Yeah, so, I found out recently that my boyfriend cheated on me. And not just cheated, but was systemically cheating on me over a long period of time. At first I thought it was just one kiss, but turns out it was a lot of fucking around behind my back. And yeah, as you can imagine, that’s a pretty shit thing to find out.
You know when you find out something bad, like your pet turtle has died or your favourite TV show has been cancelled (RIP Firefly, you will be missed), and you’re supposed to go through the stages of grief? Well, I think I went through denial already (it was only a kiss, how did it end up like this?) and now I’m in the anger stage. The anger stage has well and truly settled in, and I think it’s gonna stick around for a while. So I thought I’d examine my (somewhat murderous) thoughts, in order to make sense of them.
That’s when I came up with a new concept, which I shall call (drumroll, please)… the Seven Deadly Sinful Thoughts You Have When Your Boyfriend Cheats On You.
Noun; extreme anger.
Hoooly shit. There is a lot of wrath going on right now. Like, fuck. He cheated on me. A LOT. With WHO KNOWS how many pieces of ass; whatever he could pick up on a night out. Fuck, man, you’re an asshole. The worst kind of shit human being I’ve ever encountered. I can’t believe he was trying to convince me to MOVE COUNTRY with him. What were we gonna do, get a visa in a brand new country together while he kept banging everything that moved behind my back? I MET YOUR PARENTS. He invited me to his family’s house for Christmas while he fucked around with every breathing lump of flesh he laid eyes on? You steaming pile of wombat shit.
Noun; resentful longing.
Okay, seriously, who were these girls that made him stray? What did they have that I don’t? And when did he even find the TIME? We were together every weekend and multiple days a week! Was he literally fucking bitches at 10am on a Wednesday while I was at work? And oh, god, did they have sex in the same bed that I slept in? Did I sleep on sheets that were dirty from his last sexcapade? I feel filthy. I feel used. Did he make them breakfast the next day, or did they sneak out in the middle of the night? Seriously, what am I missing that made him need something more? What did they provide that I couldn’t? I am deep in an unhealthy spiral of examining my flaws and wondering why I wasn’t good enough.
Noun; consciousness of one’s own dignity.
I feel like I want to put up a billboard explaining to everyone what happened, so people don’t make assumptions, or only hear his side of the story (his story is probably “it just didn’t work out” because, again, wombat shit). Instead, I guess I’ll settle for an anonymous post on a friend’s zine. My pride is at stake here. I feel embarrassed and ashamed and terrified that I’m being ridiculed behind my back. I want to shove it down everyone’s throats that he’s the fuck up, that he’s the one to blame. That he led me to believe we were in a committed, “meet the parents” kinda relationship when we were actually in an “I have no control over my penis” kinda relationship. I know this isn’t a healthy feeling – the need to rage and shout to anyone who will listen – but hey, that’s pride, for you.
Noun; intense and selfish desire for something.
I just want to win. I want to win the break up. I want to be the one who’s happy while he feels shit (kinda difficult when he cheated on me and is probably banging one of his fuck buddies right this minute). But I want to be the one who moves on fastest. I want to be the one who has the best fucking life, while he lives with regrets. I want him to feel guilty, and grasp the extent of his shit behaviour. I want him to feel as small, as tiny and worthless, as he made me feel. I want him to feel as unloved as he made me feel. I want to yell, and throw things, and make him understand even a fraction of the hurt he caused me. I want to take away all his happiness, and take it for my own.
Noun; apathy and inaction.
No, I don’t want to go to the party. No, I don’t want to go to work. No, I don’t want to go clubbing. Can I just stay in my pyjamas for the next three to four years and eat Ben & Jerrys and watch reruns of Friends on Netflix? No? I have to be an adult and have responsibilities? URGH.
Noun; habitual greed or excess in eating.
See above: re: Ben & Jerrys. Being cheated on is doing wonders for my waistline.
Noun; a strong sexual desire.
Well, I’m single now. And you know what that means.