Not The Only One

“I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN”, I sobbed into the phone. “Mom, I should have known!!” My heart was bleeding with the realization that my long-time boyfriend had cheated on me with his debate partner.

Jeff and I met in high school debate, an activity we both enjoyed and excelled in. My first impression of him, however, was that he was an asshole and used people’s psyches against them. I should have maintained that opinion.

Jeff and I started dating in September of 2007, just weeks before my eighteenth birthday. Several months prior, I had left a mildly abusive man. The abuse was just part of the issue. He wasn’t smart. I know that sounds horrible, but I liked to talk about philosophy, and the news, and who I liked for President. He liked to talk about what was on TV and the Insane Clown Posse.

My speech coach and Jeff’s were best friends. Unbeknownst to me (I learned about this conversation from my coach just recently), they had talked about me dating Jeff. His coach told mine that “he would consume me”. I see now that she was right.

After I graduated from high school, I moved to Fargo, ND from the small town of Richardton, to go to university. I planned to go to law school. Jeff’s residing in Fargo was one of several reasons I went there, the promise of a free ride and a great speech team were others.

The first year was great. I got good grades, made friends, and enjoyed collegiate speech. I couldn’t wait for Jeff to come to school. I went home for the summer and found a job as a clerk at a law office. Things were looking good.

Then came November 2009. I have suffered with mental illness since I was a little kid. I was taking twenty credits, working, doing speech, dating Jeff, and hanging out with friends. My brain said no more. I heard voices, saw people with guns in my room, saw a woman hanging from the water pipes at the ceiling. I couldn’t sleep. I wouldn’t eat. I thought food was poisoned. I was so sick that I didn’t realize I was indeed very unwell. On the 3rd of November, Jeff drove me to the local psych hospital for an intake interview. I refused to get in the car. So he said we were going to go to school, and we stopped for a slushy on the way. After the slushy, I realized he was driving in the opposite direction of the university. I was so upset, especially because my sick brain was telling me it was fine.

I spent a month at the hospital. My friends from the speech team and my roommate were very supportive and visited often, with junky women’s mags, chocolates, and funny cards. Jeff visited as often as he could. I tried to continue to compete in speech, but the heavy doses of antipsychotics made it difficult for me to concentrate and remember things. I was very upset because after so many years of being a top competitor, I was struggling to be better than average. I sometimes acted out against Jeff or my coach. My debate partner, Anthony, was exceptionally supportive.

After several years of psychiatric treatment and being in and out of school, Jeff and I had what I felt was a pretty good relationship. We even talked of marriage a few times. His parents were very supportive and his sister and I were close. I was even discharged from the North Dakota State Hospital into his parents’ care. While I struggled with school and treatment, I felt that my relationship with Jeff was something I didn’t have to worry too much about.

Jeff and I had moved in together in the summer of 2010 after a massive and painful falling out with my roomie and good friend, Kate. I think my mental illness was just too much for her. I know it was too much for me. My very conservative, very Christian family was not happy, but I felt at this point that I couldn’t live alone and didn’t have any friends I wanted to impose myself on.

The first time I thought about leaving Jeff was the summer of 2011, after I had returned from my commitment at the ND State Hospital. He was very supportive and even visited me a couple of times. The trouble was that he didn’t seem to want to work. Sadly, his dad was not a very good role model in this area, taking jobs he was overqualified for and complaining bitterly about them. Right before my commitment, I had been working at a local nursing home as a CNA. I wasn’t getting along with coworkers and was hearing voices telling me to hurt patients, so it was time to go.

I managed to stay out of the hospital for several years. I was back in the spring of 2014, missing Jeff’s birthday because I was in the hospital. This was kind of where things started going badly. He didn’t visit or call, like he had in the past, and I was stewing over his lack of employment.

Then came August. One night, I was doing my homework when I came across admit papers to the day program at our local psych hospital, the one I had been admitted to so many times. They were for Jeff. He claimed that my psychotic breaks caused caretaker’s PTSD. I agreed with this…back when I first was very ill and having violent psychotic breaks. By this point it had been almost a year since I’d had one. Jeff found me sobbing in the bathroom. I was so pissed off, not because he had been admitted, but because he hadn’t said anything. That was the beginning of the secret keeping.

I found out from his sister that the two had taken a trip to Vermilion, SD to see some friends from speech. She and I had been close. She even once told me that if we broke up, she still wanted to be friends. It later precipitated that she was a liar. I wasn’t happy about this trip because he hadn’t told me about it. The main “friend” turned out to be His New Girl.

Jeff’s therapist at the program suggested that he move home. I was pretty sad. I had gotten used to having support and snuggles at the apartment. I saw him less and less. By now he had gotten a job, but I knew him well enough to know his heart wasn’t in it. His parents and sister became distant.

We used to talk about everything: politics, music, philosophy, future plans. Suddenly, we weren’t talking much at all. I became active in the Catholic church. Jeff, a strong atheist, didn’t really like this. Actually, he didn’t like it at all. But I was trying to piece together a life for myself, as I felt the one I knew with him coming to an end.

I first learned of his intents to transfer to the University of South Dakota at Vermilion over burgers and beer at our favorite joint. He casually said that he had the longest commute ever to work. I asked why. He said, “Oh, I drove here from a hotel in Nebraska”. When I asked him what the hell he was doing in Nebraska, he said he was thinking about transferring to USD. I wouldn’t have minded…if he had told me.

Then there was the matter of his computer screen. It was a picture of him and a young lady. She turned out to be The New Girl. I was starting to put the pieces together, and I hated the picture.

I told my therapist about my suspicions regarding him possibly cheating and she said that it was certainly possible. Then things started getting really, really weird.

For many years, I was invited to holidays and special days at his parents’ house. From birthdays to anniversaries to Christmas, I was always welcome. Suddenly, I wasn’t being invited at all. If I went to their house at all, it was only when his parents weren’t home. I thought that was really weird, but he offered no explanation. And then Grandma got sick. Grandma was exceptionally fond of me. She sent me cards for every possible holiday. She knew I collected stamps, and saved many for me from correspondents near and far. Jeff and his family were (understandably) visiting Grandma a lot. Grandma kept asking about me. They gave stupid excuses, like that I was working. (I was, but not so much that I couldn’t make room for Grandma!) When Grandma passed away, I was not invited to the funeral. I had images in my mind of poor Grandma, up in Heaven with tears in her eyes because I wasn’t allowed to go to her funeral. For so many years, I had thought of Jeff’s family as my own. Suddenly, that was gone. Jeff’s birthday passed, and I wasn’t invited. Same for Dad’s and Lis’s. Mother’s Day? Nope.

Jeff finally broke up with me on 22 July, 2015, in my therapist’s office. After freaking out on him, I spent ten days at the hospital. I am very good friends with his college roommate, and it was him who cemented my fears: He had indeed left me for Rebecca. For a while, I hated him for it. I still feel sad for the relationship we’d had. I’m doing better now. I moved at the beginning of October, and am enjoying not having to pick up after him anymore. I miss having a snuggle, but my relationship with my family has gotten a lot better. I’m working on joining the Catholic Church. And I’m praying for the right man to come into my life…when I’m ready. I trust that if there comes a time that he finds he doesn’t love me anymore for whatever reason, he will have the intestinal fortitude to tell me so.