Posted on: December 30, 2011

I haven’t cried in exactly one week, and I blew it today. Cried on my way to work, and then just now, when I got home. It’s this overwhelming feeling of sadness, loneliness and anger, all rolled into one. I feel stupid that I trusted him with what he said instead of what he did. I feel stupid that I still want him to talk to me and call. I feel stupid that I was so blind to all the bad in him and instead believed all the excuses I got about everything.

We met on a flight out of Nairobi… I saw him in the lobby area and thought he was cute, talking to himself in his cute British accent. I thought nothing else of it, until he sat down in the seat next to me. He told me later that I interrupted his conversation with our other seatmate in order to talk to him. He told me later that he was so restrained not to kiss me on the forehead as I slept on his shoulder, and how gutted he was that he didn’t. There was an instant spark, at least for me. Tall, blue eyes, handsome and an accent to die for. I was hooked from the first minute. We chatted for about half the flight, until I fell asleep. He told me later that I fell asleep on him, and ‘snuggled up’ to him mid-flight. He told me that I was on his mind quite a bit after that.  The flight was June 2010. We talked as friends, on facebook, for about 6 months, about everything – life/work/Africa/whatever. It was fun to keep the connection going, though I wasn’t sure why – according to his facebook profile, he was ‘in a relationship.’

January 2011 – we were chatting multiple times a day via email and I mentioned I had a naughty dream about him. It wasn’t a big deal, but I thought I’d share… he admitted he’d dreamt about me too. I told him I’d noticed him before the flight, and he admitted he’d seen me in the passport line and thought  I was pretty, but also that he thought I was a missionary based on my US passport. That is the first and last time anyone will ever think I am a missionary.

So we continued to email and sms/text daily, 5 to 6 times a day, until we finally connected on the phone. And that was it… he told me he was smitten with me, and he’d never felt that way about anyone before. I asked about his girlfriend and was told that they weren’t really together anymore, and it was just a matter of ending things. I was already falling for him.

We started to talk on the phone all the time… we’d chat on email at work, then I’d come home and call him or he’d call me. He said he’d get internet so we could chat for free … that never happened. He would call though, directly from his cell, at ridiculous rates. For months we talked on the phone, at all hours of the day and night, about everything in our lives – hopes/dreams/fears/loves. And I started to fall in love with him. And he said he felt the same about me even though he still had a girlfriend. And I believed him.

He broke his wrist in February – and partly, I think the only reason we ever got to the point we did was because he had nothing else to do. I was a distraction for him from the boredom he felt – he denies this, but I will always believe it is true. I was also a distraction because I was more fun than his girlfriend – there were no complications or consequences to what he said/did. I lived 4000 miles away from him and there was nothing but phone and email chatter. And I believed everything he told me. Every single word.

He mentioned visiting me after his cast came off… and I believed him. That never happened.  His cast came off and his physical therapy ended and there was no movement in coming to see me. None. He said it was because he still had a girlfriend and he just wouldn’t feel right. I thought that was noble. NOBLE. The fucking asshole had a girlfriend and was playing me, and I was so blind  that I thought he was being a good person. Fucking hell. I am so embarrassed by this all….

April rolled around and he went to London, he said he was going to break up with his girlfriend on this trip. He said he felt like he was betraying me by just going and that he would be thinking of me all weekend. I cried starting Friday night thinking of what could happen – they would rekindle, they would have sex, they would have fun and he would forget all about me. The weekend came and went… and he wasn’t single when we talked that Sunday night. He said they didn’t sleep together but they also didn’t end things. The breakup that I’d been waiting for didn’t happen. So he still had his girlfriend and he still had me, pining away for some fantasy of what ‘could be.’

I should’ve ended everything there… I should’ve stopped talking to him. But I didn’t. I believed him when he said he they talked about breaking up but that she only agreed ‘50%’ that they should end. I told him break-ups aren’t always mutual — and those words came back to haunt me. But it was April, and we’d talked every day since January and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him just because he had failed at this task and I believed every excuse he gave me for not ending things with her, regardless of how bad he was hurting me, because, again, I believed him when he said he loved me and when he said he cared about me and when he said he wanted to be with me not her. Except, his actions didn’t say any of that and I went along with all of it, because I still thought this fairytale would have a happy ending.  He was my prince – cute and funny, smart and sensible – I wanted to believe he meant what he said so that I could believe we’d live happily ever after.

But you see the title of this post, so very clearly, that is not what happened.


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