Period, Greg, Psychopathy

I woke up in the middle of the night cramping. My periods started, I felt slack and reluctant to get up and go to the bathroom for a pad. But my sleepiness vanished as soon as I reached out for my phone to check the time. It was a text from Greg: “Hi gorgeous, miss you”. He messaged me at midnight. How does this universe work? Why does he appear in my life every time I forget about him, let go of my illusions, and make firm decisions to learn to live without his presence? Maybe he senses me remotely, and as soon as I am ready to cut the connection, he emerges to strengthen the tie and pulls back on the leash.
I got up, showered, placed a female pad in my undies, slid back under the plush blanket, and texted back: “I thought you forgot about me”. It was 3 am, way too late or early to pretend that I do not care. The phone started ringing. Unbelievable, he was up and wanted to talk. I responded immediately. Panicking about heavy bleeding due to the recently diagnosed fibroid swept off the remnants of my pride. I needed him primarily to assure that I would be fine; I needed his presence, his touch, and his MDable opinion.
          I think of you all the time, can I come over? – his voice was calming
          Yes, you can, – my heart was literary pounding
          Give me forty minutes
          Are you by yourself?
          No, Emy is here and sleeping
His arrival was magical, sex was awesome as usually.
          Quit your vegan bullshit. You need to eat, babe, your body needs nutrition in order to function properly.  It would regulate your periods. You are underweight. Plus, during your period the fibroid gets irritated a bit. 
      I closed my eyes, I followed his voice, it was therapeutically comforting; most of what he said passed over my ears. He left his wife to be with me, and I did not care much about it. Not that I am callous, but love is a selfish affair; and I need him badly, beyond everything.
Am I psychopathic? Well, I do not worry about hurting other’s feelings and expediting the collapse of their cracked families. I actually am a psychopath. BINGO. The recognition of it made me open my eyes and smile to Greg’s lecture on heavy bleeding.
If I only care about myself, how can I be upset with his exceptionally genius psychopathy? He is self-focused, I am self-focused. He calls me at midnight if he wants me; I allow him into my life only when I need him. He does not care much about my feelings, I could not have cared less about his marriage. It was my relief, my insight, my eye-opener; since I do not have to feel heart-broken, ruthlessly used, and in pain every time he exploits me and leaves. I am like that as well, I also do not care about anyone but my own interests.
That night I felt free, I got it, and it was surprisingly easy for me to let go of my resentment, forgive, forget, and simply enjoy intimacy with the most wonderful person in this world.

Me being Honest, my Carla

          You gotta be honest with yourself. Being entirely open with others is no good, – I put the emphasis on “others” as I was looking into Carla’s wide open eyes. I wanted her to see my point and drop her feminist bullshit about the importance of being transparent in relations.
          But the real man will love you no matter what, trust starts with the ability to be open about your past, your present, and plans for the future.
          No, they want the truth as long as it matches their expectations. No one wants the reality check; neither you, nor them. Tell the man what he wants to hear and be honest with yourself, – this is the recipe of my life balance.
Carla never got me. She thought my worldviews are crazy, and I should suffer remorse due to not telling my partner who fucked me in the past.
First, no one fucks me, I fuck. Second, I know everything about myself, and I put up with my imperfections, weaknesses and demons, that’s enough. Allowing anyone else into my world makes no sense. People do not accept the reality the way it is. Being honest will kill Greg’s love and Jim’s passion, and who, after all, would help me pay my bills? I am just a single mom; losing such privileges as country club membership, fine dining routines, first class flights to South America, and shopping in Milan and Paris is not something I am ready to do. Life is way too short not to enjoy it.
What is the truth? The truth is that my dear friend Carla is a very good attorney and a very unhappy woman. She behaves with guys the way she acts in court. Normal males run away, leaving her surrounded by pussy-like creatures who may care about her feelings but do not fuck her the way she wants. After all, her honesty weakens their erection and kills natural animal instincts. Carla teaches me how to live once a week. I listen to her attentively while chewing raw chocolate closing my eyes with joy. Then I come home and proceed with my life being entirely open, transparent, and totally honest with only one person – with myself.

Attempting to dump

Jim did not listen to my lame excuses and hysterics every time I tried to get rid of him. He kept moving forward, he kept forcefully entering my personal space. He was deaf and numb when I attempted to defend myself physically and emotionally, and he mercilessly crushed my privacy.  He demanded my loyalty, total subordination, and sexual submissiveness and offered absolutely nothing in return. The worst copy of Greg, he was taking, taking, taking, but refused to give.
I had the feeling I was his pet, and he put me on a leash through endless manipulations and silent dominance.  He put me somewhere between hunting and fishing, and I finally made the decision to pull myself together and break up. I stopped responding to his phone calls and a couple of hours later, I became really scared by his compulsive texting. He went from being concerned to furious. I literary sensed his power through the intensity of my I-Phone ding sounds.
First, I silenced the ringer, then I had to turn on the airplane mode since my whole body shuddered with each vibrate of the phone.
I was scared of his pervasive dominance, and I could not logically explain the reason for my panic attacks. Jim never threw verbal threats or tantrums, but there was something primeval and ruthless about him once he got persistent with me. He was stronger, much stronger than myself. Greg was also stronger, but his power was more seductive than frightening. I enjoyed his animal barbarism pretending that I do not care and hoping that he will stalk me to have his way.
Jim’s dominance threw me into cold sweats. Three hours later the curiosity overcame my fears, and I turned on the phone and read his texts. He wanted to meet. He was begging for the last chance to see me in person; it was the first time I felt he was helpless. I won the battle and texted back that we can meet for a quick chat.
I drove to the place he chose for lunch. He always chose everything for me from food to eat to people to communicate and lingerie to wear. I saw his vehicle, parked next to it and glanced at my reflection in the car mirror. I was pale, my fear and fury were hidden behind brandy sunglasses and bleached bare teeth.
I got out of the car ready to be tough, quick, and bitchy. My break-up speech was planned in advance, and I was repeating it to myself until I saw him. Our eyes met, his heavy and scary look paralyzed me, and I forgot everything I wanted to say. He wanted me to kiss him. I quietly obeyed. He asked if I was hungry, I nodded. He kept staring at me while I was hiding my eyes focusing on lemon and water. The fear that I was too weak to disentangle was combined with the relief that I could just relax and accept my helplessness not fighting it. He treated me worse than a rented vehicle, he was cruel and merciless, expecting adoration in return. I was too tired to resist and kept giving in again and again and again.  

Marriage versus Freedom

What would happen if my ex-husband were not violent? 
          I would clearly stay with him saving the family and face for my son’s sake. 
          I would suffocate in Sunday grocery shopping, routine church visits, family reunions, and endless Thanksgiving-Christmas-Easter nightmare redolent of kids’ tantrums and smells of baked animal corpse. 
          I would continue putting up with the spousal weak erection fantasizing about Greg’s hard penis and his relentless dominance. 
          I would smile and hug for family portraits thinking about the next time I could get away and be with Greg. 
          I would come home after hurried sex in his Audi and serve dinner engaging myself in family gossip, responding to the in-laws’ nonsense, and still feeling Greg’s semen between my legs. 
          I would accept my family life as something inevitable and adjust my moral principles accordingly. I would split myself into two personalities. And I would learn to juggle between the societal requirements and my true wants and needs. 
          My son would call my ex “daddy” and would never know his real father. I would watch him grow recognizing Greg in everything he does. 
          I would still be happy. I have the talent to find happiness about everything in this life no matter what happens.     
The fact that my ex became abusive when I got pregnant was my liberation, the pass into the world where I finally started breathing freely outside never-ending lies, manipulations, jealousy, drama, and possessiveness carefully hidden under the societal term of “family responsibilities”.
Nowadays I wake up every morning grateful that I am free and live my life the way I want.