. On that Saturday night, he texted me to see what I was up to. I told him I had plans (ok, so they were to stay in and watch the Lifetime movie of Wills & Kate, but…). He said he was going to stay in and watch a movie with his parents. Ok, night night.

I went to sleep, and woke up, as I usually do, around 1:30. Minutes afterward, my phone buzzed with a text message. The Ex. “You still awake?”

I replied, saying I had just woken up. He wanted to come over.

“Did you go out?” I asked him, wondering why a night in with the parents would result in a near-2 am text message.

“To Bruce’s house.”

I told him he could come over. When he called to say he was near my place, he sounded a little buzzed. Once he got to my apartment, he said he’d be right up.

So, there I stood in the dark. Waiting.

When he wasn’t at my apartment five minutes later, I wondered if this whole thing was a joke. So I called him back.

“Yes I am here. I had to pee.”

“Umm, well I have a bathroom in my apartment, you don’t have to piss outside.”

He was drunk.

When he finally got to my door, he was holding a beer, and sporting a neon wristband.

“Oh, they’re giving out wristbands at Bruce’s house now?” I asked.

“I told you I went to the bar,” he said.

“No…you told me you went to Bruce’s.”

“I did…he’s out of town, I had to feed his dog.”

So that sparked a nice little fight with several layers—why was he in town, not making plans to visit anyone (especially me) and then lying. Lying about his plans, the bar, etc.

We paced around my living room, him wanting to know why I hated him so much, me telling him I was sick of the games, sick of being played. And then, his phone started ringing.

It was 3 am.

“Why is someone calling you at 3 am?” I asked.

“It’s probably an alarm….or it’s running low on battery.”

Lies. More lies. I marched over to the phone, still buzzing on my kitchen counter: BONNYE.

Bonnye is a girl The Ex dated before we met. Once I started sleeping with The Ex, Bonnye would show up at our bar during one of our bartending shifts, proceed to get wasted, and tell everyone that The Ex was her boyfriend.

Her parents own several bars in the city, including one where The Ex still works. She has been a constant source of worries for me, since day one.

“Why is Bonnye calling you at 3 am?” I asked.

He went through the usual bullshit—we’re still friends, nothing is going on, I don’t want her…she just got dumped a few days ago so we’ve been talking about it.

“Oh really? Why did she get dumped?” I asked.

“Umm I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me that.”

“You just fucking said you guys had been talking about the breakup.”

As we continued to fight, she continued to call. She called 15 times. I pressed “ignore” and she would call right back.

I’m sure you’re all saying I should have learned my lesson by now, but it was that moment that was more clarifying than perhaps any moment prior. All of the sudden, I saw it. He was keeping a pool of women at his fingertips, whether he likes us, loves us, hates us, whatever—he uses us for whatever reason. I was witnessing his lies unfolding, and it was proof he has an entirely other life that I’m no part of, knew nothing about.

Since then, I have felt a weird sense of anxiety—a need to push him, and others, away. I don’t know how I got so caught up in his mess.

But last night, I found a short sense of relief during my first ever boxing class. My instructor even wrapped my hands and everything.

The class hurt like hell. I realized just how out of shape I am. But while I was punching that bag, all I thought of was Bonnye. The Ex. All of my exes.

And it felt great.

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3 thoughts on “The source of all my troubles.

  1. Yesssss! You go gf! So happy the boxing class helped you get rid off some anger. And like all of the other exes, the only kind of consoling this asshole knows how to do is with his penis. Ugh! Love youuu!

  2. I’m so angry at The Ex on your behalf. Grrrrrrr….

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