Stranger on a 5

It is funny how two people can remember the same event so very differently. What I said to him wasn't 'I am leaving you' but four more important words which were 'You have to leave'.' Those two statements are radically different, and make a huge difference in what followed. I was his mistress for five and a half years, that much is true. During that time, I got to know him very well, probably better than he knew himself. Not that he would either admit that, or for that matter knew that. However, that was his problem not mine. In those five and a half years he told me, without really meaning to, everyone one of his passwords. Which is why I am here now, I know, or have known everyone of the passwords he so jealously guarded from the rest of the world. You see he isn't the only classically educated person in the world who knows a shit ton of French history. He will be both appalled, and impressed once he figures out he has been hacked, and he will change his password immediately. It will be to something that he thinks, wrongly, that I don't know, but I will let him keep that dream alive. 

For five and a half years, I put up with his lies, his self-delusions, and his cheating.  He thought he was clever, and that I didn't know. I knew, and I know, it was just for five and a half years I didn't care. I knew that no matter how far afield he might have strayed, that he would always come back to me. I was (and still am) quite that good. He knows that even to this day, even if he is too stupid to admit it.  Therein lies part of the problem, he isn't stupid, in fact (and he refuses to admit it) he is, in so very many ways, the smartest man that I have ever met, and I have met a lot of smart men. 

He is probably, as I type this, out with one of his 'whores', at least that is what I called them. The multitude of women that he somehow convinced he was single that fell for his charms. They aren't really to blame for what they did, it is almost entirely his fault, but they are still what I call his 'whores.'  They didn't understand him like I did, they didn't know him 5 plus years ago as a shy, socially awkward man, who really didn't understand which fork to use for which course. I had to teach him that, I had to teach him a lot of things.  Some of which he really didn't want to learn, but I taught him anyway. He should, but he won't, thank me for those life's lessons.

He complains that 5 and a half years is a long time for a man his age, and he is correct, but for a woman my age (about 10 years younger than his old ass) it is even longer, and women and aging are not friends at all. Men grow distinguished as they age, women just grow old, so I feel no pity for him as he approaches another birthday. In the grand scheme of things 5 and a half years to him is like 9 years to me. I was a very young, and very naive girl when he met me all those years ago, but I have both aged and matured, he has just aged. I doubt that he will ever mature, which is part of the reason I told him he had to leave. He didn't like being told that, and I suspect that is why he chose the coward's way of posting a blog post about it. It is typical of him, to argue with me, or anyone else he has an issue with via some vague, hard to decipher blog post. A post that he likes to think only he knows the true meaning of.  What a fool! I know him inside and out, and if he thinks that he can write a post that I can't figure out the true meaning of, then he is an even bigger fool than I thought he was.

However, when I met him, he was just as naive as I ever was. A wet-behind the ears idealist who thought by just trying hard enough, he could change the world. I had to be cruel to him several times, and I was cruel, cruel beyond compare. I broke his heart, and shattered his concept of justice and fairness, for his own good. He won't ever thank me for it, and he probably shouldn't, but regardless whether he will admit it or not, I made him, (forged him if you will) a stronger, better person.  I even made him cry, twice, it took a hell of a lot of effort, but he cried like a Jew at the wailing wall. He will deny it, and he did a remarkably good job of hiding it, but he cried, twice. It was about the only time I ever saw his human side. Which is sad in so very many ways.

I know he hates himself, I know that if he could just get the courage up, he would either run away to Paris, and starve to death by trying to live by his pen, or that he will take the revolver that he inherited from his father, and blow his brains out.  I tried, so very hard to convince him that the first idea wasn't so bad, and that the second idea was just a coward's way out.  He is still alive, but not living in Paris, so I guess I failed at both.  I know all the childhood issues that he has, the one's that he refuses to admit to himself, but that are so very clear if you pay close attention to his actions. 

He is correct when he says that when he first met me that we loathed each other. I was loud, I was crass, and I was (like six perfections) hard to tame. He was shy, confused, and timid. The fact that he gathered the courage to attempt to 'tame' me is one of the few things that I give him credit for.  Considering his awkwardness he did a remarkable job at taming me. After all, I am a force of nature, and taming me is like bailing out the ocean with a very small, slotted spoon. It is to his ever lasting credit that he tried, and tried for 5 and a half years, about 2 years longer than any other fool I have ever known.  Maybe that is why I still admire him so much, the fact that he had the audacity to try to conquer me for so long speaks volumes about his staying power. You see, I am a breaker of spirits, I take people (men, women, children)  chew them up and spit them out. It is always just a matter of time before I break the spirit of anyone silly enough to try to tame me. It is to his everlasting credit that he tried for so much longer than anyone else, and I am pretty sure that, given the choice, he would try again in spite of the bruises I have left upon his soul.

And I did batter his soul, not that he was some sort of sensitive soul when he came to me, but I made sure to find out his weaknesses and exploit them to my benefit. He will tell you I was a cruel mistress, but the truth of the matter is that I am quite simply, a raging bitch.  And he was, in so very many ways, the bitches bastard. He was just as cruel as I ever tried to be. He could break a heart as easily as other men put on pants. I should know I saw him do it on more than one occasion.  It wasn't really his fault but the one's who's heart he broke. He had a rehearsed speech that he gave to these poor women explaining what a bastard he was, and that he wasn't going to be good for their soul. They hardly ever believed him, at least until it was too late, and by then, well it was too late. He gave me that speech when we first met, but much to his dismay, I believed him. He was pretty convincing, and I took his measure pretty quickly. Perhaps that is why we lasted for 5 and a half years.

The real reason that I had to tell him to leave was twofold. The first was that I knew that he loved me, but that he didn't trust me. It was a constant source of friction in the relationship, and one that we just couldn't resolve. It was just a bridge too far for us, I never really understood why he didn't trust me, but after a while I made sure that he had good reason not to trust me. I guess that makes me a bad person, but I was dealing with him, and he was, and remains one of the worse people I have ever met.  The second reason that I had to tell him to leave was that he was scared. He was scared to allow himself to love me as he knew he should. He was afraid to love me like a 'normal'  man, the type of man I deserve, the type of man that could screw his courage up to the sticking point, and make the serious, life changing decisions that needed to be made.

And so, I forced him to leave, telling him how happy I was when he wasn't around. Destroying his confidence, and breaking both his and my own heart. It had to be done, and I really do wish that it would have been him, rather than me, that would have eventually pushed the little red button that led to our relationship entering nuclear winter.  We were two points collapsing, and it was just a matter of time before one of us buried the other. I can only hope that he realizes that this figurative burial is much better than a literal one. Je t'aime.