What. Is. "It?"

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A glimpse into my relationship with a Borderline person who I thought I loved and who I thought I couldn't move on from

Submitted: June 30, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 30, 2015



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What. Is. “It?”

I’m 23, but in my current relationship I feel like I’m 16 going on an episode of Jerry Springer, daily.

I’ve never had a girlfriend who acted so crazy. Sometimes I thought that the girls I dated were unfair. I’d cry on those days that I just asked to hang out and they’d say, “We don’t have to see each other every single day.” Like I even asked every single day. I cried when they were obviously not doing anything at home but sitting on the couch and yet, when I said, “Why aren’t we hanging out?” They’d be like, “I don’t know.” What the actual fuck, man?

So I was through being a teenager trying to date teenage lesbians who were actually cheating the whole time, or who didn’t even love me, but felt they could say they were “with” me just to get me off their back or whatever. But their friends didn’t even know they were in a relationship. So here I am now, dating the most toxic person I’ve ever met, who checks off all the tick boxes of an abusive partner, and yet I’m the abusive one.

That’s right. I’ve laid the cards out clean, that I’m going to be the abuser here, because I’m too fucking stupid to contain my anger and I’ve hit her a few times after she’d been pissed off at me first or started a dispute over literally nothing. I feel like utter shit about it, and trust me—I want to die. And there’s always that everpresent “but.”

Why did I do it? Why do you think I did it? I’m not one of those tough guys who prides themselves in starting a fight and winning. I don’t go around saying, “Ugh! I really want to hit someone right now” (like she does). I’ve never been in a fist fight and I never want to. I don’t believe in war—in fact, I can’t fathom why murder is okay under the guise of “war.” I’m a pacifist.

Why did I do it? Well, when you’re with someone who has drug you back in so many times no matter how brutally they’ve kicked you out, poked and prodded you and maniacally laughed at you, mocked you while you were crying, stabbed at your weak spots, where you’re most sensitive, picking at a healing wound--all the while claiming to love you and giving you puppy dog eyes as they hug you and over-adoringly stressed-out-like say, “I just—god, I just love you so much!” and turn around the next instant and go, “Why do you make me this way!?” and slam doors, put on the serious “Don’t fuck with me” tone and go, “You don’t want to make me angry”... Sometimes you’re so far past the “Oh my god, I’m being manipulated” and “Oh my god, she’s fucking crazy” stage that you just feel stuck. Even if you lash out physically violently, you're just digging yourself deeper into that hole, and giving her more and more reason to blame you. 

Many abusive relationships last so long because the victim of an abuser feels stuck and feels that they can’t get help anyway, and feels that when they leave, awful things will happen. Often, the abuser has threatened suicide many times, or has threatened them, so they have the lingering threat that “You’re going to regret this” hanging overhead while in most normal relationships, you could just leave and never look back. Not this time.

Many gay and lesbian domestic violence disputes have the police called on scene and the partner is mistaken for “just a friend” or “just a roommate.” When a man and a man are fighting, the police have interpreted it as “mutual violence” or “mutual abuse.” When a woman and woman are fighting, I wouldn’t be surprised if a police officer puts on a smug look, pulls up his pants, and says “You ladies better behave!”

It may be that in one instance, that partner instigated the fight, and in this one, the other one instigated it. But that doesn’t mean the long term years or months of psychological torment just don’t exist. People often overlook the underlying abuse going on in relationships just because they don’t see the forest for the trees.

She breaks up with me often. We get into fights because she starts a tiff over the littlest of things and then I try to make sense of it and act rationally. I want to show that I care about her and I want to work it out (whatever the fuck it is) and so I try to respond as adult as possible. But my blood pressure skyrockets and my self-esteem diminishes and if things escalate to me raising my voice to overpower her already-yelling voice, she usually responds like that tipped her over the edge and kicks me out and yells “fuck off.”

Just at that, I know all my friends and anyone I tell about this bullshit would say, “Then why don’t you just leave? Bitch be crazy!” But I can’t. If I’m supposed to prove I love her, prove I’m sorry, and show it in my actions and not just my words, I have to come back every time she beckons me. I’m at her beck and call. I’m like a spider pinned down by eight pegs and she can poke me and dissect me whenever she wants. I'm like a criminal who walked right into a police trap. I have no rights.

After this break up, I’ve been at home, waiting. She calls me.

“I know you’re sorry. I just want to talk to you. I miss you…”

She always does this. She always gets quiet on the phone, and I’m responding, “Yeah. I love you too. Me too." Trying my hardest not to make her blow up what little words I say into another reason to get pissed off at me.

Then she whispers, “I miss you…” Her voice turns into a baby voice. She sounds like a little kid on helium. Her voice has a squeak to it that she probably does to be cute. It works, because I can’t fathom how someone can be so psychologically fucked up that they don’t know how crazy they’re being. This has to be real, doesn’t it? Why would someone not notice they’re pushing me back and forth and messing with a whole other human LIFE that is witnessing this entire thing and buried up to the neck in it? She has to mean what she's saying when she gets quiet on the phone and says she misses me...

“I’m going to do better with myself now. My mom said I could become a real estate agent at the same school she went to. It’s only going to take 6 months and I can become licensed and do what she does!”

This was a huge farfetched claim and I doubted it from the moment the words left her lips. But I wanted to show I’m supportive and adult about things and not criticize her, like she does me. "That would be great!" I said. "That's so awesome!"

“I love you…" she said. Like many times before, she said, "I love your family. I love your brain… I love you…"

She said, "I want to be with you, but in order to do that I need to get my shit together and move out.”

She’s never even had a job or moved out before. Yet I’m the stupid one who “plays the victim” and who she doesn't want to “wear kid gloves” for and everyone “hands everything to me” and I “want everyone to do everything for me.”

Other than that, I’m totally aware that she probably wants to find someone else—who’s hopefully better for her—and she’ll move on and be without me. So her making plans for our future together just sounds like gussied-up idealistic claims to me.

She’s also polyamorous, but would never outright say it. She seemed to be very anti-labels even though the facts are plain to see. When you and your ex used to date and/or have group sex with two other people, and you want to make it clear it’s emotional too and not just group sex—that makes you poly. But she’d fight me tooth and nail to claim that she doesn’t need to be poly because she wants to be with me. But it’s plain to see she just wants to have her cake and eat it too. When I said in the beginning that I couldn’t be with a person who’s not exclusive with only me, she decided to put up a front that she loves me much more than having to be herself and having to still be free to see other people.

I know that this isn’t right, and I can see it every time she brings it up crying, sobbing in the car to tell me she’s “sacrificed so much for me,” that she "gave up her life before me” and she “gave up the perfect girl so that she could be with me.” I didn’t tell her to do that, and yet the guilt is just thrown at me every other day, multiple times a week, like daggers. My emotions feel tattered and worn like an old dried up rag.

“I’m afraid of losing you,” she said.

On Wednesday, I assumed she doesn’t have to delete me from her life if we were to continue seeing each other. I drove up there. She lives an hour away, in San Bernardino county. I’m from Orange County. I live in a beach city. She lives in the desert. I go to the hot musty-ass desert just to be with her, and I stay there as much as I can so that I don’t have to spend more money when it isn’t necessary.

I’ve spent hundreds on driving around in circles being pulled back and forth—is she gonna tell me to come back to her house or not? Is she making up with me or am I going all the way home? Which one is it?

Sometimes she’d call me back to come back and prove I “give a shit” after she already rudely, pissed-off kicked me out to return one little thing of hers I had in my car. She’d contrive it to be this big dramatic situation that if I didn’t return a measly deck of cards, I don’t give a fuck about her possessions because she’s so much less fortunate than me that she really cares that much about a deck of cards, obviously. Even though she hates my guts right then, it would be a really dick move to not turn around 15 minutes into the drive home to return the deck of cards. Really, it had nothing to do with the cards--it was her manipulative tactic to “talk it out.” (Talk what out?)


I don’t understand what she’s referring to when for the past two days, she keeps saying “I’m just making this harder” and “I can’t help it. I love you. You make me lose control over myself.” We full-on talked about doing something “different” and I never asked to be official. I proposed that this time it’s different because I understand she’s poly. I think the small part of me that understands polyamory and can withstand a relationship where we see other people made this decision, even though I doubt she’s  sane and sound enough to understand it. But the moral of the entire story of "us" is that polyamory should not be mixed with monogamy. You can't stifle your partner's needs or make one endure your "fucking around" that they don't approve of.

I didn't know this yet. I said, “We don’t have to be official; we’ll just take it as it comes.”

I thought she was interpreting kissing and sex to mean, “We’re not going to become enemies again and we’re going to get back together one day, but now is too soon.” I just hope we don’t die in car crashes or anything!

One night, lying in bed, she referred to me as kryptonite. “You’re only keeping me around for something deadly.” Me! Anyone in their right mind would assume that means leave her alone and go home, right? Go home and don’t come back. Nope. Not me. Every time I said that, flat-out to her—proposing the right thing to do, she said, “No. Why are you flipping my words around? You’re just making me feel bad.” No. It was just logical.


It’s two days later. Friday morning. I’m lying in bed. She’s been affectionate for two days.

I hear her flipping out on her mom. They live in a little house on the corner of the street. Just her mom, dad, and her. The mom’s room is down the hall, but her room is at the center of the tiny house. I’m in earshot of everything.

However, I don’t know Spanish and that’s all they're speaking. Her mom is more comfortable with Spanish. I can hear her mom responding to her with a “Calm down” tone, giving exasperated sighs. Like, she knows she’s flipping out for no real reason. I feel the dread wash over me like a wave. It’s time. Her time of being “on,” which is accepting me, just letting me be, just chilling out not fighting is up. She’s in the process of flipping to “off” mode, where the lights go dim and all hell breaks loose. It's like that level in Donkey Kong Diddy's Kong Quest when the traffic signal goes red--all the crocodiles turn red-eyed and start attacking.

She came back in the room and plopped down on the bed, hard. She sighed loudly.

“What happened?” I asked, not moving. I keep laying, so as not to disturb the quaking ocean—volcanic eruption-to-be, just inching closer, ever-so-slowly.

“She bought me a sandwich from Subway with jalapenos in it. I keep telling her I can ‘t have that shit. She never listens! No matter how much I keep telling her, she never listens!” She’s getting whiny. When she gets overwhelmed by the littlest things she whines and raises her volume about the stupidest shit.

Her mom says something in Spanish from the other side of the door. She yells something back in Spanish.

She’ll talk to one person but then turn around and yell at the other. A big dramatic morning. Over a sandwich. This is a 20-fucking-4 year old girl yelling at her 60-something-year-old mother for ordering a sandwich wrong. Not even wrong—with one fucking vegetable that she didn’t even know she didn’t want. Sometimes I would sit there and almost have existential epiphanies that she was not actually 24. They lied to her because they forgot her age, but she’s actually like, at least 16.

Later, after so long of whining that she was hungry but she couldn’t eat that sandwich now because it’s tainted with a pepper she could probably just remove and get it over with, we walked to my car to get food.

I have a gas card that I’m supposed to use for just gas, but I’ve grown addicted to gas station food because I’m otherwise broke and she isn’t usually agreeable on what to eat, but I’m terrified being the guest in her house to welcome myself to her family’s food—especially with all the complaints that they're too broke to afford much food, yet speaking highly of their generous giving nature very often and telling me to help myself.

I’m also otherwise getting in fights with Mini Hulk over here and I usually buy a lot of alcohol. Seriously, my insides are rotting with how much Four Loko I’ve bought just to shut out my life. I’m constantly ill and my brain is not even “all there.” Many nights, I’ve given up trying to be the rational one who wants to diffuse the situation, and I lash out no problem because with alcohol, the aggression neurons are triggered in my brain and my fuse is about a centimeter long. When I’m intoxicated, I don’t have much filling left to do before I topple over the edge.

Walking across the lawn to my car, I went to hold her hand. She made a scoff. ‘Well, that was awkward,’ I thought. ‘Here it comes.’

We opened our doors and sat down in the car. I put the key in the ignition and turned.

“We really suck at being broken up,” she said.

All the doubt I had that she understood our previous discussion leading up to today and this moment came rushing to the surface. She didn’t understand. But it’s so simple. Why doesn’t she understand?

I proceeded to drive to the food place and she repeated her ongoing rant, with crying, yelling, and overwhelmed stressed sighs. Like a malfunctioning robot, she said for the millionth time, “Just forget it. Fuck—see, this is why I don’t want to be with you.”

Somewhere in there I found out that she was drunk on the phone when she claimed she wanted to be with me and she was making grandiose claims that she's going to become a real estate agent. She called me because she was drunk.

“Let’s just be calm and go get food,” I said.


“I just want to get food right now. I want to be with you but should I just leave? We can still get food right now. Do you not want food?”

“I want to be left alone.”

Like every time we were on the verge of getting back together, she acknowledged it as a mistake, getting mad at me over any little thing that she should just let go. During this in-car conversation, I made U-turns several times, asked "Should I just take you home or do you want the food? I don't get it."

“Are you sure?”

“Just take me home,” she said.

Usually when she said things like “Just go home,” I would obey, and she would proceed to leave me like, 10 voice mails. I’d answer a call and come back and be told to leave again several times, and then to come back again. So I already knew all about this head game.

She said, “Just drop me off” and when we pulled back up into her driveway she quietly said, “I’m hungry” in Whiny Voice™ and I said, “Do you want to get food?” and she said “Yes” and we pulled back out of the driveway back to the same gas station we had just been at a moment ago and bought food.

At the beer fridge, it was apparent that her Flip Mode™ was over. I was still red-eyed and sniffling. She hugged me and apologized. She said, “Can we go back to this morning? You look sad.” What—this morning when you flipped out on your MOM OVER A SANDWICH? Yes. Yes we can.


Later, after eating, we were searching her dad’s closet for some BB’s for her BB gun. In hindsight, I think she was trying to tell me something, Like “I’m gonna fucking shoot you one day” but I ignored it and took it as a fun day we could have, having target practice in the yard.

I sat on the bed while she began to rummage through her dad’s stuff and after a few minutes, she said sarcastically, “You can help me and look through stuff. I didn’t mean just sit there and watch me.”

“I didn’t know I could touch your dad’s stuff… I don’t know where to look!”

Later, her mom bought her BB’s for her gun and we had target practice in the yard. She had to teach me how to aim and shoot because I’d never used a BB gun before. After a while of that, one of her friends came over to do her mom’s hair on the porch and they wanted us to go get some drinks from the store. We took my car.  She drove and I rode shot gun and we pulled up into the parking space and she asked me to go get the drinks. “Get a Red Bull and a Blue Moon.”

I said, “Blue Moon? What if they don’t have that here?”

She sigh-groaned and said, “Fine, I’ll do it.” I walked in with her, tense with the awkwardness of those dumb words--"Fine, I'll do it"? I didn't... I didn't say I wasn't doing it.

I was right—they didn’t have Blue Moon,  and what she decided to buy instead of Blue Moon was a Corona. Corona isn’t equivalent to Blue Moon, so there was no way for me to know that was an adequate replacement, especially because it isn’t my money to be spending so frivolously.

Driving back, she could tell I was annoyed by her attitude and response to my question, because who wouldn’t be? She said “What’s up?” Just instigating for me to explain my own attitude when she should just not act provocatively in the first place! “I don’t like when you talk to me that way. Like you have a problem with me.” That was the extra push on the already-half-way-down Flip switch.

She went on this whole spiel talking about how she “always has to do everything for me.” Of course I defended myself because WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!?

She exploded and told me to fuck off. Suddenly “everyone does everything for me” and I “don’t know how to do things for myself because I’m selfish.” What the FUCK, man? I tried to proceed hanging out on her front lawn and ignore the situation because it was not worth it to be fighting. She walked away from me in front of her mom and friend, making me look like the Crazy Ex™.

I said, “What the hell, dude? Why are you so mad? I just didn’t want to spend you or your mom’s money on something I wasn’t told to buy. It’s not my money! All I said was ‘What if they don’t have a Blue Moon there!’ Why am I such an enemy now?”

They could observe that whatever she was mad about was irrational, but yet they were treating me like I was acting crazy. Well, I kind of was. I’m sure I raised my voice too much and was way too overwhelmed with the turn of events and it was very apparent in my questions.

On that note, I left. I drove all the way home. Later, she pulled the “other girl” card again. She always does this. She seems to look for a reason to make me feel even worse and to end it on a note that actually makes sense kind of in her head. She decided to tell me, between “Fuck you’s” and “I  don’t fucking care anymore” (despite her being the one who keeps responding, and when I can’t for some reason, she says ‘Fuck you then’), she said “Now I can stop ignoring someone who actually likes me.” So she was obviously trying to hurt me in a very stereotypical way. She’d always manipulate me to get me to show I’m hurt and jealous and wanting to beg for her back, or to beg her not to do this or that. She said that, “Yes, it was a little thing that I got mad about. But it was the little thing that pushed me over the edge.” IS THAT WHY WE FUCKED LAST NIGHT!? Fucking cunt.


This is a prime example of Borderline Personality Disorder—sometimes confused with bipolar—where they love you one second and hate you the next. She always did that. She always called me “baby,” told me how much she loved me, and would go from “praise” and “admiration” words like “God, I just love you” to detestment: “Fuck off. You’re so thickheaded you don’t even know how thick your head is.”


So yeah, I’d take my future wife any day over that fucking shit. I just hope the story of “us” doesn’t end in a murder horror story.

© Copyright 2020 mixtape02. All rights reserved.

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