Crushed

Its been nearly a year since, “fuckkkk yeahhhh” was whispered in my ear by a burnt out, pot smoking chiropractor. Since that tragic date, I have had one long love affair with GI Joe, who for all practical purpose is really an imaginary boyfriend. The untimely death of a mutual friend brought us back in contact and then because of our jobs we were physically separated only to be reunited online.

GI Joe resurfaced online and existed in cyberspace, on the other side of the world wide web. He became my boyfriend in my pocket, constantly close to me. He was on my pc and in my phone. Where I went, he went. I’d snap photos of where I was and wish he was with me. He went grocery shopping and lingerie shopping. He went to the gym with me and helped me with my diet and exercise form. Always there. For several hours each day for months, we shared our lives. He thoughtfully listened to all of my daily going ons and without telling me what to do or how to do, he let me be me. He asked thoughtful questions, he offered advice when I asked. He told me I was beautiful but more so, he made me feel beautiful. Not just on the outside, but on the inside. He saw me, vulnerable, broken, and damaged. He saw my desperation. My need to be whole and my need to be wanted.  The years of deceit and mental abuse by the Gay Husband were being cured. Slowly the hurt and anger that I felt was dissipating. I let him in and it felt comfortable, like I could do no wrong. I trusted him, and he knew that to be true. He, more than anyone, has been in my head.  For the first time in  a really long time, I trusted again. The Gay Husband lied for so long about so many things. Well, technically it was everything  When you like about your sexual orientation to the person you are married to, your entire life is based on a lie.

GI Joe didn’t lie. He was brutally honest. I Only, I didn’t want to listen.

Now I can hear what he was saying. “I can turn it off. I can turn people off and out. Like a switch,” he said. Somewhere in the depths of our conversations and the intimacy that we shared, I knew his affections were to be fleeting. Wishing it to not be true would not make it so. In the depth of my soul, I knew he’d break my heart and I think that I wanted him to. I gave him what little was left of me, the scraps of me that were untainted by the gay husband. I gave it all, knowing but not wanting to know, that he could either cradle me or crush me.

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