Oh shit. I think I have an STD.

30 Oct

I’m so angry I have to write this down. Today a package arrived from Jealous Ex, with the wallet I left in his car three months ago, before I knew that would be the last time I saw him because he would dump me over the phone the day after I got back from holiday.

(Actually the package was from my former flatmate in Bristol, who’d posted it after JE dropped it off at my old flat because he couldn’t be bothered to post it himself. This is probably not relevant though.)

Anyway I texted JE to say thanks for dropping it off finally. And because I was still feeling bad that we never got to say a proper goodbye and had been arguing a lot towards the end, mostly because he was obsessed with the idea I’d been cheating on him, I sent him what I thought was a nice lets-get-some-closure-now text. Notice how I apologise even though I did nothing wrong because I’m trying to offer an olive branch. The very same one I’d like to crack over his head at this moment.

“I’m sorry it ended so badly with us. I hope if our paths ever cross again at some point we can be friendly. After all, we had some good times too! Bye x”

What I received back can only be described as a barrage of abuse, beginning with the line: “You’re so proud and so stubborn. I loved you and would have done anything for you. But you still went ahead and fucked me around.”

There it is. He still thinks I cheated on him, even though I never did and there is nothing to suggest otherwise.

I text back: “No need to be mean. I did love you too & if you believe that you’ll know I never fucked you around because I’m not that kind of girl.”

And get this: “You are a compulsive liar! You gave me an STD you fucking lack wit!”

At which point three things flash into my head:
1) Shit. I might have an STD.
2) Which one?
3) If I didn’t cheat on him (and I definitely didn’t) that means he must have cheated on ME.

There’s only one explanation I can think of. When JE and I broke up briefly at the beginning of the year, because he made me cry on my birthday by being an utter arse, he then went and slept with someone else. So maybe she gave him an STD, which means he probably passed it to me. I don’t have any symptoms, although I know with chlamydia there sometimes aren’t any. I’ve never even had crabs before. I’m freaking out a bit right now.

Actually, there is another possible explanation. JE is making the whole thing up because freaking me out is exactly what he wants to do. This hypotheses is strengthened by the fact that he won’t tell me what the alleged STD is because “why should I tell you the truth when you have never offered me the same courtesy. You lie all the time!!! See where it gets you…? I know you cheated on me. I hope it was worth it…”

Luckily my sister just happens to be a sexual health advisor and has kitted me out with a free chlamydia test where you just pee in a bottle and stick in in the post (after putting it in a sealed envelope first, of course). Her opinion is that JE is a psychotic jealous liar, which I’m inclined to agree with, although I’m going to get tested at the GUM clinic after work just in case. I’m still seeing T. in London every other weekend or so and thank God we’re using condoms, apart from recently when one broke and I had to get the morning-after pill. I’m going to wait for the test result before I mention anything to him.

If JE discovered he had an STD and didn’t warn me to get checked out that’s so fucked up and irresponsible I can’t even comprehend it. And if he’s lying, that’s just as bad. I can’t believe he’s being so nasty.

But really, it’s time for a reality check. Step away from the rose-tinted glasses. He was like this for pretty much our whole realtionship.

The last text I sent him read: “Thanks for being such a dick. I was actually starting to miss you.”

Advertisements

I try to remember how to play it cool

4 Oct

So just when I think I’m going crazy because I haven’t heard from T since spending an amazing weekend with him in London (although as my sister points out, this was only four days ago), I get a text from him on my way home from work. I’m so excited it’s all I can do to keep the car on the road.

“So, what are the chances of persuading you to come down to London, say next weekend? I’m worried there are parts of Brixton you haven’t seen x”

I breathe deep and try to remember how to play it cool (as if I ever knew).

“You mean there’s more to Brixton? I have an excruciating work awards ceremony on Friday [this is true, I can’t get out of it and I’m not even nominated for anything], but if you’d care to show me the sights on Saturday, I’d say your chances were pretty good… x”

“Done,” he says. “Yes there’s tons more stuff in Briston but I’ve changed my mind and I’m not gonna let you see any of it xx”

Two kisses? I can’t stop grinning.

I book a train to London for the following Saturday and text him to let him know what time I’ll be arriving. “Can’t wait,” I type.

Hang on, that’s not playing it cool. That’s playing it keen. I deleted that bit and sign-off with a jokey comment instead about already having seen the highlight of Brixton.

“I’ll meet you at the Tube station,” he texts back. “Can’t wait.”

I get the break-up blues

3 Oct

I can’t find my favourite coat. It’s a navy blue duffle coat with wooden togs and I wear it all the time, or at least I did before I lost it. I’ve asked around my family and friends but no one has seen it. And so, as a last resort, I text my ex.

“Hi, did I by any chance leave a navy duffle coat at your house? Cant find it anywhere! Hope things are good with you x”

An hour later he texts back: “Oh hello. I know the coat you mean, but it isn’t here. I hope things are good with you too! x”

But I want to know more. I want to know how his new job is going and if he ever managed to pass his degree (after failing it twice). I want to know if his annoying housemate ever moved out and I want to tell him some of the things about my holiday that I’d been looking forward to sharing when I was away, but then never did because he dumped me right out of the blue. I don’t want the the last time we ever see each other to be when he was driving in circles around the centre of Birmingham and I was in the passenger seat in tears because my airport transfer was set to leave in less than two minutes and we couldn’t find the bus stop because he refused to use the bloody satnav.

So I text back: “Ahh that’s too bad, I think it’s lost :( I have a couple of your books and a t-shirt that I can drop round next time I’m in Bristol if you like?”

To which he replies: “No it’s ok, take them to a charity shop if you don’t want them. Take care x”

I hate that phrase “take care”. It always sounds so much more final than “goodbye”. It’s what people always say when they know they’re never going to see you again.

And now I feel unexpectedly very sad. Not because I think we made a good couple, because we most definitely did not. I feel sad because we never got to say a proper goodbye. My sister thinks that it’s a bad idea and that if I saw him again we’d just end up sleeping together or arguing, or both. She’s probably right. But even so, I find it hard to accept that always when a relationship ends there’s never a chance to say all of the things you really want to say.
Like, I actually never cheated on you.
And, I think you need therapy for your jealousy issues.
And, do you KNOW how many times I paid for dinner?

Even so, I should probably stop sleeping in his old t-shirt.

A close encounter with an old friend

30 Sep

Ladies and gents, I have an announcement to make. I am smitten. The sort of smitten that compels you to re-read your lover’s text messages until you can quote them verbatim and leaves you smiling like a goon at nothing in particular. And like all the best romantic encounters, this one arrived completely out of the blue.

On Friday I was in London for a conference, which turned out to be excruciatingly dull. Afterwards I’d arranged to meet a couple of friends from university in London, where I was a postgrad student three years ago. (I’d invited more people, but I’d forgotten that everyone in the City seems to need at least a month’s notice in order to meet for a few drinks.) So in the end it was just me , H and T, two of the guys I used to hang out a lot with when I was living in London. I’d had a huge crush on T throughout the year we were at uni together, but he had a girlfriend he’d been with forever, or at least five years, which might as well be forever to someone who cant seem to hold a relationship longer than 18 months.

T finished work early and met me at the tube station in Angel with a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. He is really tall, 6ft 3″, and I’m only 5ft 3″ so he had to bend down quite a lot to do that. We went to a pub in Angel and even though I hadn’t seen him for more than a year and had been worried that maybe the conversation might dry up, we talked all afternoon. T is very intelligent and very witty but he’s also VERY cute in a slightly goofy, skinny-boy sort of way, with dark hair, hazel eyes and an enormous smile. He also mentioned that he’d broken up with his girlfriend earlier this year. A couple of hours later H arrived and we all went to a Turkish restaurant, then onto a bar. By this time I’d already missed the train that work had booked me onto, but I figured I’d just get the last train home at 10pm. But when 10pm came, we were still having a good time and the whiskey sours were in full flow.
“I don’t want to go!” I said.
“So don’t then,” said H.
“The only way that would work is if I can stay with one of you guys…”
“You can stay with me,” said T, quite quickly.

Even then, I didn’t think anything of it. I have a lot of guy friends and stay over sometimes just as I would at a girl friend’s house. I didn’t think anything of it when we’d said our goodbyes and T and I were on the tube, and he put an arm around my shoulder. Because it was just a friendly arm around the shoulder, right? And then we got back to his and we were both sitting on the bed and for a few moments there was this slightly loaded, slightly awkward silence, which I opted to break by pulling the duvet over his head. And that’s when he kissed me.

So… online dating

26 Sep

I’m online dating. Yes, I know it’s only been two weeks since I broke up with Jealous Boy, but that relationship had been on its last legs for a while. I’ve enjoyed several bouts of singledom throughout my twenties, relishing the fact that I never had to accommodate my social diary around anyone else’s, apologise for working late or feel guilty for the times when all I wanted to do was Continue reading

I am kept awake by a knife-wielding ex-boyfriend

17 Sep

Last night I had the most disturbing dream. I was being chased by an ex-boyfriend (not the most recent one, one I had at university. Let’s call him Jay). Not being chased in the lovesick sense either – he was wielding a bloody great sharp knife. And as I ran scared silly through the city streets, dodging cars and pushchairs and hyperventilating, he didn’t seem to run at all – just popped up every now and then in front of me like Michael Myers in Halloween.

This is odd for two reasons: Continue reading

I get dumped – for NOT being unfaithful

2 Sep

“I’ve been kind of dreading this call,” he said.

I groaned. But hadn’t I seen it coming? Hadn’t I been mentally rehearsing my break-up speech on the 12-hour flight home from Sri Lanka only a day earlier? Had I bought him a sweet but inexpensive souvenir gift that I could easily palm off on somebody else just in case we split up? Hadn’t I spilled my guts out to my friends on holiday about how his jealous streak was out of control, Continue reading

%d bloggers like this: