Controlled, But Too Much

A few years back I had this X. He was short (5’7″.)  He was mainly Italian.  He was older, but not by much.  His age was not something to joke about.   He lived w/ his mom, dad, and sister.  His hair was thinning.  He had issues w/ his eyebrows.   He lived 2 hours away from me.  Yes . . .  I met him on the internet, in a chatroom.  He was the one who started our conversing. He was the one who picked me.

Our relationship started sometime in the beginning March.  He had me professing love by the middle of the month.  Altho at the time, I only “liked him more than I should have.”  But he wanted to hear those 3 words.  So I told him.  It wasn’t that hard.  It was pretty easily done. And even w/out him saying it back.   And me not totally meaning it, at all.

We were talking on the phone.  Constantly.  I don’t remember a minute we weren’t on the phone if I wasn’t w/ him or at work.  And even then I was using work’s dime to phone him for an hour here and there.  Which, I do feel bad about.  I thought I had a good long distance phone plan.  5 cents a minute.  Not shabby.  (Not what I ended up thinking in the end. Er, middle.)   Sometimes while we were talking he’d have to go to the bathroom or get a drink.  Instead of hanging up, cuz I thought it wouldn’t take more than 5 minutes, he’d set the phone down and do his thing.  This one time.  Oh, this one time, he left me sitting on the phone for 30 minutes waiting for him.  He said he got to talking w/ his sister.  Hmmm, must have forgotten about me.  I did mention, this was on my phone plan.  MY. PHONE. PLAN.  Not his.  If he called me, it was to tell me to call him back.  Because he was jobless at the moment and couldn’t afford to pay for LD.

I got directions to his house. Sorry, his parents’ house.  Which I wasn’t allowed to go to if his family was there.  I did say he lived 2 hours from me, right?  I only was there twice.  Met his mom, once . . . by accident, for a passing minute.   All the other times I was w/ him, it was at a hotel.  For the weekend.  Sometimes long weekends, if he made the request of me.  Or maybe I should demand of me.  And I paid for it.  It had to have a frig in it.  And it had to be an end unit.  I had to pay for it!  Oh . . . and I had to pay for the food. That we got delivered, twice a day.  And I had to buy him a carton of cigarettes.  Each Time!

You are noticing how much money I’m shelling out, right? And you are realizing, it’s not because I wanted to, but because HE. MADE. ME. DO. IT.  

This was his way of making sure I was his.  This was what he needed to make me know I was his.  There was no ignoring it, I was his.  As long as he told me what to do, when to do, and who to do it w/.

Oh, did I mention I had to change my email account.  Not just change it, but cancel it and start another one.  To his specifications.  And I had to change my phone number.  And the only person who was allowed to have it was him.  And he grudgingly let me give it to my family.

Did I mention . . . . I went along w/ all of this?

Yes, I did.  And I did it, because I thought I deserved it.  I went nights months w/out sleep.  I stopped paying my bills.  I started smoking 2 packs a day.  I drove to him.  I listened to what he had to say about his ex . . .

His ex was perfect.  And from Colorado, or somewhere out midwest.  She had the most perfect boobs.  They were big, but there was no sag. They were perky.

I have a friend who has a nice, BIG dick.   Bigger than his.  And I told him that.  Because he asked.  We broke up.   For about 2 hours.  We got back together because I cried and begged.   (My friend still has the bigger dick! So pppfffffttttt!)

I didn’t mention it, but he wouldn’t come visit me.  In the beginning it was because he would never lower himself to be seen where I live.  Then it was because he didn’t have a car, because he had some mad-mom-in-a-minivan hit him.  (He got put on Oxycodone.   He loved them. I didn’t.  Worse woozy feeling ever, but w/ a dull pain behind it.  No thanks.)

This is just the icing.  This is what I didn’t like about him.  This is the controlling part I abhor when I look back on it.   I ran up a $3000+ phone bill on him for 6 months.  I bought him a $250 air conditioner.  Plus some football paraphernalia.  I paid for motel rooms at $60 a night, I bought food at $25-30 a meal. I bought him $25 cartons of cigs.  I paid gas money, tolls, oil changes, etc.  I even got cable TV so we could watch shows together.  All in all, I wish I never got w/ him, he wasn’t worth the monetary value.

. . . to be continued . . .

People Wonder Why I Am the Way I Am

Responsibility, people! It’s a huge word w/ a huge meaning. It’s one worth taking the time to look up, if the definition eludes you.  I’ll even be nice & define it for you, per Merriam-Webster:

     1.  the quality or state of being responsible:

                                     a.  moral, legal, or mental accountability

                                     b.  reliability, trustworthiness

                           2.  something for which one is responsible:  Burden.

Consideration.  It’s another some thing that has become lost in the world today. Not just w/ youths.  Some elderly have given up being considerate & replaced it w/ entitlement.  Or at least that’s what I’ve noticed.  But I’m not here to talk about the “Entitled Ederly.” 

I was at friend’s Halloween Party.  I rarely go out to begin w/ so this was an occassion.   I even dressed up for it.  But that’s neither here nor there.  At the end of the night, I saw something.  Something that shouldn’t have happened.  Something that was avoided last year at the same friend’s party (I was made aware of the happening the following Monday,)  yet it wasn’t avoided this year, because, well, nobody gave two shits about it.   What happened will always happen. 

What makes me say: responsibility and consideration – well, that’s a matter for the Monday after.   What I saw was called into question by my friend.  I told her exactly what I saw.  I was the only one there Stone. Cold. Sober.    And my eyesight, it did not fail me!  I said my piece and that was that.   About an hour later, I got a nasty-gram from the guilty party.

Seeing as how I work w/ some of the people at the party and it was an after work affair, what occurred should not have been brought into the workplace.  

Ok, I’m not able to put this into words w/out rambling, so I’m just going to out and out type it.   

I got accused of being a rumor monger.  Gossipmonger.  Whatever.   This person that accused me, is the guilty party.  And the reason the  guilty party targeted me is because of those I choose to surround myself w/.   The company I keep is very up-to-date on all the goings-on of those in a position of authority and those not.  I usually listen to all the gossip w/ half an ear, because personally……. I. Don’t. Care.   I’m a very apathetic person.   I don’t give a shit.

Anyways, this nasty-gram pissed me off because I didn’t say a damn thing, except for when my friend asked me about it, and nobody was around.  I didn’t deserve a single word that was typed to me.

In conclusion: do not put yourself in a position you’ll have to defend if you don’t want to defend yourself.  Also, take responsibility for your actions, even if they are/were wrong.  And, be considerate of those you think are going to fuck you over, cuz they just may, and it’ll be because of you.