His name was Mike. It was 2002, and unbeknownst to me, Mike would be the beginning of the end - the last serious boyfriend I would have for what would become my Eight-Year Drought. There was no better loser to wrap it all up with.
We met on Match.Com. I had met and dated others on this Internet dating website before. Few of those experiences I would call positive, and even fewer, neutral. The overwhelming majority of my Match.Com experiences were negative. This is why it surprised me so much that I would, once again, put myself out there in this manner. The truth is, though, it's not the worst place in the world to meet someone. And you can do it from home! In your pajamas! One has to be cautious, however, maybe even more so than in school, in bars, in grocery stores, and wherever else you're supposed to meet people. For deceptive individuals, there isn't an easier place to deceive than on the Internet. So, I jumped in again, head first, with eyes wide open.
Mike appealed to me on so many levels. First and foremost, he was an Armed Services veteran, and that's where we made our initial connection. He passed with flying colors on all of my criteria. Was he married? No. Check! Did he have kids? (not a deal breaker, mind you, but I was still pleased with his answer.) No. Check! Was he a God-fearing man? A resounding YES. Check check! I was to find out much later that all three of these proclamations were malicious lies. This is what earned Mike the title of Major Heart Breaker #3, and I saved the worst for last.
After our first date at a local Chinese restaurant, followed by a walk along the Hyannis Port docks, we were inseparable to a fault. For the first time in years, I felt safe and free, desired and desirable. Having just healed over after being assaulted and nearly date-raped by a man on our second date just a year and a half before, it was a welcome relief, a miracle really, that I was able and willing to open my heart again. And boy, did I open it. Within three weeks, we were talking marriage, children, and the house he wanted to build for me. We both happily agreed to remove our profiles from the dating website. I was undeniably, head-over-heels, crazy for Mike, and Mike was undeniably just plain crazy. I find it a bit odd that even now, after all the years that have gone by, I'm still blaming his actions on craziness. If it wasn't craziness, it was outright cruelty. The more I think of it, the more I realize that, yes, he really was just mean. Okay, maybe he was mean and crazy. In the weeks that we were together, my head was so high in the clouds I hardly knew which way was up. It felt so good to be in love again. I thought that part of me was dead forever.
Our relationship was volatile from the start. I wanted to attribute that to passion, but that was just me, being stupid. Mike suffered from PTSD from the time he spent in combat in Iraq. In order to receive Veterans benefits (disability pay) he had to undergo psychological treatment. This meant counseling, and religiously taking his anti-depressant medication (which he did not). His personality disorder didn't help any, and when blended with these other factors, made him an almost impossible person to be around. However, of course, when he was good, he was so, so good. He made me feel like the most important, and maybe even the only person on the planet. But then one day, I found out from an unlikely source (my Dad) that Mike was still married, and that he had two sons. I am ashamed to admit it, but I was so desperately in love with him that I let all that slide. Big mistake. Shortly thereafter, I began to notice red flags that surely were there all along. One weekend, he drove down South to see his kids, or so he said. I looked after his place while he was gone, and found it so strange that he had his desk, which was normally covered in a mess of papers, cleared off and neat, with a see-through plastic tarp covering everything. His computer was shut down and password protected, and there were locks put on all of the drawers. (Yeah, I'd agree this was a little more than a red flag, but what can I say? I was in love.) Anyway, his office made Fort Knox look like a joke, and it was just weird. That night I had a girlfriend log onto Match.Com to see if Mike's account was active, and sure enough, he had been logged on within the previous 24 hours. I confronted him as soon as he returned from his trip, expecting every reaction except for the one I actually got. I thought he would deny it, blame some kind of glitch on the website or something. But, no, he confessed right away, saying matter-of-factly, "Well, don't you think it's a good idea? I have to see what else is out there. Hey! You should do it, too!" To say I was stunned would have been the Understatement of the Century. Although it was seven years ago, I can still see his face. His mouth was moving, but the words that were coming out of it I would not be able to process until hours later. He told me he had never removed nor had he ever intended to remove his Match.Com profile. He told me that he was glad I found out about his wife and kids, and that he doesn't even believe in God because what kind of God would've made him suffer so much in his life? And then, he actually admitted to me that he was on a mission to hurt as many women as he could, as revenge for how badly he himself had been hurt. I believe it was the first and only time he ever told me the truth, because after that very moment, he laid all of the blame upon me. I was the crazy one. I was imagining things and had been all along. I was the one keeping truths from him. Sure. Whatever.
The months and years that followed were the most painful of my whole life. I was a grown woman, about to turn thirty. I had been through harder times, been betrayed numerous times. My heart had been broken before this, but this is the heartbreak that almost damn near ruined me. I went into it, for the first time in my life, with a truly open heart. He knew that. He knew what I had been through. And he still let me be one of his victims.
One month later, I still wasn't eating or sleeping. There were moments, sitting at my desk at work, or watching TV at home, where minutes would go by before I even realized I was crying. I had to do something. And what do you do when you feel your heart has been broken beyond repair? You go to Vegas, baby!
One of my best girlfriends lives in Las Vegas. We have been close since we were kids, and the fact that she moved thousands of miles away never impacted that. She encouraged me to come out and enjoy some TLC, and I couldn't say no. When I arrived at the airport, Shannon was there to receive me with the biggest hug, warmest smile, and just for my benefit a man-hating attitude to match my own. She was just what the doctor ordered. Shannon's boyfriend, Doug had just been called up to fight the war in Afghanistan with the U.S. Army. Months before, our country had been attacked by terrorists, and he had to go. We were both sad. We spent our time shopping, talking, crying, laughing, putting care packages together for Doug, damning Mike to Hell, drinking, hot-tubbing, talking, laughing, and crying. My last night in Vegas, we decided to defy our maudlin moods, and paint the town red. Not feeling much like partying, I hadn't packed the right kind of clothes. So, we went shopping. Again.
We hit the local Ross, and as usual our favorite store did not disappoint. On the clearance rack, I found a shirt that made me laugh out loud. It was a red, sleeveless, tee-shirt, with the words "DUMP HIM" in great, big varsity-style, yellow lettering on the front. I would find out later that Britney Spears wore this same shirt a few weeks before. For me, in my crazy, heart-broken state of mind, that piece of trivia made it all the more perfect. Shannon funked herself all up with her jeweled top, beaded choker, slicked back hair that ended in two tight knots on either side of her head, and lipstick that would do Monica Lewinsky proud. I had no idea how to do “funk.” It was one of the many useful purposes Shannon has always fulfilled in my life. So, she dressed me up like I was her own little doll. By the time we were ready to walk out the door, I was armed with my brand-new tee-shirt, an extremely gaudy silver bib necklace, and an enormous, red, silk flower in my hair. Oh yeah, we were ready.
We must have had a good time. One thing I remember was never once being without a drink in my hand. We ended up conducting an impromptu social experiment as we walked along the Strip. That was something else I recalled. Our data collection consisted of reactions we got from anyone who read my shirt. Those reactions ranged anywhere from a wary look on the face of a pretty, young woman to an older man asking, "Dump HIM???" Overwhelmingly, the reactions seemed to be positive and supportive, with the majority of those reactions coming from men. We drew no major conclusions from our experiment. It was impromptu, and we were drunk.
Leaving Shannon and Vegas was tough. I wish the circumstances surrounding my visit had been different. My wounded spirit kept me from having as much fun as I otherwise would have had. I was unable to relax and unwind the way I would have had I not been suffering from a broken heart. Still, I was in a much better place leaving than when I arrived, and I will always be grateful to my good, true friend Shannon for that. She helped me heal, and I hope that even for just those few days, I was able to distract her from the sadness she felt from being apart from her true love, and the fear she must've felt on an hourly basis for his safety at war. So as not to leave anyone in suspense, I will disclose the happy ending now. Doug returned home safely a few months later. He got called back to the Middle East again not long after that. As he said good-bye to his girlfriend on the tarmac before boarding the plane, he surprised her with a sparkling engagement ring. Shannon joked back then that she was so beside herself with joy and excitement that even as she was waving good-bye to her new fiancee, she still never took her eyes off of that diamond. Doug was at war once again. This time, she had the comfort of being engaged. He knew she needed that. Doug got to come home for a couple of weeks the following January, and wasting no time, he and Shannon said their vows on a cold morning on an equally cold Rhode Island beach. It was the best they could do. Shannon was a war bride. Eventually, Doug returned home safely, for the last time, and retired from the Army. Shannon is still in Las Vegas, where she lives with her husband, Doug, and their four kids. Happy Ending.
There would be no happy ending for Mike and me. It just was not to be, and I'm okay with that, but it was about six months before I could even breathe correctly again. Three years ago, four since we had seen each other, I saw Mike again. I was out with a girlfriend at a local establishment called Star City (also shut down now. What is this effect I have on businesses?). Whenever you have to run into an old boyfriend, you hope, PRAY, that you look hot as Hell. And I did. Thank you, Lord. He was on the other side of the bar, but he had seen me. He kept looking over at me, shyly looking away, demure smile, the whole bit. It was then that it struck me. He didn't even recognize me! Somehow that fact was able to equally amuse me and infuriate me at the same time. He was checking me out! I stood there feeling violated long enough, and decided to approach him. When he saw me make my move an enormous grin broke out on his face, which only fueled my fire all the more. I walked right up to him, looked him in the face, and said something akin to, "Were you going to just stare at me all night? Or were you going to grow some balls and come talk to me?" As the recognition (and then subsequent panic) traveled from his face throughout his entire body, I actually started to laugh. That was when he said, "Oh, shit." Still laughing, I nodded my head and said, "yep. Oh, shit." He started to laugh, too, nervously at first, but then he relaxed into it a little bit, and we began to talk. He asked me what I had been up to, and I took that opportunity to tell him that, well, for the first three years or so after he dumped me, I was mostly up to just trying to survive everyday. He stood there quietly, actually listening I think, as I calmly told him just how badly he had hurt me. It wasn't put out there angrily either, which surprised even me, but more matter-of-fact than anything. When I was finished, he said nothing for quite some time. Meanwhile, I was thinking back on that day four years before when he had said words that crushed the very life out of me. I didn't think he could ever surprise me again, but he proved me wrong right in that moment, when he looked me square in the face, and said, "I'm sorry." And just like four years ago, I was stunned. But this time, there was no crushing-blow feeling. The wind didn't get knocked right out of me. My stomach didn't tie up in knots, and I didn't feel like vomiting! I actually felt like some force had been holding me down, like gravity, but a force I was aware of, couldn't help but be aware of because it felt like every cell in my body was being pulled down. Well, it felt like that force suddenly and violently reversed itself, and shot me straight up into the Heavens. I was flying. I was free. At last. Why had I needed that so badly? Why couldn't he say those two little words years ago? I'm sure he had his reasons. After that night, I didn't see Mike again until last year. I was in the grocery store, wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles, and there he was in the check-out line. I'm not sure what made me take a second glance, because he didn't look like anyone I knew at all. He wasn't the handsome young man he had once been. I had heard that there had been an unexpected death in his family fairly recently, so maybe that was it. Maybe he was just in mourning, but he looked sick. The strong Marine I remembered now looked like a shriveled up old man. There was a woman with him. She looked just as sad and sick. The cynical bitch in me wanted to jump to the conclusion that they were heroin addicts together, junkies somewhere between a high and needing their next fix. Right then, I hated that cynical bitch in me. I decided to believe they were in mourning, and that any day now, maybe today, they were going to break out of it, and start living again. I didn't approach him this time, but I said a prayer for both of them, and went on my way.
Comments