Battleground

Cry ~ Benson Boone

Picture this: three weeks ago, we decided to reconnect yet again. After a year of on-and-offs, push-and-pulls, and a whole lot of letting go and reeling back in, we were back at it, rebuilding another bridge we torched just a month ago. Each time, it takes longer and requires more tools to repair. So, here we are, booking a trip to Kauai thinking it might somehow rekindle the spark and help us understand each other better, at least this was a normal thought. You know, what’s better than getting away from a place of distractions and focus on one another and enjoy a different environment.  But, before you could say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, the trip was canceled. Yep, paid for but canceled. Not by choice, mind you, but because my intuition started yelling that something was off.

At first, I was ready to dive into this story with the force of a superhero entering a boss battle, fueled by the rage and pain Patricia has caused me, again. Seriously, this time her antics were an IBS-level explosion of drama, lies, manipulation, and deceit, making an atomic bomb look like a firecracker dropped on an anthill. Am I glutton for punishment? Did I really wind up back in the same circus as last year where Patricia decided to juggle two of us like a ringmaster on Red Bull?

Let me breeze through attachment styles real quick, or at least mine. I usually wobble between avoidant and secure, I'm either all in and feeling good, or I'm not that into you but still hanging out like an asshole. The July disaster still stung as if it were yesterday, a 14-day triangle with no knowledge.  But, I found myself swinging to the other side of the pendulum. Yup, you guessed it! This traumatic experience catapulted me straight into anxious attachment. No matter how much I wanted to return to that calm, secure space, those two weeks pushed me over the edge. And all the little things in between that she was doing just kept me stuck in that anxious zone over the year. Don't worry, I'll eventually spill all those details. Believe me, things weren't always this chaotic, we had some amazing moments, but I'm working my way backward through the year long relationship.

I'm going to take a quick detour to address the bigger issue between Patricia and I before diving into the intuition that shook me. Yesterday morning, I was chatting with my ex-girlfriend Lisa, breaking down my current situation and my past year with Patricia. I explained how I felt like Patricia had been hiding me in the closet, which made me regress. Lisa hit the nail on the head as she was describing what she was hearing, here I am, growing up in the lesbian community where "love is love and acceptance" is the mantra. Dating someone within this community should've been a no-brainer, right? Acceptance shouldn't have been an issue, but it was. For some reason, Patricia was ashamed of me but didn’t want to let me go. This was one of our biggest problems. Patricia was all in for activities with my lesbian friends, but when it came to her lesbian friends or introducing me, the excuses flowed like a raging river. I couldn't understand it. Patricia knew of me when I was a lesbian, she knew my community was made up of all the girls I'd bonded with over twenty-plus years! They're my family and lifelong friends. Had I transitioned when I was younger, maybe my friend group would be different, but it's not, and I'm so lucky to have all of them in my life. I couldn't ask for a better group of friends than my circle.  They truly embrace and have this incredible love for me even when I’m not looking. I feel nothing but gratitude. I’m pretty sure I heard every excuse from Patricia that could have matched the length of a Costco receipt as to why she hasn’t introduced me to anyone in her life but her daughter. As each excuse was hurled in my direction it continued to make me feel smaller and smaller, yet I continued to hold on to false hope that she would miraculously wake up and be proud of this trans person she was waking up next to.  It was a shit show.

Back on track….. so here we are rekindling our connection it was like a breath of fresh air. We plunged headfirst into spending time together, constantly texting, calling, and FaceTiming. Each night, we wrapped up with a sweet goodnight text or call. However, one Wednesday, amidst our usual chatter, I received an accidental text from Patricia: “I was just planning for games, hope everyone entertains themselves.” Confused, I thought, “Games?” and she quickly called. Patricia explained she was setting up a playdate for her daughter the following Tuesday. Fair enough, it was summer, and school was out, so it made sense.

Days passed, and by Friday, Patricia was working a double shift. Early Saturday morning, she decided to put in an extra four hours for some extra cash for our upcoming Hawaii trip. She called me, exhausted and claiming she was delusional from the longest shift ever. Understandable. But that night, the goodnight text never came through, and I didn’t hear from her until Sunday morning, which was unusual.  When people have patterns and veer off track there’s always a reason.

When Sunday arrived, so did the details. Patricia became defensive when I asked about the previous night. She snapped, saying she didn’t need to give me a play-by-play of her evening. Hold up, for the past two weeks, she’d been saying goodnight every night. Is everything okay? She told me her cycle started, she felt terrible, and she called in sick. Alright!  Accepted!

As the day went on, her story evolved, first, a friend came over to cheer her up, then it was a few friends, and suddenly it turned into an impromptu party. She claimed she couldn’t invite me because it was her friend’s party that just happened to move to her house last minute. Here we go again, another event I’m excluded from. Great. As I pieced things together, it dawned on me, she didn’t invite me but invited a “friend.” It was supposed to be unplanned, yet Wednesday’s text seemed like she was planning it all along.

This girl had me piecing things together like a ten-thousand-piece puzzle. And here’s a fun fact, at least puzzles have all their pieces in the box. It’s just a matter of putting the damn thing together. My assumptions started flying higher than a kite.

Rewind for a moment to my attachment style. The more she lied, the more anxious I got. She kept tripping over her stories, and I couldn’t help but TRY to believe her. Once you tell one lie, you have to keep going, but soon they start to twist and turn until the truth slips out because even you can’t keep up. I wish this was the worst of it, but nope, there’s more! Our days ahead became a battleground.

My patience running thinner than a piece of cheap gum, we ended up talking a few days later while she was driving early one morning. She proceeded to cut our call short, saying she had to get into work, her voice sounding off as a karaoke singer after one too many drinks. The 1am text the night before was another clue that something was fishy, and not the good kind you get with chips. She never goes in that early.  It triggered my transformation within seconds into the world’s worst private investigator. Not my proudest moment.

I drove straight to her work, my heart racing like I was in a bad rom-com chase. I scanned the parking lot, and surprise surprise, another lie staring back at me like a bad punchline. Naturally, I didn’t keep this gem of a discovery to myself. I sent her a picture, like a selfie from hell, saying “Guess who?”

Her anger exploded when she got caught, as if questioning her lies or getting upset was the real crime. Should the deceived just frolic off without a single emotion? Regardless, the calls and texts came flooding in, filled with accusations of my wrongdoings. “I can’t believe you did that,” she screamed. Well, “I can’t believe you have to lie all the time.”

First off, I’m pretty sure more than a handful of people have jumped in their car at some point to seek out the truth and validate what was always being invalidated. Patricia recently hopped into her car to scout out a place of residence for a friend of hers for the exact same reason I just did. I had no shame.

As she proceeded to lash out at me, I had a brief moment where I felt like the biggest piece of shit. Then I thought, “NO, fuck this, not this time Ricky Bobby.” Once again, this was her mess, not yours. This is her pattern, her war. My only thought during this time was, is she sleeping with two people again? A valid question! Had I ended up in the same situation I did in July?

I was pretty heated when I finally answered her phone call, feeling like a small kid screaming, “Liar, liar, pants on fire!” I was big mad. We are in our 40s, is asking for the truth that difficult? Is showing the same respect given that hard? I will ponder and walk away knowing I was honest and transparent, and I valued the person who had stood before me as well as her child. I will always feel sad for the person who couldn’t be who she said she was.

With all the lies, I turned into my worst self, like a villain in a bad soap opera. I stooped to screaming and, at times, hit below the belt, not as bad as her gut punches, but pretty close. Lies do something to you. When you finally realize this person has betrayed you again and again, it's hard not to be infuriated. I clung to those sweet words and texts from not too long ago, but actions do speak louder than words. For some reason, I dismissed that and made it okay to ignore. Shame on me!

This ending has me feeling a bit like a lost sock in the laundry, misplaced and forgotten. I spent the last year with someone from whom I expected honesty, the same person who just told me they loved me a few short weeks ago. Now, I’m on a journey to rediscover my sparkle.

For a moment, she made me question my identity, but never again!

I have to remind myself that I fought hard to be where I am in life, and her actions, secluding me, hiding me, and betraying me, truly hurt. I need to stand my ground, no matter how uncomfortable it gets, and this is one of those moments.

I won’t forget what she meant to me, but I also won’t forget how she treated me. That's not a place I will ever put myself in again.

Although my heart did much of the talking, I now recognize the warning signs!