The Story of the Complicated One

Instead of writing metaphorically with turtles and voices, I’ve decided to put down on (proverbial) paper a little more of what happened between The Complicated One (CO) and I, and how it blew up into what actually sort of scared me for a moment or two.

Everything I wrote in the previous entry (When Labels Explode) was correct, but of course with a very dramatic flourish amidst tongue in cheek humor.

I didn’t know TCO prior to his friending me on a social network. I thought maybe I did when I saw the friend request and just  didn’t recognize the name. We grew up in the same area, knew the same people, etc. He commented freely on my statuses, and there was just sort of an immediate comfort with him. A familiarity. We started to chat privately here and there, with no frequency. A lot of humor, which is my Achilles Heel. I just slid into this friendship as if we had known each other a lifetime.

On occasion he would make a passing remark that had me wonder if he was coming onto me or not. I can be pretty dense when true flirting is happening. I think it’s because I flirt so much, so often that when it’s serious flirting I’m a little taken back. But then it would disappear and I would figure maybe I imagined it.

My first warning sign had to be regarding his relationship status. We were still in the Friend Zone, so no harm, no foul. I didn’t care if he was married to a nun, and sleeping with the priest at this point. As things between us started to take a slight detour, when he was persuing me with a little more dedication, all I could do was to remind him of all the complications he had. How could you feel this way about me, when just yesterday you were telling me how much you loved the nun?

There was no consistency. He told me he was in Love with Love, which inwardly angered me, because those are my words and he was sullying them.

But I battled this feeling.  I denied it, because I have of sorts, my own complication with the Young One. I felt guilt for calling him out on shenanigans when in truth. on paper I looked just as bad.

Hot and cold had to be the next sign. One night he could be sending me song lyrics, and again me not getting why, he’d explain how they were his words to me. One part of me knew with absolute intensity this was a sign of batshit crazy. It was waaaaay to soon, but that hungry part of me just shooshed up the inner voice, while it sat there dreamily asking for more. Not literally. But allowing it to happen, I may as well have done exactly that.

Then a day or two would pass and I wouldn’t hear from him. I’d be checking my phone like an addict looking for my next fix.

My next warning signal had to be the arguments we had. The merit of the argument meant nothing. I can barely recall one reason we fought. The immature intensity it evoked in me though? This is horrid to say, but I think there was a part of me that enjoyed it. I felt like a vegan, given a taste of lambs blood, and turning carnivorous. I didn’t pick fights with him, but I certainly never shied away from them. They had so much drama, so much teenage angst. Him fighting to keep this thing pumping, full of life, it was a turn-on.

The last and biggest sign though had to be the crazy crap that came thru. I noticed it in one of our marathon conversations that ran late into the night. He went silent for a bit, and I gave up prodding him and went to bed. I found out the next morning, he had just dropped asleep. Like that. Woke up twenty minutes later and realized I had gone to bed. Okay, weird but acceptable. A few weeks later the conversation started to take a very left turn. We had gotten into this habit of marathon text sessions on weekend mornings. One day I think we talked for about five hours. Most people would say, why not pick up the phone, but as a multi-tasking, easily distracted person, this worked perfect for me. I could have my coffee, catch up on things, clean the kitchen, sometimes even grocery shop, all while maintaining this conversation with him.

The first time I really saw the crazy was when I had offended him by suggesting we slow things down. Stay in the friend zone. He got very weird, very offended. I told him to pick up the phone and call me, but all I would get would either be silence, or gibberish. (Why I simply didn’t pick up the phone and call him, I’m not 100% certain. I think I wondered at times if he was at home with the wife he swore he was no longer with. See I knew, even back then.) I continuously told him to call me, until I just didn’t care anymore. Even the 14 year old in me was getting bored. Of course at that moment he called. He would float in and out of coherency and incoherency. Then get silent. Then blare the radio into the phone. I figured then, and I figure now it was probably drugs. This went on for about 15 minutes, until I asked him when the last time was that he slept. He agreed he probably needed sleep. Then more music. I finally had to go because my company had arrived and after that seemed back to normal.

Scenes like that happened a couple of more times, the last happening this past weekend. His inability to answer a simple question, or his going off the rails on something that had nothing to do with the conversation was the breaking point for me. I was firm at first in telling him to go away. From there I had to turn up the volume to slightly harsh. Having had a stalker once, my alarms were on full alert in how I handled him. I realized at that point, I didn’t know what the issue was, and in not knowing I couldn’t say with surety that I knew how he would react.

There was a lot of normalcy between us before all this. Enough to drown out the sober voices that told me I really needed to move on. That even for fun, this was bound to end bad. I saw a few sides of him, and I liked what was there most of the time. He made me laugh a lot. He has the same love of music and animals and the water that I do. He brought me beautiful flowers and took me for a breakfast date. I loved that. He was strong without being overbearing, and he sought me out. Strongly. I probably needed that consistently more than anything. There was a magnetism between us. It sort of grosses me out now, because I have come to realize he was coming onto a LOT of other women. Who’s to say those time lapses weren’t his communication with them. I don’t know.

But I have to be honest and say it was there for me. I had a very very hard time walking away, and had Crazy not come out to play, I probably wouldn’t have walked at all. I’d probably still be playing this game called Feed My Ego, because a lot of that is exactly what this was all about. I didn’t want a boring stable relationship with him. When that happens, it will be with someone who is stable. I wanted the Crazy Party Train, and he brought it with his whacked out hours, and his thousands of women, and his sweet lyrics.

He texted me an apology last night. Two to be exact. I was confused by the first one, because of its brevity. But I thanked him for it. The second one was a bit more lengthy, and seemed more heartfelt. He asked me not to hate him or be his enemy. I told him he had never done anything remotely near making me hate him, but that he had been too shady for me. Immediately afterward he acted as though everything was status quo, and the words “babe” and the familiarity of putting on a pair of comfortable socks was right there. I stopped him dead and told him that my not hating him, didn’t open any doors.

He said he understood, and then goodnight.

And that’s all she wrote folks.



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