What the fuck happened?

My daughter and I went up to Ojai to spend some time with Tommy and his son. I had done reconnaissance earlier in the week, so I deemed it would be a safe trip. Peanut and I were only going to stay one night. I was excited for her to meet him and his son, who is eleven years old, and seems like a good kid. It was a cute little house in Ojai. What could go wrong?

We arrived Saturday afternoon, made dinner all together, Peanut took a bath, and everyone read stories. It was fun and sweet. That night I slept in the master bedroom with Peanut while Tommy slept on the couch and his son had the other room. Totally fine. No big deal.

Then the next morning, the shit hit the fan.

I made everyone scrambled eggs and croissants. I burned the first batch of croissants, and the eggs were dry. Tommy started saying I was a “shitty cook.” Out loud. A bunch of times. Which hurt. Then he asked Peanut at one point if her Mom should be in an insane asylum. Strike two. I started to get very annoyed but still kept it in. Then we were talking to Peanut about her school, and suddenly he started asking her if I ever forgot to pick her up or was late to pick her up. In a really sarcastic mean biting way. That was the last straw. He knows my Mom was always late or forgot to pick me up and it felt like a personal dig.

I said nothing to him as I began to pack up all of our shit and told Peanut it was time to go. We had plans to go see a show with the kids later but fuck that, nothing was worth this bullshit.

He followed me around like a sad puppy dog, trying to make it better and I wanted to punch him in his stupid fucking face.

As I was pulling away, he stood there looking so sad in the driveway that something fascinating happened. I felt this strange compulsion that I still don’t understand to this day, or maybe I do, to get out of the car and make sure he was not sad. I needed to comfort HIM before I left. I told him I needed time to calm down and I would call him later.


I spoke to Peanut about it on the way home, and she said she it made her uncomfortable when he was making fun of me because he was saying things in a way that might make someone laugh but they weren’t funny, and they were mean about me. So she was confused. I told her she was right, it was confusing. And not nice. And that he was a bully.

Then I spoke to him later that night. I did. I spoke to him. It was a strange and confusing phone call. He was gaslighting me. I did not know it at the time, but I know it now.

This was a narcissist in action, and I was being pulled straight into his game.

The next morning I called him and tried to do a “council” which was a disaster. I didn’t really set it up well, to be honest. But he was like Blair whatever in The Exorcist – as if I was holding up a cross to him or dousing him with holy water. He was so immature in his reaction and way of holding the circle. I could not believe it. He was also so fucking condescending and full of shit. Saying how he has risen above his anger. He chooses to be happy. It’s a choice. Simple as that.

What I see with this guy- is a broiling raging sea of anger and rage. He was bullied by his father and abandoned emotionally by him as well. His mother was a domineering fanatical Christian who could not connect with him emotionally either. He is pissed off about it all. And THINKS he has risen above it. Whatever. He takes it out on me. He has called me names. Then made fun of me in front of my daughter. His son even made fun of me. What is wrong with these people. I feel angry again.

I told him I would give him another chance. But I am not sure how to do that when I am not feeling the love. It’s hard. Not sure what to do. Not sure if it will come back or not.

I hurt you when I told you I loved you. Because I did not know what love was. And I thought the rush of hormones coursing throughout my body when we spoke or touched was love. I thought it was for you too. But how can you love someone and speak to them the way you spoke to me? I love myself too much to let that happen again. I choose me. I don’t have to settle or survive. You shape-shift in front of me. Kind and loving then puerile than mean. Your face even changes. You look sweet and handsome and then gnarled and ugly. Like an old pirate.

I don’t find you charming right now. Not one bit. In fact. I am slightly repulsed. Repelled. I want my space. I want my life. You keep sending me photos of houses we could live in Ojai. Big beautiful houses in nature. You have money. It’s great for you.  Thinking of your face talking for hours about your family, while I listened deeply and profoundly. From the heart. I did. You like to listen to yourself talk. I notice this. Sometimes I feel like you don’t hear or see me. Invisible. Yet again. Yet I speak my mind to you. I have done that. I feel good about that. And the line is drawn. And you will most likely cross it. So it’s hard to give myself over completely again when I don’t feel I trust you. Maybe we can go back to just dating and having sex. Because the sex is good. No, it’s great. You are a passionate man, in that way. Beyond. I get it. I get you. In that space. We are met and matched well. It has colored everything else. Made it hard for me to discern what is right and wrong for me. To trust me. And my instincts.

Dear Great Spirit,

Please show me what your will for me is. What you want me to know. Give me a sign if you can. Show me the way. How do I listen to you? To my intuition. Maybe it’s not as hard as I have made it out to be.




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