How do I give so much of myself to the public?
Easy. I've already lived this 3 ring circus. What's the worst that can happen, y'all judge me? Boo fucking hoo.
Today, one of my column followers said to me “I don’t understand how you are so open with so much of yourself…” It made me think of one particular moment. The day that I published the story of that piece of shit narcissist and how I found his Grindr account, I say found but he made no attempt to even hide the icon. I thought it was some Transformer knock off game, and when I opened it I found out more than I ever wanted to.
Just going back to that day in my mind is like a punch in my chest. Although I knew that I needed to be anywhere but where he was, I just didn’t see someone actually doing that to me. Having a homosexual encounter behind my back, much less multiple homosexual encounters behind my back? This is happening to me? Are we sure?
But, yes, right there, in print, no way around it. This is exactly what had been taking place, and according to his messages, was still taking place. I vomited. A lot. You can take that however you want to, but no woman wants to find out she’s being cheated on. Add to it, she’s being cheated on in a down-low secret undercover asshole session. I could actually vomit right now, just recalling the horror.
I was afraid for a few moments before I hit publish. Something about the way he cheated on me, the filthy random homosexual hook up, it made me feel gross. It made me feel like I would be judged for the wrong that he had done to me. Like I wasn’t enough like I’m the type of woman that this happens to.
But I knew, I had a responsibility to other women who have been wronged before. I sat on Ask A Bitchface, and I asked for people to tell me their lives and stories and secrets, and now I was going to only tell the ones that put me in a positive light? Well, how fucking bitchy is that.
I have faults, and problems, and I’ve made enough mistakes for my entire panel of admins. Maybe double that. But one thing I didn’t do was have a homosexual hook up on myself. I didn’t make that asshole behave that way. No pun intended.
I spent enough time covering that horrible fact up. I tried to pretend it hadn’t happened. But I’ll tell you that the aftermath of AIDS tests reminded me that it was very real, and it did happen. I was a nervous wreck for 24 months afterward, because I was being tested every 3 months, terrified he had contracted something and handed it to me to take my life.
Luckily, I dodged that bullet. Does that alleviate any of the shame? Nope. Does it soften the horrible blow to the breastplate I feel when I think of it? Nope. It does, however, remind me that it doesn’t matter what kind of a woman you are, when a monster sets his gaze upon you, only divine intervention will save you.
So, in case you wondered, I would never just share my plus column with y’all. I intend to tell you all of the inner workings of the things that make me The Head Bitchface in Charge. So, y’all grab your Grindr apps, the bubble Caprice is parked out front. Let’s get outta this sausage fest.