I often tell stories of my horrible exes here. The Fuckboys, the general asshats, and a couple of them missing whole screws out of the assembly kit. However, I don’t tell a lot of stories about my not-so-awful exes, because they don’t deserve to have their business aired out. They entrusted me with their secrets, so secrets they shall remain.
I’m relaying this story on an anonymous basis because I need to get this out to the universe. Some cosmic force needs to help me.
I have an ex who was a really awesome dude, but very bipolar. Without his medication, which he stopped taking every time he got regulated and felt better, he was a son of a bitch. I’ll tell you how I met the guy:
I was bartending in a biker bar in Tampa. Real popular place, and because of the clientele, I often wore a corset and jeans to work. I’m top-heavy. You see where this is going.
Well, my ex was on the other side of the bar one day, this is prior to us getting together, he only knew me as bar. And, duh, a group of bikers start getting a little wasted, and a dude tried to put his hand down my top, supposedly under the guise of leaving a tip. By the time I took a step back to get out of his arms reach, my ex was dragging him off of his barstool and into the parking lot. Chaos ensued.
After all of that shit was handled, my ex came strolling back in the door, and said “Babygirl, you gotta learn to jump back faster. I’m gonna end up beating a whole lotta ass if you don’t.”
Of course, y’all know me and my whole scenario with dudes who want to protect me. It was all over with but the crying from there. Or it was until tonight.
He reached out to me; we’re still Facebook and Instagram friends. Tonight, he said he needed to talk, and I told him to call anytime.
Y’all, he apparently was driving down a dark highway in the middle of nowhere, and a young girl, I believe in her 20s, was in the road, just out of thin air, he said. He hit her, and it killed her. This happened around 10 months ago. He is fucking devastated. I mean, tore up. I’ve never heard this man cry until tonight.
So he’s going to a psychiatrist tomorrow, but he said he is just living a fucking nightmare. And I completely understand, trauma is like that. It’s a constant scene that just invades your mind, no matter where you are or how hard you try to forget. I have a few scenes that never stop showing reruns in my mind, also.
I couldn’t do much, just listen. I mean, honestly, that probably didn’t help much at all, either, but he said that’s what he needed. And I told him I would listen anytime, every time. It didn’t matter to me if it was every 30 days or every 30 minutes, I’m not bailing.
And then he said, “you were always such a good woman. Thank you for being here” like I would be anywhere else. Psssh. It’s what I do.
If I loved you once, I’ll love you always. Unfortunately, or in this case, fortunately, that’s just the way I’m built.
I don’t know how to help him, but at least he’s going to see someone who can. I am only telling this so that someone on the other side of things gets it in writing that I need some help for my friend. Seems all my verbal requests keep getting ignored.
Part of being good people is being loyal. I am loyal to a fucking fault. It’s part of the fabric of my character that I don’t for a second wish was different. It’s honestly one of my favorite parts of me.
Today, I’m so glad I’m loyal. I’m glad that he knew I would be in his corner, regardless of the number of years that have passed since we were together.
If anyone upstairs is paying attention, I mean, help. I can’t do this one. He is calling your hotline, could you pick up, please?
Damn. I still answer the 1-800-FUCKBOY hotline. I mean, get a 10 line setup or something. Lord, have mercy. Literally.
Just keep being true to who you are!
That’s terrible. If his mom can get him on his meds and the therapist can give him tools on how to process, with you on his side, he’ll get to a better place mentally. I feel awful for him.