On June 2nd I married the man of my dreams. A week later he told me he didn't love me, he never loved me, that he's been lying to me, his kids, our friends and family and that he has issues with honesty. I suspected all along he lied about things but I wanted to believe otherwise. Saturday I was in shock, Sunday I was filled with a grief only matched by my mother's death. At four in the morning I woke up angry and went back to sleep. When I awoke again I was filled with grief all over again. As I sit here drinking coffee, trying to interest myself in the news, I remember my famous quote, "Inside every worse-case scenario there is a best-case scenario." Well it's not famous but perhaps it will be... Whatever happens in life is just life happening. If you are alive you still have a chance at happiness, love, success, and watching the sun rise and set. I am alive and if you are reading this so are you and for this I am beyond grateful. The greatest thing about losing love is knowing that great love still exists. This is my best-case scenario. Love is everywhere.
I showed it to my mother, whose cynical response was: "At least she found out early." (Background: my mother's husband of twenty-something years--the man who raised my sister and me--recently begin having illicit affairs with younger women, just as my mother was about to relocate with him to a desolate horse ranch in Oklahoma, resulting to their "surprise, last-minute" divorce, and my return to Alexandria, in March.)
Why am I writing about this? I am not entirely sure. Having gotten out of my own two-year relationship with a pathological liar just last May, I can hardly say I am surprised by these turns of event, although I can unfortunately relate. When you begin to suspect that your significant other has been lying to you about nearly everything from Day One (as seems to have been the case with my Facebook "friend"'s beau, and which was certainly the case with my ex), it is easier just to bury your head in the sand then to face reality ... to discount your suspicion as paranoia rather than realistically to consider the alternative. Because the alternative--that you've invited a metaphorical vampire into the house of your life--is terrifying.
And even once the vampire has been vanquished, and you have started to pick up the remnants of your life (emotionally, physically, financially), can you ever truly trust again? Not merely others--the loss of belief in the goodness or even redeemability of humanity is bad enough--but yourself, for permitting a con artist into your life in the first place. (Indeed, the enduring lesson of my last few close relationships, both romantic and platonic, is that I am a weak, naive individual and phenomenally poor judge of character.)
So, as much as I wish I could offer some words of comfort to my Facebook "friend," to tell her that she should persevere, that love will ultimately conquer all, etc., I can not honestly do so. Great love, like great wealth, may exist, but not for most of us. The desire to be in an intimate romantic relationship is just as often destructive as it is fulfilling. To accept the fact that you are fundamentally alone--and to learn how to be alone yet not feel lonely--is to take charge of your own happiness. And the earlier these lessons are learned, the better.
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