Thursday, September 11, 2008


There's a tight, twisted feeling in my stomach right now.  I hope writing this post will get it out.  I'm reluctant to do so, because it's largely about another person and I know they read this blog now and then.  To that person: I have forgiven you, and I don't think of this very often.  That said, I will probably always hate this night.

Just one night.  My woman at the time went out with some friends of hers, not an unusual thing.  I figured she'd come home around 3 or 4 and we'd snuggle ourselves to sleep.  (It's hard writing about this; my chest feels tight and I'm almost shaking.)

She didn't come home at 3.  I sent her a text to let her know I was thinking of her, see if she'd respond, basically see if she was okay.  No response, and she didn't come home at 4.  I probably sent another two texts between 3 and 4, possibly more because she hadn't responded all evening.  I started feeling sick, with worry that she was okay, with anger that I was in the uncertain situation.  I couldn't sleep.  I could barely sit still.  (I can barely sit still right now.)  I have no idea how many texts I sent between 4 and 5, but I do know that at some point I stopped texting and started calling every five minutes.  I figured the phone would wake my woman up eventually and she'd respond, tell me everything was okay, that she was coming home.  

I believe I stopped calling around 5 and just sat, consumed by worry, anger, and fear.  I know I tried to sleep, but it was a futile attempt.  I don't remember why, but I know I was in front of the computer when I got a message from my woman at 6:30.  I demanded that she call me, and when she did, I let her have every last ounce of the anger, worry, and fear that I had all night to build up.  I demanded to know why she hadn't come home, why she hadn't called or responded to any of my attempts to reach her.

Her explanation was that she and her friends weren't at the friends' place like I thought; they were out at a hotel and they had been rolling on E all night.  She'd kinda noticed the phone at some point, or someone had, but they were all too busy talking and snuggling and sucking cock and eating pussy to bother answering it.

I demanded the female half of this couple get on the phone and I let her have a piece of my mind, too.  My woman and her friend were both crying by that time.  I demanded to talk to the male friend, too, but the female wouldn't let me.  She was too scared; she had lied to him time and time again about various things, and she was worried that I would try to break her relationship up in anger.

I WAS angry, too.  I felt I'd been lied to about where my woman was, I was angry that I had been ignored.  I knew it was this woman's first time dropping E, too.  (While I didn't think about it then, it makes me angry now that this was probably her first drug experience EVER, and she was so eager to please these two that she couldn't wait to share her first drug experience with ME.)

That night was everything that has ever been wrong with any open relationship, rolled up into one night.  Fear, doubt, jealousy, anger, lies & half-truths, missed experiences that should have been shared ones.  I can't describe the anger and hurt that I felt.  It still makes me feel physically sick with anger when I think of it today.  Thinking about it makes me realize that it could never really be put right; I'll never have a chance to drop E with that girl for the very first time, to be with her the very first time she does recreational drugs.  At best, the people involved can be forgiven (which I've done with all but one of them) and we can try not to think about the event, try not to dwell on it.  

I don't think about it often; I try to gloss over it very quickly when it does enter my mind.  I know what it does to me.  This blog post is an example of what it does to me.  I had to write this in an attempt to get it out somehow, to make the angry dynamo in the back of my head slow down, to make some of the rage drain off so that I can stop feeling ill.  It's mostly worked.

To you: I'm sorry that I made you think of this and go through it again with me.

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