JustVicki's Story - 2
JustVicki's Story - 2
Devilish Eyes- So Beautiful
Yes, I know. I've been here before. I'm a slow learner. This is my second encounter (back-to-back) with a possible Narc. The first one was brutal and nearly killed me emotionally. This latest one was kind, sweet, but shallow and hurt me in other ways. Last night, after a couple of previous breakups, I sent him this essay, along with a message telling him that I wanted to end the relationship, but I wanted him to see it from my perspective. I never heard back from him. Here goes:
"Devilish Eyes-So Beautiful," Jon wrote to Mia on her Facebook profile picture just days before I officially met him. At this point I didn't even know Mia existed. Just like I didn't know Li-Li existed in my previous, failed relationship. Little snippets of information that men conveniently forget to tell the new women in their lives. Secrets they prefer to hide.
Having just gotten over an abusive relationship with Richard, a Narcissist, Sociopath, and Pathological Liar, I had no plans to meet another man so soon, if ever, yet I did. It was too early.
I met him online on the day I was AIDS tested. Even though I sincerely doubted that Richard had given me a sexually-transmitted disease, I felt that I needed to make sure my body was clean, before I could go about the business of cleansing my soul.
It was time for my annual checkup with my internist, Dr. Strong. She was aware of the abuse and demands that Richard had placed upon me for nearly a year, calling me vile names, insisting I lose weight and coercing me to grow my hair to his liking. My weight had plummeted to 107 lbs. Not a normal weight for a 5' 3", 55-year-old woman. I looked like a scarecrow. I felt like a scarecrow. I had suffered a broken heart.
Jon was sweet, caring, and sensitive. He immediately asked me out, but I was in school, trying to find a post-divorce career to sustain me for the next few years, a daunting task. I finally relented, even though emotionally I knew I wasn't ready.
On the evening I agreed to meet Jon, he was at one of his nightly entertainment spots, a local bar playing TRIVIA. I walked in, trying to look as confident as I possibly could. He saw me immediately and motioned me to his table. He had brought his laptop to show pictures of his family members, small snapshots of a sixty-one-year existence, his way of breaking the ice. Then I saw the first glimpse of Mia, young, beautiful Mia. Her hair was cut in a boyish style. She wore very little makeup, but it didn't matter, she was stunning.
Jon, looking at the picture said, "This is my good friend, Mia. We were a couple for a while, but several years ago we both decided we would be more suitable as friends. We have a dog that we share, Will." As usual, I tucked the information into the back of my mind and left it there.
As I sat at the table, eating a salad and savoring a glass of wine, a girl walked through the door. The girl was Mia.
Jon invited Mia to eat with us, which she did. I felt invisible. I'm fifty-five, not in my thirties. I could be her mother. We had nothing in common.
Mia seemed totally oblivious to her surroundings, a disturbing observation. I don't even remember what was discussed. She ate. She left. Then the evening proceeded as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
That was six months ago. A lot can slowly be revealed in six months. Jon and I are now seeing each other a couple of nights per week. But he rarely takes me out. He goes to his TRIVIA competitions, comes over to my house late at night to watch TV, then we have intimate moments. We drift off to sleep while listening to music. He wakes up in the wee morning hours, gets dressed, goes home. This has been our intertwined lives for six months.
Last December, three months after Jon and I started seeing each other, a company that he has an affiliation with had a Christmas party. He never mentioned it to me, yet I knew he was going. Why am I good enough to sleep with, yet not good enough to be taken out publicly? I have managed to find myself in yet another dysfunctional situation.
We have continued seeing each other. Inevitably, I began to see the first concrete crack in our relationship, a picture on Facebook. The picture was of Jon at the Christmas party- with Mia. They are smiling for the camera. This 62-year-old, gray-haired man and Mia, her arm casually placed around his shoulder. The person who took the picture placed it on Jon's Facebook page, along with the caption, "Jon and his sexy girlfriend." Blood rushed to my head, my ears were ringing, and I couldn't believe my eyes. The captioned picture devastated me, this 55-year-old, invisible woman.
I broke up with him. He tried to explain his way out of his predicament, actually saying he had never slept with her; she is more like a daughter to him; she has a multitude of issues. But it was too late. At least for a few days, until I made up with him. I must love punishment.
He did not remove the picture from his Facebook Wall, a suggestion I made. It stayed up for quite a while. His trophy girlfriend was too tempting to remove. How jealous his male friends must be.
Just the other day, out of morbid curiosity, I looked for the picture. It was no longer on his Wall, maybe he blocked me from being able to see it. I really don't know.
I once looked at Mia's Facebook page, only once. I shouldn't have. I should have had more pride. As I sat peering at her pictures, I tried to understand the captivating spell she has on this man I care for. In one of her pictures, she has her face tilted downward, her eyes seducing the camera. I read the comments section. I saw Jon's name and his comment: "Devilish eyes- so beautiful."
This is not a comment a man makes to his daughter; this is a comment made by a man in love.
He's never told me that I have beautiful, devilish eyes. He once commented on a picture of me. What did he write? "You look fit."
I know in some way I fill a gap in his compartmentalized life. Golf games most days, TRIVIA most evenings, time spent at Mia's house on the pretense of seeing the dog for a while. He has a standing date with Mia and a mutual female friend every Friday. He and I have gone out four times in six months.
Today I'm feeling down, yet enlightened. I had hoped time would bring him closer to me. I was wrong. I'm not 30-something, and I don't have devilishly beautiful eyes.