I remember when I used to love her... (Pt. 1)

*I apologise for the length of this post. I have been working on it for awhile, and was under the impression I would not have finished it in time to get the first part posted yesterday. I try to keep my missives short but this one got out of hand, and I did not have the time to edit it properly. Sorry folk...


It’s difficult for me to write this. That may sound strange, when you think about some of the things that I have posted in this space. However, this may count as my toughest one yet. It deals with a major reason why my recent relationships have been so dysfunctional. And while this isn’t the sole reason, it was a huge influence over how I related to the women I involved myself with. I have tried writing about this before (about 3 times). I keep clamming up. There is still a lot of residual anger left in me, even now, some 7 years later. In short, I’m going to write about her.

Who is she? My closest friends could tell you in heart beat, just from that opening paragraph. In my adult life, I have cried from despair, sorrow, sadness and a sense of loss, numerous times, but always in private. Only she has ever made me breakdown and cry out of sheer unadulterated rage (in front my best friend and his girlfriend at the time no less). My friend's girlfriend (who was also a close personal friend) even recommended that I go to therapy, because she was worried that I wasn’t dealing well my emotions. In retrospect, she didn’t know the half. I have carried baggage from that relationship with me ever since, like a faithful roadie for a touring rock band. Well, it’s time to drop that baggage by the roadside. I’ve had enough.

By the way, for the rest of this post, she is going to be referred to as TNO, aka, The Nameless One. Why TNO? A friend, who was there for the entire fiasco, has literally rechristened her “She Who Shall Not Be Named”. At first I thought it was because she was a non-entity in his mind after everything that happened. Now, I honestly believe it’s in homage to the demonic entity in “Children of the Corn”, the titled “He Who Walks Behind The Rows”. And he WILL correct you if you call her by her birth name. I kid you not, she was bad.

The sordid story started in a party. I even remember the name of the party: H-1 (H-1 is the code for student visas for entry to the US). We were both home on vacation and met through a mutual friend. While there weren’t any fireworks, there was definitely chemistry. We hung out a couple more time afterwards, and then we both headed back to school, she in Boston, me in Atlanta. And then she disappeared. I found out through our friend that she was on an 8-month field-study in South America. I shrugged, cursed my luck and moved on.

9 months later, my friend was organizing to come visit me in Atl, when 9-11 happened. And if you know my friend, that means that a snowball has a much better chance of surviving an unusually warm day in hell, than she had of stepping foot on a plane. Anyway, I’m on MSN Messenger one day, and my friend logs in to tell me that she isn’t coming. Except that it’s TNO using her account (my friend was too sick to get out of bed, so she had her use her messenger). We got back to talking and catching up, and finally she decided that (unknown to me) as she was supposed to come on the trip anyway, she would still come. The weekend was great (and no, not just the sex…). We hung out, we vibed, we drank, we partied. She got along great with my boys. Sure, she had some quirks (more on that in a paragraph or 2), but she was cool. By the end of the weekend, we were practically in a relationship. (My best friend, who was also my roommate at the time, always shakes his head at that fact). Things were great. (N.B. There is a very good reason for the adage “young, dumb and full of cum…”)

And things stayed great for awhile. We did the long distance thing for a year. She would come visit me. It was hard for me to visit her because, while she was on scholarship and living on campus, I was living off-campus and paying my way through school. We talked on the phone every other day. We e-mailed all the time. I cheated a bit. (N.B. again: while I’m not proud of this fact, in retrospect, I’m not sorry either). Once again, everything was going great. Then all hell broke loose.

I need to give some back story here, to explain the kind of person I was dealing with. She was the middle child of five kids. Her father was physically abusive to the family. The bed in my bedroom was pushed up against the corner of the room. She could not sleep on the inside, i.e. close to wall, because she had severe claustrophobia. Why? Because her father would lock her in the closet as a child as punishment. (I thought her stories about her dad were out there, until I met her elder sisters. They confirmed them) He eventually ran out on them. She had a near-rape experience in form 6, and then actually was raped while on foreign study. She reported neither. Why? She assumed people would think it was her fault and she looked for it. Or that she was just flat out lying. I mean, this girl didn’t just have issues. She had problems stemming from issues, that came from real-life tragedies. And there I was, the super-caring, ultra-loving, ever-understanding boyfriend, who stood by her side when she swore no-one else would want her or love her. And I had no idea of the monster I was creating.

I didn’t learn everything in the previous paragraph all at one. It came out slowly. But the first sign I had that something may not have been right, was when she started sleep-walking. Not talking in her sleep, mind you, but actually sleep-walking. And here’s the funny thing about sleep-walking. Forget the movies. When you see that shit for the first time, if you don’t know what to look for, you will swear that the person is awake and coherent. I promise you that. The first time it happened, she jumped up, and started screaming and crying that she couldn’t feel her legs. I freaked. I tried to go for help, but she wouldn’t let me. She kept crying for me not to leave her alone. I didn’t know what to do. Eventually, she went back to sleep. I didn’t. When she finally awoke some hours later, I asked her how she was feeling and how were her legs. And she watched me like I was from mars. She had no recollection of anything, the screaming, the crying, nothing. She just watched me like I was on something, and then continued doing what she was doing. But did I run for the hills? Noooo… Your faithful blogger did the next logical thing (logic being used VERY loosely here). I moved in with her.


The next year of my life proved to be hell on earth. Not only did she not like my friends, she actively hated them. Why? Because they had the audacity to suggest that maybe, just maybe, our moving in together was not a particularly good idea. But where I saw people voicing concern, she saw traitors who were trying to stab her in the back (yea, logic didn't run too far with her). I was God's gift to women (I wish), so suddenly all women were threats to her. And I do mean all women. The only one of my female friends that she was cool with was the curious mouth, and even that had limitations. She bought a car (more on this to come, trust me), and immediately decreed that no strange bitches (direct quote, and you should know my stance on the word "bitch") would be allowed in it. Anything became grounds for a fight. Not an argument, mind you, but a fight (not physical though). I remember watching TV and getting into an argument, because I commented that one of the contestants for a reality TV show was cute. After she asked me if she was cute. Needless to say, I soon discovered that my couch was quite comfortable to sleep on.

This continued for the next couple of months. But there was a slow escalation that was almost imperceptible to me at the point in time. I mean I can see it clearly now, but back then, not so much. Then came the two incidents that showed me that I was clearly dealing with someone who was becoming unhinged. We had just gotten through our usual nightly bullshit argument, and I had taken up my customary spot on the couch, to watch TV till I fell asleep. I heard the bedroom door open, and she walked out, naked as she was born (she slept naked), in tears. I was confused. Our argument hadn't been that bad this time. So I asked her what was wrong. "You're leaving me", came the response. Brrrr? Nowhere in our argument had I ever said I was leaving her. I asked her who told her that, and got no coherent response. She just kept repeating the same thing over and over, that I was leaving her. Then something clicked. I got up, walked closer to her and asked, “TNO, are you up?” Same response. I asked her if she was awake again. Then I looked closely at her eyes. They had that rapid, shifty movement that is associated with someone who is dreaming. Except her eyes were wide open. She was sleepwalking. Again. I eventually led her back gently to the bedroom, and calmed her down enough for her to start back sleeping normally (think of the insanity of that statement, taking into account that she never woke up throughout the entire episode). Then I promptly had a cigarette.


(N.B. I did some research on people who sleepwalk after we broke up. And what I read scared me. Basically, people have been known to hurt themselves while sleepwalking. Makes sense right? But did you know they have also been known to attack others, and in very rare instances, even kill? Why? Cuz higher brain function is still switched off. They are basically running on autopilot. Ignorance is bliss.)

The second incident came about a month later. My best friend, and biggest opponent of us moving in together, was moving home. So we had a good bye party. Of course this was not sitting well with her. We had been back and forth about it all day. She told me I could not use the car. I simply called my other liming partner to pick me up. She told me to pack my shit and get the fuck out while I was at it. I calmly picked up the clothes she threw at me and started packing them in my bags. She told me I didn’t have the balls. I put my bags by the door and sat waiting. She started to cry and beg for me not to go. I didn’t even look at her. I had reached my breaking point. My boy called me to say he was at the traffic lights outside our apartment complex, and I started moving my stuff outside the door. Then came the words that made my blood run cold. As she sat on the floor, she said in a fairly calm voice, “If you leave me, I will kill myself…” (There is a huge difference between “I’ll die if you leave me,” and “if you leave me, I will kill myself.” Especially when they stress the “will.”) This is where the chain of events begins to differ from what my friends believe I should have done:

Me: “Wha?”
TNO (slowly, yet in that same calm voice): “I will kill myself.”
Me (trying to sound mannish): “No you won’t…”
TNO: “Yes…I…will.”

And then I made mistake no. 2. I closed the door and called my boy. I explained everything that had just happened to him. He went silent. The he slowly told me to stay home, and to make sure every stayed ok. He said he would explain to my boy why I could not make it to the party. So I stayed. And that was the scariest conversation I have ever had with another human being. Her voice never changed. It stayed that same eerily calm way throughout. To this day, I get asked why I didn’t just call her bluff and leave. All I can say is, you needed to hear her when she said it. There is a common saying, no matter how much you think the person is bluffing, always take them seriously. Well, I did not think she was bluffing. Not one bit. And the death of another person is not a stain on my soul that I can live with.

To be continued...