Pathological Liar Tuesday-Something For Your Morning Coffee So You Wake the $%^# Up.

Today I was sitting at Chipolte on the outside patio and a little sparrow landed right on my table and totally made eye contact with me. And I know he said, “um I’m really hungry, can I have some of that?” So I put some rice on the floor and he ate away.

Has NOTHING to do with this post, but whatever.

So it’s Pathological Liar Tuesday. I am hoping that when this post is read, this post can be used as a type of wake up call to the denial we live in for so long.

Let’s start with a juicy one to jump start this whole thing.

I was about 6 months pregnant, it was hot that summer. I was fat, or so I felt. My belly was showing and it was hot! I was exhausted from 4 months of nausea and was happy to be in my second trimester; they say that trimester is the best. Well, it might be for some, but not so much when you are with a pathological liar, amongst other things.

By this time, tensions were already high from other “things” that had happened along the way, but this day sure does stand out. The PL (pathological liar) had been taking his phone with him everywhere and had a password recently put on his phone. He would take his cell in the bathroom, he would take it if he went out of the room for a second, He would drive with his cellphone either in his hand, even if he wasn’t using it, or he would lay in on his lap. He would put his cell phone in the side bar of the bed so that it was tucked away at night. Who wouldn’t be curious what secret was on that damn thing that it was on such lock down? And even if he made a mistake about having it with him and it rang or a text went off, or his alarm went off, and he happened, on that rare occasion to not be right next to it, I would bring it to him in good faith and wouldn’t dare even look at it. Then, he would show oddities and signs of aggression and be angry that I had it at all or that I was paranoid.

I didn’t want to look at what was on that phone. I hadn’t wanted to look what was on that phone for years. I was terrified at what I would find on that phone and knew that when I saw what was on that phone I wouldn’t be ignorant to what was going on anymore, and would have to be forced to make a decision.

Pregnancy hormones were off the chart; I was having a little girl. So one evening he was upstairs and had left his phone on the bathroom counter. He had the phone programmed so that the lock on the phone was almost immediate after he had clicked the little button on the top. He must have been confident that his phone had locked and he went to go downstairs.

Heat rushed through my body and my heart palpated and I thought if I was going to have a chance at all to see what was on that phone, now was the time to try. Within seconds my mind raced back and forth whether I wanted to see what was on that phone. No, no I didn’t want to see what was on there. But I did. But I didn’t, but I did. I was even afraid at how mad he was going to get at me if I looked at the phone and had to confront him about it. This also made me not want to look at it, because I felt I couldn’t really do anything about it.

But I did. I looked at the phone. And to my amazement, it was unlocked. Was that a God thing? I believe so. I believe God was giving me clues for a long time, I just didn’t want to listen.

Laura. Didn’t know her last name, just Laura. I had seen them go back and forth with each other planning on hiking together and going swimming at the pool together. Let me try to put this in prospective. Pregnant women already feel horrible and self conscious when they are well, pregnant. We feel ugly, we get spots on our face, we gain weight, we don’t have the energy we used to, we are sick all the time, we get fat, our emotions are all over the place, our faces get pudgy, we break out on our face, we get stretch marks, we get fat, we get cellulite, our feet swell, we get fat, we get charlie-horses in the middle of the night and have to do stretches, some of us can’t walk up the block without our baby falling out of our crotches. It’s…a lot. But that’s ok, that’s all part of the deal. What is NOT part of the deal if finding out that your husband is off with a younger, NOT PREGNANT woman that can do all the things you can’t do because you are growing a child; a child that he took part in creating. A child that he begged that you have, for years. And finally giving up your freedom, you caved in to those wishes as a good wife, concerned with your husbands desires for the better of the relationship.

I don’t even know as I try today to put in to words the complexity of all of those feelings that day. I began to read more and there were the words from Laura to the PL, “I miss the things you do to me.”

“I miss the things you do to me.”

I locked the door to my bedroom because I knew he would come and rip the phone out of my hand before I could read the rest. I had to read the rest. I wanted to confront him about what was on the phone line for line, because in previous times I had confronted him without being able to read the conversation word for word and he would convince me that I read it wrong, or that it wasn’t what I thought it was, or I messed up the translation, or I didn’t understand what was going on. No shit. So I called out off of the balcony to the stairs where he was with the phone in my hand. He…was…mad. Very, very mad. He was mad? He was mad? But I wasn’t allowed to be mad. Only he was allowed to be mad.

The door was almost knocked down and with fear that he would get more angry, I buckled and opened the door. Why did I care so much about making him mad? Why was I allowing it to be turned around on me, like I did something wrong? I was pregnant with my first child, with him, and he was having an affair and I was afraid to stand my ground and be mad. I didn’t want to and couldn’t fathom losing this relationship while I was pregnant.

Millions of questions raced through my mind about what I would do with a new baby alone? How could I break this to my family? What about the baby? The baby needed a Father, right? It’s terrifying.

The argument ensued, and then ended with him ripping the phone out of my hand. He told me that I was a psycho and jealous and that he never really went hiking with her and that the swimming pool thing was with a group and a lot of other people were there and I needed to chill out. He was upset with me for being crazy, just like the others, freaking crazy women. And the rest of it, the rest of the conversation I saw; he never addressed. It was a non issue. No offer of explanation, no feel, no big deal.

Laura on the other hand thought I was a classless bitch. Yes Laura, a classless bitch that is married and having her first baby with her husband of 6 years that wants to spend time with him and love him and is his business partner, that looks out for him and cares for him and prays for him and loves his family. I might not be perfect, but I don’t think I am a classless bitch.

Not only does the sociopath lie about things to you; they lie about you and about who you are to make the other people in their “other secret life” think it’s okay to do the things he is doing and is doing to you, because he makes you out to look like the bad guy, or in Laura’s words, a classless bitch. Some people buy the lies and are like little cult followers. And others, they don’t buy that shit at all.

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