Let's sum it up. If you've been reading my blog you know that I spent 4.5 months in India. The plan was that after India I would return to the US, live with my boyfriend for a few months, go back to school, finish school and then, years down the line, we would eventually get married and have kids. I know. It seems rushed and too planned out for someone so young, but I mean we were dating for seven years. We really thought we would be together for life. Then, reality slapped me in the face. Actually, I'm laying it on too light. Reality didn't slap me. To say it bitch slapped is a more accurate description.
My now ex-boyfriend hasn't had a job since March of 2013. I left for India in May with him promising that by time I came back he would be employed. I returned to the US to find that that promise had been broken. I didn't say a word to him about it. I knew I had to get a job, even more so now since he was still unemployed and I was living with him. After a few weeks I found a job at a Kohl's warehouse. It was peak season for the warehouse so, I was pulling 12 hour shifts usually 5 days a week. With a relationship I always see the couple as a team. In order to make things work both members have to be active participants. I thought with me working so much that my boyfriend would take care of the apartment. Oh, boy, was I wrong. I remember coming home the first day from work. Dishes from the dinner I had cooked him were still in the sink. There were crumbs on the dining table. His clothes were everywhere. The bed wasn't made. Still, I remained silent, thinking that everyone has their lazy days. The problem was these lazy days continued until I confronted him about it. His response? "I just don't feel like cleaning." We continued to argue until he, finally, gave in and washed the dishes. This was the only thing I could get him to do. The rest of the apartment still remained a mess.
While I was at work he spent all of his time online and/or watching anime. Many times his gaming would go on long past I got home. He was still locked into the world of Call of Duty and Left For Dead while all I wanted him to focus on was me. I began to feel inadequate. I was seriously being beaten by a machine and had no clue how to fight back. While I sat in the bed room alone he laughed joyously with his friends online. I began to wonder why I couldn't make him that happy? I tried to do little things that I thought he would appreciate, but soon felt that my efforts were going unnoticed. He wasn't big on cleaning or cooking so I pretty much took that over along with work. When I confronted him about the little effort, energy and time he was placing into us his response was "Well, no offense, Tasha, but no one asked you to do all that stuff." What had happened to the guy I fell in love with? What had happened to the guy I thought I would marry?
I could see our relationship was crumbling, but I was hanging onto a cascading cliff. Sometimes he would do a few sweet things and I would think "Yes, he's finally understanding his mistakes." I would then be disappointed to discover that he only did those things so he could use them against me when we argued. "Well, I did this so it's not all bad!" I think the worst part came when I began to feel like I was only a sexual object. You see, there was kind of a divide in the apartment. His space was the living room. Mine was the bed room. He wouldn't even sleep in the bedroom with me saying that he felt more comfortable in the living room. The few times he did come in the bed room to speak with me he was always asking for something. After an argument he admitted to me that he usually came in the room for sex. Not for me, but for what my body could provide. I wasn't surprised though. I had already guessed this. In a way he was like a dog. He would do something good and so he expected a reward. If not given, he became upset.
There were at least three time he wouldn't wash clothes and I had to scramble for something to wear to work. Eventually, I told him washing clothes was one of the few responsibilities he had (he wasn't doing anything else). To this he replied that he didn't know and didn't think washing clothes was his responsibility. He went on to say that he wasn't the one running out of clothes so quickly (most of my clothes are in storage from India). His words hurt. They stung. Where the hell was the love?
I had decided to break up with him, but I wanted to wait until I returned to school so he wouldn't be able to kick me out. New Years came along. I got drunk. My best friend since middle school was there. I was picking at his face and joking with him. I began to fall asleep and nodded off on his shoulder. My boyfriend's sister was watching. I could feel her gaze on me as I interacted with my best pal. It was her way of being protective of her brother I suppose, but her assessment was that I was too touchy. I'm always touchy. Even when sober, but with my best friend especially, since we're so close. The touching means nothing, but to her it meant everything. I went to bed and woke up at 4am after having a weird dream. The dream made me feel guilty about waiting until I returned to school to dump him. I had to tell him. He was awake as well so I just told him everything. He ran to his sister and told her everything. She said some not so nice things about me and I am sure by now his whole family has been saying not so nice things about me. That's just how they are. God, why did I ever even get this close to them? Maybe I'm just over thinking it. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Later that morning he kicked me out. It took me hours of begging to get him to let me stay until the 15th. My plan had backfired. My guilt had got the best of me.
I was angry. I knew what his family was thinking. I knew what his sister was thinking (I had mistreated her brother and was flirting with other men). I wanted to sit them all down, tell them what happened these last few months and then ask them whom they thought was right in this relationship? I am sure or at least hope they would agree with me. None of this really matters though. It's done and over with, right? My ex doesn't see what he did wrong. He said to me, "I'm not that bad." His family now thinks of me as a promiscuous gold digger (the gold digger one is another story), but why should I care? Why should I hurt? I shouldn't care that this life we built is falling apart in front of me. I shouldn't care that my boyfriend viewed me only as a toy for his sexual entertainment. I shouldn't. I shouldn't but then why do I feel like complete shit?
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