I fell in love with a liar, a 44 year old cocaine dealer masquerading as a 36 year old seasonal postal worker, dispensary owner, and aspiring actor.
The signs were all there from the beginning--he carried two phones, drove a rental car, worked late nights and early mornings, among other things--but I chose to ignore them. I trusted him more than I trusted my own instincts. I told myself that there was a logical reason for everything, that that logical reason was that he was lying to me never dawned on me. Yet, I can't say that I was surprised the night he came home drunk and started confessing.
He hadn't planned on loving me, his intentions were to sleep with me and forget about me, so he saw no harm in falsely representing himself, he didn't like people to know too much about him anyhow.
I let the lie about his age slide, because he wasn't the first guy to lie about his age. What I should have known was that there were more lies waiting to be uncovered.
I found out he was a cocaine dealer completely by accident. I showed up to his place ten minutes earlier than I was supposed to and he had his supply laying out in the open. We both avoided discussing this all weekend until I finally broke. I needed to know what that white stuff was and what he was doing with it. His response was filled with rage, I had no business knowing about his business, never mind the fact that there had been several occasions when he'd left me alone in his apartment and in his car, both places where he kept his supply. Like a fool I stayed with him after this discovery, because I was in love and because he promised he would be quitting the business shortly... he went so far as to swear on his dead brother, may he rest in peace, that he'd stop selling by the end of the year.
The thing about liars though is that they never stop lying. January turned to June and June turned into don't ask me about it.
And in the meantime I found myself lying to family and friends about what he did, something I am not proud of at all. I also found myself crying. A LOT. His lies made me miserable, still I clung to him because I was in love, because I had hope, because I believed he was a good man despite his profession, because it was only a matter of time before he left that life behind. Because I was afraid I had no other options. Because I let him convince me that no man would ever treat me as good as he did.
I never should have doubted my intuition and when he confirmed my suspicions I should have left immediately because a relationship based on lies only leads to disappointment, and no amount of love is worth that kind of disappointment.
I know better now.
The signs were all there from the beginning--he carried two phones, drove a rental car, worked late nights and early mornings, among other things--but I chose to ignore them. I trusted him more than I trusted my own instincts. I told myself that there was a logical reason for everything, that that logical reason was that he was lying to me never dawned on me. Yet, I can't say that I was surprised the night he came home drunk and started confessing.
He hadn't planned on loving me, his intentions were to sleep with me and forget about me, so he saw no harm in falsely representing himself, he didn't like people to know too much about him anyhow.
I let the lie about his age slide, because he wasn't the first guy to lie about his age. What I should have known was that there were more lies waiting to be uncovered.
I found out he was a cocaine dealer completely by accident. I showed up to his place ten minutes earlier than I was supposed to and he had his supply laying out in the open. We both avoided discussing this all weekend until I finally broke. I needed to know what that white stuff was and what he was doing with it. His response was filled with rage, I had no business knowing about his business, never mind the fact that there had been several occasions when he'd left me alone in his apartment and in his car, both places where he kept his supply. Like a fool I stayed with him after this discovery, because I was in love and because he promised he would be quitting the business shortly... he went so far as to swear on his dead brother, may he rest in peace, that he'd stop selling by the end of the year.
The thing about liars though is that they never stop lying. January turned to June and June turned into don't ask me about it.
And in the meantime I found myself lying to family and friends about what he did, something I am not proud of at all. I also found myself crying. A LOT. His lies made me miserable, still I clung to him because I was in love, because I had hope, because I believed he was a good man despite his profession, because it was only a matter of time before he left that life behind. Because I was afraid I had no other options. Because I let him convince me that no man would ever treat me as good as he did.
I never should have doubted my intuition and when he confirmed my suspicions I should have left immediately because a relationship based on lies only leads to disappointment, and no amount of love is worth that kind of disappointment.
I know better now.
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