Darkside Rainbow

Most gays and lesbians rarely know our sexual orientation right off the bat, and it’s not so strange that the majority of us fumbled around with opposite-sex partners - whether briefly or in prolonged relationships - before slowly finding our way. Most of us have one or more opposite-sex exes in our histories…but sometimes they won’t stay comfortably in the past.

When I was eighteen, I had my first long-term girlfriend. By that time I’d pretty much figured out that I was gay, maybe with a few of those fluid overtones to make me occasionally bisexual - but sometimes attraction doesn’t limit itself to physical attributes. I made friends with a girl with whom I had a great deal in common, back then: similar interests, similar activities, similar hobbies, and the bonding factor of being able to gripe about the difficulty of university studies. We had a great deal of fun together. Not only that, but I was uncertain enough in my confidence about my sexuality that I was willing to be swayed towards women - perhaps hoping to alleviate a secret shame that I’ve since discarded utterly. Somehow common ground progressed to flirting, flirting progressed to more…and suddenly I had a girlfriend.

The problems, surprisingly, didn’t begin with a lack of attraction to her naughty bits. The problems came with discovering other things we had in common: nasty tempers and vituperative mean streaks that made every small argument turn into a vicious catfight that didn’t end until we were both bleeding heavily from a number of proverbial mortal wounds. The fact that my (admittedly somewhat forced) physical interest in her waned the more we fought only made the fights worse, and finally I had to cut it off. I had to tell her that I couldn’t do this; we were too incompatible personally, beyond the point that the relationship pretty much confirmed that yes, I’m 99% gay and unfortunately she didn’t fit into that rare 1%.

She lost it like Mariah Carey finding out she didn’t get top billing.

I wish we could have ended it cleanly, with no prolonged hard feelings. That was rather naive of me, in truth. The next several months after the breakup consisted of constant attacks over what I’d “done to her”, pleas, accusations that I had used her, even threats. You can imagine that promises to show up at my front door with a dozen roses and a butcher knife didn’t make me feel particularly inclined to make amends. I’d always known she was a little mental, but until then it was just cute quirks; I had no idea she had mental malfunctions severe enough to make Hannibal Lecter look like Rainbow Brite. The entire fiasco divided our friends, with most of them taking her side because she’d managed to demonize me utterly.

Since I was to be demonized anyway, I went ahead and let myself be the biggest bastard I know how to be (and trust me, that’s one big pile of bastardry); might as well live up to their expectations, right? Anything to get her off my back; anything to make her hate me enough to just…leave me alone. It worked, after another month or so in which I inflicted every verbal cruelty on her that I could to discourage contact. I’m not proud of my behavior or even of who I was back then, but it was a matter of desperation.

So why, now, is she still a part of my life?

I wish I had an easy answer to that.

I suppose part of it is guilt. We didn’t talk for years. Wounds healed; we both matured a great deal, and I at least learned to keep more of a leash on my temper and my acid tongue. She turned to lesbianism; I was the last man she ever tried anything with. When we ran into each other again, we approached each other on guarded terms, wary of each other (with me halfway wondering if she was going to pull a butcher knife out of her purse). Eventually we were able to talk, apologize for our reprehensible behavior in the past, and come to terms with how our relationship ended. I was relieved that she seemed calmer, less unstable; she was relieved that I’d put the venom away, sheathed the claws, and wasn’t such an a**. Over time we even began to develop a tentative friendship.

And I found out that she really hadn’t changed at all.

Every aspect of our friendship revolved around compensating for “what I’d done to her”, and she had a set list of expectations that her friends all had to adhere to in order to be considered “good” friends. Not surprisingly, that list and her subsequent drama fits over meeting the minimum requirements have lost her more than one friend. Pointing out to her that part of friendship is wanting to do things for your friends without expectations or demands…well, that was a near-suicidal mistake. It didn’t help that she threw everything I’d said years ago back in my face. I didn’t even remember saying those things; I’m a guy, for hell’s sake. I don’t remember what I had for dinner last week, let alone something I said years ago. When a fight’s over, it’s over. I forget about it. She, obviously, didn’t. Attempts to nudge her towards seeking help in coping with her issues met with furious responses followed by more guilt trips.

So eventually I started to distance myself again - only this time, the guilt went deeper and I still couldn’t let go entirely. I’ve made her like this, I thought to myself, likely with a bit too much hubris. It’s my fault she’s this insecure and insane, because I dug her insecurities deeper when I broke up with her. I limited contact to brief conversations here and there every few months and let her friend me on LiveJournal, but filtered her out of most of my entries. I still read her entries now and then, and it’s the same old song: nobody loves me enough to dance to my tune, I hate everyone, people suck, my life is awful and it’s all someone else’s fault. Sometimes, honestly, she disgusts me - but mostly, I feel sorry for her. Beyond certain family members of mine she’s the most emotionally abusive person I’ve ever known, but there’s a certain lonely desperation to it that makes me rather sad.

And yet slowly, I’m starting to break away more and more. Sometimes your opposite-sex ex can turn into one of the best friends you’ve ever had; sometimes you just need to cut loose, both for your sake and for theirs. Eventually I’ll be able to walk away from her completely. A recent fiasco is helping me make the separation and get over my guilt; she was staying here in Houston for a while as part of a short-term job, and for some reason she didn’t bother making plans to go home when the job was over…and was somehow surprised when she suddenly had no more job-sponsored housing and was left wondering where to go. She contacted me, acting like she was desperate for somewhere to stay and if I didn’t let her live with me she’d be on the street, penniless and living out of her car (why she didn’t drive said car home, I don’t know).

I…panicked. I really did. No matter how much anyone changes, you never forget threats of a butcher knife; I’d rather share my space with a few thousand angry scorpions than live with her. I told her that I couldn’t, because if anyone who isn’t on my lease stays here for more than three days I’ll be evicted (that’s the truth, actually), and frantically started making phone calls looking to see if I could find her an affordable hostel or a friend who wouldn’t mind a couch-guest for a few days until she got herself sorted enough to go back home. I even offered to give her some money to help make sure she’d be all right, even though I was mostly broke at the time. The whole time she guilt-tripped me over saying no, reminding me of how bad her situation was and making me feel like a total jerk for not wanting her in my home. The offers of money were conveniently ignored even though she could have used it for food, hotel or hostel fare, gas money, etc.

It turned out she was already in a rather nice hostel, and had other people who were perfectly willing to let her stay with them. She also had money, and more due in a few days. She was just manipulating me, pretty much. Exaggerating, most likely to gain sympathy.

I haven’t spoken to her since.

If I’m lucky, I may never have to speak to her again - though that would be the coward’s way out. Eventually I will have to take the last steps to sever ties, and make it concretely clear that she’s not welcome in my life. Part of me doesn’t want to face that; that’s why I’ve avoided it for so long, as visits from the Drama Llama tend to leave me with headaches that last for weeks (and raggedly chewed boxer-briefs, for it’s well-known that the Drama Llama has an appetite for underwear). There’s also that lingering guilt, but it’s finally starting to fade enough that I can end what was an unhealthy relationship to start with…for both of us.

Despite being wary of her, I don’t hate her. She’s got a number of issues, and I hope she manages to work them out and finally find a way to be happy without depending on others to make that happiness for her (or else). But I can’t continue to let her stress me out and make her misery into my misery. People in my family already grey prematurely; I don’t need her accelerating the process.

So in the end, what was the point of this meandering story? I suppose to share an experience that I know others out there have been through, in the uncertain, blind fumble to find their way. Many gays and lesbians end up forming toxic, guilt-centered relationships of this sort, that do nothing but drain them and foster unhealthy and even obsessive behavior patterns. It’s happened to me, and I’m at fault for letting the situation get even worse than it had to be.

If you’re in a relationship like this, you’re not alone - and I suppose you should take my tale as a precaution. Learn to walk away, and learn that you can’t take blame for someone else’s issues. They will tell you that those issues are your fault, but really, you’re just a target. It’s okay to sever ties with that person, and to not take responsibility for the harm that they would have caused themselves and others with or without you.

It’s okay to stand up for yourself.

And it’s okay to tell that person no.

ex-girlfriends, ex-boyfriends, gay exes, bad relationships, unhealthy relationships