Mi Colombiano Part Two of Two



We will pick up where we left off yesterday. I just assured you jealousy should be your dress color at what took place when we decided we were a couple. 😉 Here ya’ go, the rest of the story……..


Three nights later he asked me, point-blank, if I had sex with Sunday Morning after he and I met. I was honest with him. He was angry, but also understood he had no real ground to stand on. We were in a bad place, and we had never had any clear definition to our relationship. We had a very serious conversation the following weekend about all of the reasons I didn’t trust him before, he seemed stunned.

It was also the first time I told him I loved him. We spent the next two months in a pretty blissful place. We decided to look for an apartment together. We were moving into a serious potential future together. Then, everything fell apart because some asshole soldier decided to text me a Tatum Channing style pic, my response being “Wow, really?!” meaning ….why the fuck would you send that to me??….turns out this translation is not universal. The soldier then added to it by suggesting we should go out sometime. Through an insane course of events, mi Colombiano saw these. He wasn’t snooping, I wasn’t hiding them, becaause I had nothing to hide, I wasn’t interested in anyone but him. To say he lost it would be an understatement of epic proportions. He went fucking nuts! There were a lot of ugly things said that night, he was done, I was crushed.

Three nights later, in an effort to be civil, we had dinner. The man I was in love with looked at me from across the table and told me I would be easily replaced. That is not something you ever forget. I still can’t write it without crying. I wish I could defend him, say it came from a place of anger, but that isn’t who he is. He just meant it, believed it.

We ended the dinner re-introducing ourselves to one another, shaking hands and exchanging names. A fresh start, we would just see where it took us. Two days later, we were back together. It was wonderful and easy and seemed right.

Two weeks after, he sent me a text from a hotel room in Tennessee, drunk and talking to his brother, he decided he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t move past it. Couldn’t deploy and wonder what I was doing back here. I was visiting my parents when the messages began to come in, with a rapid-fire quickness. I sat at the table, my dad sitting a foot from me, trying not to seem upset. Leaving soon afterwards, resolving right then, this time was different. I wouldn’t let him do it again.

When he received mail at my house the following week, I sent him a text and told him to have one of his guys meet me to pick it up. I bagged all of the stuff he had given me along with the mail. I needed to clear him out of my life.

I started going to therapy after the first break up, it was a saving grace during the second one. I wrote him one last email. Simple, to the point, closure.

Then I waited to feel whole again. Then, his deployment day came, then it went, and I never saw him or heard from him. The amount of tears I expelled that day is ridiculous. Then, he received mail again. I knew it was important. I emailed, to let him know. He sent his APO. I broke, bought some of his favorite cookies, printed the weather report for the region of Afghanistan he is in and scribbled a lot of nonsensical comments. Sent it all to him.

He emailed a thank you, only added some additional stuff in there.

Then he received more mail. We went through the process again, and this time I included some of his favorite candy bars. I keep telling myself it’s just because I have a soft spot for our men and women in harm’s way, which I definitely do, but in truth, it is because I don’t trust his family to take the time to send him anything and I can’t bear the thought of him being there and receiving nothing. Not him.

Three days ago, while I was busy scrubbing my new house, he tried to talk to me on GoogleChat. When I saw, twenty minutes too late, the messages, I just sat and cried, again.

I learned a lot from this relationship. Things like, communication really is essential to anything. If we had communicated with one another about our feelings, suspicions, fears, and expectations, each and every time we felt them, we would be in a very different place now.

I need to stop expecting people to disappoint me. I allowed myself to become conditioned to disappointment, now I expect it to be part of every package. It doesn’t have to be, I’m allowed to set the bar. I don’t have to settle.

I can’t receive love, if I’m busy defending myself from it.

I am capable of giving myself to someone, completely. Or at least, I was, I hope to be again someday. After all, this whole blog is based on my search for romance, love, the final One. I have no idea when or if I will find him. Maybe I already have and we just don’t know it, but we will take the journey, all of you and I.

To Elly, I did it! I made it through the whole thing, with honesty, tears and a lot of snotty, nasty tissues piled beside me!


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