I'm trying to work out why I don't miss my fiance. I don't know how much of this I've already said here before, so excuse me if I repeat stuff I've blogged already. Maybe it's because we were apart for two weeks before she ditched me, I'd already got used to her not being around. I've been thinking about how much love there was in our relationship and how it all disappeared under the strain we were under through the last year.


We definitely had good times. That's undeniable. Visiting museums and exhibits (the sex exhibit was especially fun, we had a hotel room booked for that evening), trying out new restaurants or regular haunts, going on weekend breaks, sharing our favourite films and television, playing all kinds video games together, exploring London and Brighton together, long talks about her work in nuclear science and mine in network security, sending each other kinky text messages and then acting them out when we got home, me teaching her how Rugby worked and then her figure getting more attention in the pub than the world cup and she bounced up and down with the tension and excitement, our instant tradition of going to a certain rugby match every year after christmas, the soft toy she bought me when I joking said I'd like a miniture furry hippo for my birthday as we weren't allowed a cat in the flat, sun-bathing on the beach together at the end of our street whenever we felt like it during summer, watching parades and carnivals and protests together… so many good times, but they just seemed to stop about 14-15 months ago.



Having a BDD sufferer as a lover was tough. I couldn't touch her hair without her having to redo it before anyone saw her again. Once I did manage to convince her let me mess it all up on the train home from work just to see how many people noticed. Of course no-one did and she was worried at first, but then she relaxed and found it all quite fun. Not that it lasted, the next day she spent 6 hours in the bathroom trimming millimeters off of individual hairs, spending minutes at a time touching it to make sure it was symmetrical every time she made a cut, using a tiny scrap of clouded mirror to look at herself in.


I guess I'm relieved I'm not living with a live hand grenade any more. She once saw someone else's reflection in a shop window and mistook it for her own. She immediately tried to go back home, thinking she was too ugly to be out in public – she always called herself a monster when she felt like that. Any social function was a nightmare, knowing that she'd have a crisis of confidence, try to cancel at the last minute (even Christmas) and telling me to go on my own (to her mother's house). Some times she would get caught in loops and miss work, begging me to forgive her and not to leave her.



She'd been studying for a qualification for two years and had to write 3 portfolios and do an aural exam. As the deadline for handing in her portfolios approached she became increasingly obsessive about them. She'd written more than she was allowed and couldn't decide what to take out or trim down. Two weeks before the deadline her laptop broke. She'd pulled an all-nighter (she did that a lot for a while) and at stupid-o'clock in the morning tried to wake me up to fix it. I have delayed sleep phase syndrome and being woken up like that really isn't good or easy for me. Eventually she found a way to get me out of bed – she self-harmed. She hit her head against the wall several times, cracking the plaster and leaving bruises on her forehead. She insisted she needed every moment possible to finish her portfolios before they were handed in so I had to take a day off work to get them printed, bound and hand-deliver them on time. She'd pull two all-nighters in a row. I travelled 5 hours each way to hand them in, stopping off at a copy shop in London on the way past. Her aural tests were a nightmare. One of her portfolios wasn't quite up to scratch, the subject she was effectively going to drop when she got her new job, and she failed her aural because she was so terrified the examiners would fail her because she was ugly. Five hours on a train home with a crying woman convinced she was hideous and didn't want to be looked at.



It wasn't long after that I proposed. She mentioned how much she'd like to be proposed to, how great it would be for us to share a life together and how wonderful her life had become since I'd got involved. She was taken completely by suprised when I magically pulled a family heirloom diamond ring out of nowhere, got down on one knee and popped the question. Our families and my friends were happy for us – she didn't really have any friends outside of work and family, but they were all happy too.



After her retake we moved away from family and friends to her new position. I couldn't keep my job and the three month delay caused by occupational health getting all kinds of documents from different people (her old therapist, her doctor, previous bosses, half of whom were on holiday when they tried to contact them one-by-one – silly way to do it) put a gaping hole in my CV exactly when I didn't need one. Even though we were comfortably well off despite her debts from a previous marriage (defrauded by ex-husband, married for 4 months, she didn't ask for a thing in the divorce) she constantly accused me of not trying hard enough to get a job, threatened to kick me out several times, kept telling me her work colleagues all thought I was taking her for a ride. None of that helped my self-esteem and it wasn't until I completely fell apart she realised how unfair she was being. That calmed her down for a while. That didn't stop her buying her wedding dress and we started planning our big day together. When I did get a job it was 4.5 hours travelling a day and out of the blue she started questioning whether I was again taking advantage of her some how.



She wasn't having any therapy. She'd tried to wean herself off of her meds but her doctor had told her to start taking them again and doubled her dosage. Over time she stopped doing all the things her therapist had taught her to avoid the loops and stay relaxed – I kept reminding her but she just said she didn't feel like it. I offered to pay for private therapy sessions, the NHS waiting list was something like 15 months and she'd not bothered getting herself put back on it after her last sessions. She turned me down and said the money should go to our (her ex-husbands) debts instead. Our sex life had dwindled to virtually nothing after her medication dosage was increased. She'd always had trouble with arousal and for a while we were only having sex once a month, but after her meds went up it got even worse. It was as though sex was just something she endured for my benefit, even to the point of asking me to hurry up and finish already on the night of my 30th birthday. Even when we made a huge effort to have a romantic date and try to have a normal sex session, she managed to get very aroused and I thought everything was going great until she asked how much longer I would be. That was about six weeks before we split up, the last time we even tried to have sex.



We were planning on trying again the night before she left for her holiday. I'd had a pretty awful day at work, my supervisor yelled at me very unprofessionally after a miscommunication and I walked out for the rest of the day. We went out for dinner and talked over what had happened. She calmed me down, reassured me, we figured out what I should do the next day and talked about how important this was. We had a real heart-to-heart, difficult in a crowded, bustling restaurant but we managed it. We didn't have sex, we were too emotionally wrung out for the rest of the day, but it felt like we'd cleared the air on a lot of things. I went to work the next day and my supervisor practically grovelled in apology. We smoothed things over and went back to work. I let my fiance know and felt positive for the first time in a long time that things would improve. I was hopeful she'd get back on her treatment regimen – therapy, medication and home CBT – that we'd have more money for romance and dating once her ex-husband's loan was paid off in a few months, that summer was coming and were living in the one of the most vibrant towns in England complete with the beach less than 100 yards away.



I guess I already told you all how it ended.


Leave a reply

© 2022 WebTribes Inc. | find your tribe

Log in with your credentials


Forgot your details?

Create Account