Those Were Different Days (Joce)

We're sitting around the table, everybody on their second or third margarita, worn out from a long hot day, but the mood is light and easy. Somebody asks Brandon about his sister, she's had a lot of trouble with men in her life, good juicy gossip: Her live-in boyfriend got somebody else pregnant and left her, then the next guy she dated was dealing heroin. Heroin! And went to jail. "She's just one of those girls," says Brandon, "that if you tell her she's pretty, tell her that you love her, that's all it takes. She holds on and won't let go." Everybody laughs. We all know girls like that. So insecure, so desperate for the approval of a man, oblivious or forgiving of the red flags. We pity them.

I laugh, too. I laugh at Brandon's sister and those poor, pathetic girls starved for the affection and validation of a worthless, piece of shit guy. I laugh but I don't say anything. Because, in my heart I know that I, too, am that girl. I order another margarita.

I made the error of writing about love in May as if I knew something, anything about it. As if being love thirsty for all these years and years has given me insight into what love is. As if keeping a blog about relationships and dating and feelings qualifies me as a love expert. What a fool!  Enter swift karmic retribution -- I got tangled in a couple of flash-in-the-pan relationships where the word love was bandied about, one was just a lie, a messy, twisted love lie, and the other was unwanted and non-reciprocal love. I realized I know nothing about love. Not one little thing.

I used to think, up until about a week ago, that my big relationship character flaw was having too much empathy for others. Did he have a bad childhood? Was he unloved by his mother? Was his heart broken in 15 different places by 15 different women? Is he naturally timid? Or mean? Or manipulative? I understand. No problem. I can help him overcome. I can heal his wounds no matter how deep or wide. My comforting and kindness and nurturing will make him whole again. He will change. He will love me, too, eventually, finally, and we will live happily ever after.

Wrong.

Brokedown Palace (Ken)

I recently made a submission to The Museum of Broken Relationships: 

"In the summer of 2010 we were preparing to move into our new house in Tucson, Arizona. We spent weekends at antique fairs and shops finding all the perfect things to fill the rooms. One day I stumbled across a little wooden soldier with a round head and a drab canvas overcoat. Ken was in the Army Reserves and I liked the idea that this humble soldier would stand watch at our home when he was away. 

We moved in at the beginning of August and only a couple of weeks later, while we were still unpacking, Ken lost his job in a mass layoff at Fort Huachuca. He panicked. There were very few options for jobs in our area, and we could barely afford the house payment as it was. He started sleeping on a cot in his office, often staying up nights to do job research. He suggested we take a trip to do some scuba diving in Mexico over Labor Day, to relax, forget about our troubles over the long weekend. 

Late Sunday night we returned home to find the inside of our house flooded ankle deep - the tiny hose to the ice maker in the fridge had a hole in it and had been spraying water for three days. Nearly all of our belongings were waterlogged and ruined. The house was unlivable. 

About a month later I found out that Ken had tampered with the hose - he had intentionally flooded our house for the insurance money. He had also taken out an insurance policy on my life just prior to our scuba trip. Had he planned to drown me in the ocean and lost his nerve? There were other deceptions, too. He had maintained a relationship with his former girlfriend and those trips away, the ones where my little toy soldier was standing guard, were rendezvous with her. 

I packed up my remaining belongings and moved back to Idaho."

Listen to a longer version of this story here. 

My Pen is Mightier (Voldemort, Ken)

I'm not unaware that in some circles, particularly, say, in the small circle made up of my crummiest ex's, this blog is somewhat controversial. A lot of people read it, some I know personally, the vast majority I've never met. Over the years the feedback from both camps has been overwhelmingly positive and encouraging; I can honestly say the only negative feedback I've received has been from two (three?) men and they are both featured prominently in these pages. 

Writing for the Big Book of Bad Dates is often exhausting, difficult and discouraging. And yet, keeping this blog has provided tremendous relief from the struggle. On occasion writing has allowed me to see what I couldn't see before; It's forced me to be honest, most painfully, with myself. When I go back and read through old entries I feel like I've made progress - emotionally, psychologically - and it's due in no small part to the work that I've done here. In the end I'm proud of myself and I'm proud of this blog. 

Three plus years ago I was still reeling from running from Ken. I was back in Idaho trying to get on my feet, trying to  find my path when I got a Google alert about a new blog. This blog was "About" me. What follows is the only three entries that were posted. 

Jots and Tittles (Ken)

6/10/11

Joce,

I ran across your posts about Ken and wanted to contact you. I am dating Ken now and would really appreciate some insight. The posts on your blog are really eye opening to me.

Can I ask a favor, that you not tell Ken I contacted you? He owes me money and I need to get it from him first.

Darla

Darla,

I posted that information about Ken because I was hoping, in the future, that if he was dating somebody, they might find out his true nature before they got totally hurt by him. I honestly believe Ken is mentally ill and capable of very bad things. I did not exaggerate or make-up anything but merely reported what happened to me. He was very charming and had me completely snowed. He lied to me, and everyone in his vicinity about EVERYTHING and I (we?) never suspected. I hope you are very careful and that you get your money back. I never got the thousands of dollars that he owes me. 

I no longer have any contact with Ken and hope to keep it that way, forever.

I'm sorry,

Joce

The Unsinkable (Joce)

I’ve almost drowned, twice, in the ocean, on Labor Day weekend. Once, as the heavy waves of Rockaway Beach rolled over my shoulders, I felt the fear of death descend, but I didn’t die. Once, off the sunny coast of San Carlo, Mexico, death hovered, but I couldn’t see it for the blue and sparkling sky above. Again, I did not die.

Ghosts of Different Days (Joce)

About the only thing that’s perfect about me is my vision. I haven’t taken an eye test in years but it’s never tested lower than absolutely flawless. As a kid, I thought I was really missing out on an accessory opportunity by not getting to wear glasses or bright blue contacts (keep in mind I was also jealous of the girl who broke her leg because she got to wear a pink cast.  Everybody signed it!). I’ve since come to realize that the additional expense of a medically required accessory leaves a little to be desired (sunglasses are more than enough) and I’ve reallocated my jealousies to wishing I had perfect hair, or perfect skin or a perfect ass. Even more unfortunately, there isn’t a glasses equivalent for the ass - that accessory that remedies the less than perfect characteristic. Unless you count Spanx. Which I don’t. Spanx are way less cuter than a pair of specs.

Supposedly hindsight is 20/20. Mine isn’t. The further I get from the past, the harder it is for me to recall what happened, what was going on, how I felt, what I said, how I reacted. I’ve never been one of those people that could recount, word for word, a conversation. Or remember a date, an anniversary. I’ve had lifelong friends that I can’t remember for the life of me what their birthday is. What year did I graduate from college? Good question. What was I wearing? Probably, likely, something cute, but, unless there’s a picture from the moment in question, your guess is as good as mine.

I’ve been going to a counselor lately to work on some life strategies. Clearly, I need some new tools for my toolbox. And he’s been asking me a lot of questions about the past, past relationships, past lives in past places. And, I don’t have a lot of details to give. He asked me the other day about Bryce, “what attracted you to him at the beginning?” (I’d asked him to help me figure out what attracts me to bullies, manipulators, tough and mean guys, so I don’t do it again, HALP!) Honestly, I couldn’t remember anything, anything except the basic timeline. I had to go back and read some emails, my blog, my diary, to fill in the details, to clarify.

 After that, I realized that Bryce was well-spoken, interesting, driven, not to mention, actively pursuing me. Mostly, he talked a good game. And I’m such a good listener that I didn’t bother to notice that he didn’t follow the talking up with action. He told me exactly what I wanted to hear, using the best possible words and he presented an elaborate façade that distracted me from who he actually was. He hid the hoarding part, the ‘roid rage, the pet abuse, the shifty financial situation. Until it was too late and I was so over my head that I was afraid to back out. I’m the kind of person who tends to put my money where my mouth is. If I say I’m going to do something, I make a concerted effort to do it. In other words, I’m a man of my word.

And, I tend to take a man at his word. Which is why, perhaps, I ended up with Bryce. And Ken. And Malik. And Conover. And, of course, Rocco. Each of these men presented a self, at least in the beginning, that was far different from whom they actually ended up being. They all said the right thing, talked a good game, but had a much harder time walking the walk. Each of them sold their refrigerator to an Inuit (me), but then couldn’t figure out (or never had the intention of) delivering a unessential major appliance to a remote destination.

Artificial Turf or The Pursuit of Happy-ish (Joce)

I usually feel an incredible relief at the start of the new year. Arbitrarily, and somewhat dishonestly, it feels like a new beginning, an unsullied sheet in a notebook with a crisp binding, ready to take dictation with a swift pen – defining in clean concise terms a brighter future with kooky, creative doodles for a better day. This year, despite the numerical date shift forward, the rodent is still scuttering behind my eyeballs, the boa constrictor feels tight around my organs, my kidneys, my heart, and the shrieking monkey of guilt and obligation has rendered me permanently deaf in one ear. When I look back over my shoulder at the last few years, I find only marginal progress and lateral moves, I find sighs and irritation, a sprinkling of iodized salt. Hope is a dusty well; I am feeling old and unhappy.

If you asked me, up until quite recently, I think I’d describe myself as someone who is always trying to do the right thing, a person that sacrifices my needs for others, I give, give and give and I take what I see as the burden of family and work and life and I grin and bear it. I am a good friend. I am a good daughter and sister. I am a good girlfriend and a good co-worker. But, it’s not as easy as all that, because if I look closely I am also a bitter, crabby, exhausted old dog. I am impatient. I am frustrated. I am regretful. I am angry. My life is a ridiculous waste of time, I contribute little, and what I contribute I do slowly and poorly. I burden others, my family, my friends, my co-workers, with my bad attitude and inflexibility.

Over a year ago, during a conversation with my sister in which I was complaining about my frustrations probably for the millionth time, she said to me, “Joce, I just don’t think you’re ever going to be happy, your standards are too high and you’re too hard on yourself and others.” At the time, it seemed like an unfair jab. Now, I realize it’s true. I am never going to be happy. It’s not in my temperament. But I wonder, why is happiness the goal anyway, and is it actually possible? For anyone?

The Deep Sea Diving Suit (Clint, Nik, Rocco)

I bought a house at 19. My dad insisted it was a good investment and helped me with the $3,000 down payment. In the mid-90’s you could build a brand new three-bedroom house with a two-car garage on a half an acre for $68,000 with a 5% interest rate.  My house payment was $550; I split it with my boyfriend at the time. We spent the next two years spending every disposable dime accumulating stuff: a washer and dryer, trashcans, hoses, a guest bed, a tree for the yard. We furnished creatively with yard sale finds, hand-me-downs from grandparents and splurged on two bright blue barrel chairs and a zebra striped rug from Ikea. We saved months for a new TV. Evenings and weekends were spent taming that half-acre into a lawn, which then required weekly mowing and endless sprinkler moving, I hoed the old, dry ground for flower beds, and planted and weeded, and tended the rose bushes. We assembled a bench for the front porch and installed an old brown fridge in the garage for overflow beer.  

But, less than a year into the new house, our relationship was pretty much over. I had grown to hate my lazy, alcoholic slob of a boyfriend; he thought I was a nag and a shrew, which was probably true, too. We didn’t break up though, mostly because of the stuff. I was working full-time, and a full-time college student. Clint worked nights. I knew we would both have to find a new place and then find the time to split up the stuff which would inevitably lead to bickering which would take more time. Neither of us had the time or the will, frankly, to deal with all that. So, our stuff was the anchor that kept us tied. After four years, though, I finally had had enough.

Instead of splitting up the stuff, I just let him have everything. The barrel chairs, the TV, the mid-century modern couch that had belonged to my grandfather. When we sold the house, the beer fridge was his problem, and the garage full of yard tools, the computer desk that had to be disassembled, and the zebra rug. I packed up my clothes, took only the things that I had owned prior to our co-house, like family pictures, and my dog.

I did this mostly because I wanted a clean break. I didn’t want “our” crap around when there was no longer an “us,” I didn’t want to be reminded of him, of our space, our things, or the stink of our bad relationship tainting up my future space.

Also, I was moving in with another guy and he had his own house with his own stuff, and there wasn’t much room for additional stuff.

Refried Beans 20/20 (Ken, Cooper)

Dear Girls,

Dating dilemma of the week:

Okay, so remember how I told you about that guy Cooper that I was totally in love/lust with but who told me I didn't have the "commitment to fitness" that he required? Well, he's still been keeping in touch, calling, emailing, IM'ing, etc. We went out on Sunday to see an exhibit at a gallery (his idea) and then went for beers. Then, he invited himself over and we ended up having (as per usual) a great deal of fun, (so much fun that he left at 4 a.m.) The thing is, other than that one time when he completely devastated me by saying that we shouldn't date, he is perfect. We are unbelievably compatible; he's charming, funny, sweet, kind, and smart as hell. And, I'm still harboring this MAJOR crush; I’m totally cuckoo for Cooper.

However, I've also gone on a couple of dates with this guy Ken. Formerly in the Army, he has a degree in Economics, a good job, nice car, etc.  Thing is, he has a pretty uninspired personality. I find myself being seriously bored when I’m around him.

I know I should just suck it up and date Ken and forget about Cooper. Ken will be loyal and good to me and easy going, and he’ll probably grow on me. Cooper will destroy me, he already has. But, every time I'm with Ken, I'm thinking about how I wish he was Cooper.

Advice?

Joce

Not buying what you're selling (Ken)

I am human, as are you. I know that you were/are deeply hurt, and I am sorry for doing that to you. If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't, but the past can't be undone.  But I am sorry, I really mean it. Coming via an email, it probably doesn't seem like much, but I don't wish anything bad for you, only the best.

I think you'll move on and heal just fine. I'm not the only relationship you've ever had, and others have dicked you over in some way. I stated earlier that we are human beings, and human beings screw stuff up in relationships. Not all relationships are perfect and harmonious - we each have our past relationships to reflect upon to realize that. This one is another ruined relationship among many others in the world that are in ruins. The terrible thing is that I did it. That it happened to you. When you read about something like this in People about Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie/Jennifer Aniston, we take perverse pleasure in absorbing all the details. When it happens to us, it's a damned tragedy. Again, you know this.

But don't get sanctimonious and act as if you're perfect. We know enough of each others pasts to go back and forth and turn this into a dirt-slinging mudfest. Is that what you want?  Do you really want me to go point-by-point? I don't want that, I'm certain that you don't, either.

What I would like is this - to know that you've moved on, that you're successful, that you're business is flourishing and that you're family is well. I haven't contacted you yet because I knew that it would only result in something like this, something mean. While I may understand your anger and bitterness, I'm sure that you know that this really accomplishes nothing in the long-run. 

I am sorry, Joce, and I wish I never hurt you. You're right about many things - one of the biggest is that I never really knew what I had until I didn't have you anymore. You were a large part of my life that I didn't truly respect and honor. I am sorry, but you don't believe that, and there's nothing I can do to change how you feel.

I wish you the best.  I hope everything works out the way you want it to. 

take care,

Ken

Part 6, The End: Finker, Sailor, Soldier, Spy (Ken, Sargeant "First Class")

 “How the hell did I get away with it? I was a cheater and a liar, and it takes one to know one. That’s why he never suspected me. Because he’s not a cheater and a liar. He never thought in that way.” From “A Brutally Candid History of Breaking Up” by Adam Sternbergh, New York Times, March 11, 2011

Ken and I had been dating exactly a year. I knew that I was in love with him and cared deeply about our relationship. I believed he felt the same way. However, I was aware, from the beginning, that he had emotional problems. I thought with enough love and support, we could overcome those difficulties.

Ken had been raised by a mostly absentee career military Dad and a stepmother who supposedly despised her stepchildren. Ken spoke of cruel punishments and neglect when he referred to his childhood. After a failed first semester of college he went into the Army and spent the next ten years as a soldier, he spent time in Bosnia and did two tours in Iraq. His time in combat had left him deaf in one ear, impotent and physically scarred. He was also hyper-vigilant; he had loaded guns throughout the house, had an alarm system installed and talked of making our master closet into a safe room with a panic button. Once, when I was still living at my apartment and Ken was visiting, I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I didn’t turn on a light and as I was shuffling, half-asleep down the hall I was met with the loudest, most fearful screaming I have ever heard “GET THE FUCK OUT, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” I stopped dead in my tracks, was he having a flashback? “Ken, it’s me!” I yelled, “It’s just me!” I turned on the light; he was standing next to the bed, clutching the only weapon he could find, a water bottle. His adrenaline was pumping so hard he was shaking. I realized that had we been in his apartment, I might have well been shot.

Part 5: Finker, Sailor, Soldier, Spy (Ken, Sargeant "First Class")

Part 4: Finker, Sailor, Soldier, Spy (Ken, Sargeant "First Class")

MOLLY

March 2008 - We met and started dating. The first year was pretty amazing. (He sent me notes and messages telling me how much he loved me and surprised me with little gifts/flowers/trips. We spent a lot of time with my extended family and with his family and friends. I was busy a good part of the time because my grandmothers were dying and passed away during the year, but he was really, really supportive. I went with him to drill a lot and got to meet his unit in GA, so it just seemed normal to visit him during his drill weekends later.)

Feb/Mar 2009 - Ken brought up and we started discussing marriage and kids. For our 1-year anniversary (which coincided with his spring break) he surprised me with a trip to Vegas, St. George, Zion, Bryce and the Grand Canyon. He even conspired with my sister to make sure I took the right clothes & shoes to Georgia with me so he could surprise me at the last minute.

June 2009 - I spent the week before he left Georgia doing laundry, packing his things, loading the U-Haul, etc. He was pretty grouchy all summer, but it seemed to me that he was always hateful when he was under stress. I was never in a hurry, but thought we would get married eventually.

July 2009 - Ken asked me to go with him to a military event in Utah the 10th-12th (I think) but I couldn't find a flight that would get me back east in time for my trip to Costa Rica and Nicaragua. He told me he loved me before I got on the plane, and then seems he went on his first date with you while I was out of the country.

JOCE

Ken and I had our first date on July 19. We really hit it off and even though he was living 1 ½ hrs away, Ken made an effort to come visit and take me out about every third day. He called every night as soon as he got off work. I was a little intimidated by the attention but enjoyed his company although I will admit it wasn’t love at first sight.

We dated for about a month and then unexpectedly, he just disappeared. He wouldn’t take my calls or return emails. I thought it was really crazy and weird. And then apropos of nothing, I got this email: http://thebigbookofbaddates.blogspot.com/2009/09/you-should-have-known-better-kyle.html (This, by the way, is my blog. You can see other references to Ken under the name “Kyle”)

MOLLY

August 09 - After disappearing for so long that I started to panic, he finally sent me a Facebook message about a job in DC. He started acting strange, lying to me and to his friends for reasons none of us understood.

September 1^st, 09 - Ken broke up with me, citing his job search as the reason while insisting that he was still in love with me. I asked him if he wanted to see other people and he insisted vehemently that he did not.

JOCE

In hindsight, I never should have returned the communication. I think it’s pretty clear that from his email that he realizes that he has some emotional problems. But, I emailed him back and told him that I thought he owed me an apology in person. I felt that he had been under a lot of stress with his cross country move, the job change, etc. and I could be the bigger person and offer him forgiveness. That was Sept. 8, 2009. From that point forward we saw each other regularly, at least a couple of times a week unless he had drill. Early on Ken made it very clear that because of his position in the military, there would be times when he was unavailable or unreachable for days and that I shouldn’t be concerned if he was out of town and I didn’t hear from him. Having never known anybody in the military, I took him at his word.

The first weekend that I spent in Sierra Vista was the 17^th and 18^th of October.

Part 3: Finker, Sailor, Soldier, Spy (Ken, Sargeant "First Class")

NOVEMBER 15, 2010
Joce,
Your message was quite a shock to me, but I appreciate the info. Although we did break up last fall, Ken and I have continued to see each other since then. I have been out to visit him at least 5 times in the past year, most recently this month. He has never mentioned you, and I was decidedly unaware that he had been seeing anyone else - at all - since he and I met in 2008. For my own curiosity, would you mind telling me when you began seeing each other?

Molly

Part 2: Finker, Sailor, Soldier, Spy (Ken, Sargeant "First Class")

OCTOBER 16, 2009

4:09 PM Kenneth: Hey, Beautiful, pay attention to me!!!

16 minutes

4:25 PM Kenneth: hello?

6 minutes

4:31 PM me: sorry, had to make a cupcake run

4:32 PM heading home now...

4:35 PM Kenneth: enjoy your cupcake, Cupcake.

me: I already ate it. And now I feel sick.

Kenneth: Awww...need me to rub your tummy?

me: yes please

4:36 PM Kenneth: okay....if I rub my tummy, maybe you can feel it?

me: I'm sure of it.

Kenneth: okay...hope you feel better...

me: thanks, pookie, call me later please

4:37 PM Kenneth: I will, when is a good time?

me: Talking to you on IM for hours and 4 times over the phone just wasn't enough?

Kenneth: never is

me: I'll be chillaxin at home all NIGHT

trying not to cry because Imissuuuu

Kenneth: cool...miss you too, sweetface. I'll call later

4:38 PM me: xoxoxoxoxoxoxoKenneth: hearts and stuff!!!

Part 1: Finker, Sailor, Soldier, Spy (Ken, Sargeant "First Class")

When I was in high school, my parents made the acquaintance of a young couple. The husband ran a small business and since my Dad had been in business for himself for years, the man confided in him and occasionally asked advice of him. One day my Dad came home and told us that he had some sad news: the man had told him that his wife had cancer and that they had no insurance, they had also recently had a baby and his wife was struggling with her cancer treatments and taking care of their child. How awful, we all thought, and expressed an interest in helping in any way we could. Soon after we were presented an opportunity to show our support: a flyer for a fundraiser arrived in the mail. The couple’s church community was holding the event to raise money for medical bills and childcare. We attended and made our donation, pausing briefly to shake the hand of the man and nod our heads to the young woman, her bald head wrapped in a colorful scarf. She smiled a sad smile and turned her gaze to the baby in her arms.

A few months passed and my Dad went to see the man at his shop. He returned home with an even more disturbing story. The wife’s brother, a doctor, out of concern for his ailing sister, made a visit to the couple’s home. Later, he pulled the husband aside and broke the news: the woman did not, in fact, have cancer. Either she was mentally ill, or confused or simply lying, but she was not sick with cancer. The husband admitted he had never gone to the doctor with his wife, nor had he seen any confirmation of her illness from a professional; she was his wife, and he believed her. It was his job to take care of her and their child. The money from the fundraiser, already spent, would have to be returned, and the man, struggling with running his business and raising their first child would now have to come to terms with his wife’s mental state and try and get her some help.

I was in my teens at the time that these events came to pass for the man and his wife and their story has haunted me in the years since. I couldn’t believe that you could be in a relationship with someone, live with them, be married to them, have a child with them, and not know that they didn’t have cancer, that they were lying to you or keeping secrets or betraying you or deceiving you. Wouldn’t you have to be completely unaware, oblivious to reality, an idiot, to not see what was right in front of you, the signals and signs and clues? I felt sorry for the husband, but I also felt he must be as much to blame: his wife was crazy, and he couldn’t tell?

Today I know what is like to be that man.

Finker, Sailor, Soldier, Spy (Ken, Sargeant "First Class")

Coming soon!

A real life story of the ultimate betrayal: how one innocent woman (Joce) was scammed by her very own "American hero." Shocking truths revealed including his double life, how he used his army duties to cover for secret rendezvous with his ex, insurance fraud, guns, prescription drugs, theft and emotional manipulation. A tale full of obsession, violence and power trips, juicy enough for a Lifetime Made For T.V. Movie. Stay tuned...

An elephant never forgets (Ken)

Update (Ken)

My new score: 82. I saw your update about "Ken." Very interesting. After this, no more emails, texts, or anything in writing. Just verbal. See you tomorrow around 6.30 or so.
Ken

No more emails, texts, or anything in writing OR you could just never give me a reason to post anything about you again. Like, don't be a douchebag! See you tomorrow; looking forward to beating your pansy ass at mini golf.
Hugs,
Joce

You should have known better (Ken)

Hi, Joce,
My apology is long overdue. This message will probably be long and circuitous, disorganized and rambling, but I hope to explain perhaps a bit of what happened from my perspective, and probably why I am 31 and still single. Many of my exes have told me many different things over the years, but the one constant is what one referred to as “emotional stonewalling.” Essentially, when times are good, things are great: the person in the relationship with me feels loved, cared for, as if the only thing I am concerned about is her. However, in bad/stressful times, during arguments, conflicts, etc., I close out and go cold. I take a very unemotional look at things and make decisions, take actions, and say things that chip away and weaken whatever exists as the foundation of my relationship. In many cases, this has occurred to the point where there was nothing left to hold up a relationship, and my girlfriend would leave me.

I say that to describe my flow of thoughts and emotions for what happened on 7 August, the last day you heard anything from me. That was the day I had to conduct a mad scramble to find a reserve unit to participate with in a weekend exercise. It was bad enough for me that it all happened pretty much at the last minute. You and I spoke as I was driving around looking for a unit, and at one point after I had hung up with you I did indeed find a unit that had something for me to do. The issue, however, was that I had to be ready to go within a very short period of time. I instantly prioritized in my mind. I had a million different things to do: things to pack, uniforms to prepare, gear and equipment to find, etc. Speaking with you was the last thing on my mind. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk with you, it was that I had an itemized list of things that absolutely had to be accomplished by a specific deadline, and the deadline was rapidly approaching. Due to the nature of the job, cell phones aren’t always permitted for all phases of an exercise, and that was the case this particular weekend.

When I did check my phone, I saw that you had called and left a voice message. I checked the voice message first, and that’s when I heard the voicemail from you. That one voicemail was what flicked the switch in my brain that made me immediately go into “emotional stonewall” mode. It wasn’t a typical message from you, where I could tell you were joking, it was missing your usual light-heartedness. The tone of your voice, the sound of the message, everything led me to believe that you were serious when you stated that you wondering if I had forgotten about you. I thought it was an absurd message because we had been on the phone just a few hours prior, talking and laughing. I know that some of my last words to you were about calling you back. I’d hoped that you would realize that sometimes things happen, and that I would call back when I could, even if it was the next day, or later. But the message did it for me. I was immediately incensed, I felt tremendously angry that you would even consider that to be an option for me. But, as soon as I became enraged, I calmed down, and immediately decided that it was not worth it for me to continue. I would simply call you when my weekend was over, perhaps you would learn your lesson. Then I could scold you for being so needy and weak, at least that’s how I saw it at the time.

The weekend came and went, and I made it home Sunday night. I debated on whether I should call you or not, but preferred to go to sleep instead, as I had not slept much over the weekend. Then Monday came and went, then Tuesday, etc., it became easier to simply say that “you, Joce, should have known better, and now look at what you’ve done” than to call you and explain to you how much of an asshole I really, truly can be. The truth is, I should have called you late Friday night after I listened to the voicemail and chewed your ass out then. I should have told you to stop being such a pussy, we would have had a quick little spat over the phone, agreed to talk about it later, and then discussed it in greater detail Sunday night when I was done, and everything would have been fine. We would have resolved things Sunday night, and none of this b.s. would have occurred. I chose to ignore the issue, and ignore you, and I’m sorry for doing that to you.

This isn’t supposed to be some long overdue desperate plea to get back together with you. I’m sure you’ve moved on. If you haven’t, do so, because I am an asshole, a terrible one, and you deserve someone many times better. I like to think that I’ve gotten better over the years as I’ve matured and supposedly mellowed, but I guess I haven’t, at least not completely. What this is, however, is an attempt to rebuild a relationship with someone I felt that I really connected with. I really do want a friendship with you, because you are right, I certainly enjoyed being with you and you can really get me going. If I never hear back from you, I understand, but please know and understand that I know that what I did was wrong, and I’m sorry. You deserve much better.

Ken