My ex-girlfriend asked me why I don’t hang out with her new boyfriend.

I don’t have an answer. Well that’s a lie because I already know the answer … I’m still in love with her.

I can’t sit here and be all cool with their relationship when in fact I want nothing more than to be in the same position that he is in right now. It’s true that you never want something until it’s gone.

I had everything that he had once but me and she never could make it work. I gave it my all but lots of things got in the way: My friends, Her family … me.

So I gave her the freedom that she wanted and let her go before she had a chance to cheat on me as she did so many guys before.

Now she wants me to be by her side and celebrate all of the good things that happen between them. She tells me all the time that he’s so cool with our friendship that he wants us to come together for picnics and barbecues together.

I don’t want to do that.

I don’t want to sit there and look that man in his face while perpetrating a lie.

The truth is that while they have been making a life for themselves … she has been slept with me on several occasions. Now I don’t know if its because she asks me for money and feels obligated to “thank” me for being with her in that way or the fact that he’s not equipped in various ways to satisfy her (as she tells it), but the fact of the matter is that it has happened.

We are friends but … we are special friends. Try as I might to figure things out it always comes out the same.

So I have to maintain the fact that we are friends for the most part and because of that friendship I have to give myself to her in various ways.

When she has asked me to help her with the problems in their relationships … I’ve done that. When she has asked for money whenever she needed a bill paid … I’ve done that. I’ve done that with no questions asked because I love her that much.

Maybe that’s part of the problem, because for the most part it makes me look like I’m the lesser man of the two. According to some reports, I’m not ready to do the friendly thing because I’m suffering from “hateration” because they are so happy and I’m not.

He might be right about that … maybe I don’t want to be in the middle of the love fest while the two of them love each other with the same power that the two of us use to love each other.
I mean he’s not the man I would have pictured her settling down with. I always feel that the woman that leaves me should leave me for a step up rather than a step down. He’s a 34 year old man who is cheating on his wife (a wife that gave him 6 children).

Now they are together in a brand new 3 bedroom house while I’m sitting in a one bedroom apartment by myself.

She says she loves him and I should be happy because she’s happy.

Of course if they loved each other that much … why would she be taking money from me? Why would she be trying to fuck me on the side?

I don’t know about anyone else but I know two things about myself. I’m not a good liar and for the most part, I kill myself with guilt. Someway, somehow I would give myself up and the truth would come out.

I’m still in love with her. Or so I think. I mean if I really loved her … wouldn’t I have told her that fact when I told her we should move out. Would I have not fought to keep the house together after we lived together for 3 months.

No, I gave up because we were having problems and I knew it would mean that one of us would cheat on the other. It was meant to happen.

Meanwhile, I’ve been playing the “good friend” because that is what I am supposed to do.

I helped them move in together. I helped them with their relationship … I should get kudos for that. Now they want me to sit there and watch them “coo” with each other and I’m supposed to act like she wasn’t over my house last night screwing me for the exchange for cash.

I don’t do secrets well because I feel guilty.

Now I got to make a decision that will affect me for sometime. Either don’t hang out with her because it bothers her new man or hang out with them and have my heart tore out over and over again.

Perhaps he is a better man than me because he wouldn’t put up with this crap. He would force her to make a decision.

She’s happy … and she’s should be happier without me because for all the torture that I put upon myself this shouldn’t be something that I should do.

I think I’m still in love with her … but I don’t know if that is true. On one hand I feel slighted and hurt and the other hand I feel relieved that she’s some else’s problem and not mine.

One of the many quandaries in my life. I’m not sure if I’m going to ever figure that one out.

Fantasy excited to me because it was the only thing under my control. In my fantasies, I could be whatever I wanted to be and would not feel ridicule or indignation because of it.

I was a better lover than Valentenio.

I was a better Bond than James could ever be.

I was more powerful than Superman and more ruthless than J.R.

This proved to be invaluable, as the trappings of the “real” world could never provide me with something I could relate to. In the real world, I had too many labels that weighed upon me and burdened with the power to overcome them.

High school saw me as a nerd.

College saw me as an Oreo.

Graduation saw me as an Uncle Tom.

Now fantasy was the only thing that seemed to comfort me in my last remaining moments on this planet.

That’s right I said last remaining moments . . . because I didn’t want to live in a world that refused to accept my fantasies or me. Too many times I had played the role of the good person for the reason of doing well in this life so that I would have what gave be given back to me. Of course that was fantasy in itself because the world did not operate in that manner. The world took from you . . . the world bled you dry and all the players inside of it were on there own agenda.

I wanted my own place in the sun but too many times when I tried my best I frequently rolled snake eyes. I gave up on too many chances when I was younger because it got too difficult then tried to over compensate for other task that seemed more than Herculean.

The reason for that: I felt I was due.

Some have said that I needed to pray to GOD but for reasons that were only known to me I did not believe in the deity. I haven’t believed in GOD fully since Junior High . . . during that time I lived with an abusive father and a mother who seemed to give up trying to help the situation by wanting to stay in it.

I don’t forgive very easily and I have had a grudge against the almighty since that time that girl in eleventh grade told me that she did not want to go out with me because GOD told her I was not for her.

Strange.

I continued my love-hate relationship with the Lord when I found out that I wasn’t right for the last three women I told that I loved. I wondered if this was a personal thing or the fact I was just plain stupid.

Love was the one thing I never gave up on. I believed in it so strongly because I never got to see much of it at home. Love was something that people sung about and killed for but in my house it never got a second thought. For the most part I wanted to experience the things that R&B singers crooned about on the radio.

It always missed me and I blamed GOD for it.

My ex, always told me to be happy for what I had, my health, my sound mind and the fact that I was working when other people didn’t have the chance to do so. I couldn’t feel that way because what good what good health when I was lonely, what good was a sound mind when I didn’t have anybody to talk to and what good was having a job when the only person who was dependant on me was me.

Loneliness was something I hated more than anything in the world because it forced me to deal with the situation that I was less than the man I should have been.

Now I’m not lonely because I’m unattractive. No I’m fairly attractive with a good pair of clothes and decent haircut I could give that guy from the young and the restless a run for his money. I’m lonely because none of the women and other people I have known fit the mold of friendship and mateship I require. I have good friends and we converse frequently on the phone but most of them are living their own lives.

These are all women who are powerful and successful . . . in deep and meaningful relationships.

I am jealous of each and every one of them.

Thankfully they all live out of state.

So back to my vision of fantasy . . . it pales in comparison to the hateful sting of reality. Reality sees me alone, about to get kicked out of my apartment and all I can see is how I fucked it all up for myself. I can’t stop wallowing in self-pity and wanting to put myself in that same destructive hole that my father once did nine years ago.

OJ wasn’t a free man then but my father understood his pain and drank himself into a coma that lasted a week.

I don’t want to end up like that.

But the loneliness I feel is so painful that I want to just get out of here. The only way to do that is to put a bullet in my head.

So what keeps me from doing that, what keeps me from driving my car of a bridge, or taking pills or slitting my wrist.

Simple: I don’t want to live this world without making some sort of a mark. Because you see, the living forgets the dead, the more of a mark that you leave the more they will remember you.

And the only way you can do that is by being famous.

You think that people would have cared if that woman in that car crash in Paris was anybody else but Princess Diana? Do you think that people would have cared if that person in that plane crash in Massachusetts was anybody but JFK Jr.

People get remembered for being famous.

People get things done for being famous.

And people don’t end up like me because they are famous.

Or rich.

Now rich people get everything they want because money makes them more attractive. I have never seen a beautiful woman on the arms of a poor man and I have never seen Rich man on the arms of an ugly woman.

I guess my value system is all messed up because I’ve seen what it means to be “normal” and I hate it. When you are rich and famous, all of your quirks are not seen as weird . . . rather you are eccentric.

I haven’t felt good about myself in a year and I hate my life.

The fantasies in my head seem like a better place to dwell at times . . . but reality says I can’t make that possible.

The women in my life don’t seem to want to have nothing to do with me unless I have money and the women who do what to be with me I would end up cheating on upon the first opportunity.

I was happy a year ago.

Or at least content

I don’t like upheaval.

I want to go back to that moment of relative peace.

The peace only fantasy brings.

Which is something I can control.

I am crazy.

Crazy because I find myself doing things for a woman who sees me as something less than what I want her too.

Why else would I be helping her move into a house with a dude that I feel is so less beneath me in class and dignity? Why else would I be helping her maintain her relationship with someone that I feel is less than worthy of her love.

I’m crazy.

There is no other way to classify it than that because anything else doesn’t make any sense.

I mean I have my own life. I have another ex-girlfriend who can’t stand me talking to another ex-girlfriend because she wants me to herself. Did I mention that ex-girlfriend has a husband who doesn’t give her half of the things that I used to give her in the romance department but gives her everything that I never could give her when it came money and responsibility.

Same with the current ex-girlfriend.

You see I’m a struggling artist who has the passion that burns hotter than a thousand suns but she had two children that need a daddy rather than a dreamer. Of course I could have never dreamed that she would have been settling with someone who was still married with six kids of his own.

However she still calls me for advice on how to make the relationship work. She still calls me whenever she wants the good dick that she missed so long ago.

So I still look out for her whenever she asks for favors because I care for her that much.

It’s weird because the current boyfriend does not know about our closeness and wants to hang out with me because he used me as a convenient lie to his current wife so she won’t leave with his kids. He says he loves them.

However something happened along the way while I was trying to sleep with his girlfriend.

I fell in love with her.

Now I’m left trying not to look at her directly in her face with she talks because she can see the pain the whole experience has taken. I try not to tell her about the way I am feeling because she’s moving in with her “soul mate” and she wants to make her life with him work.

So I try to suppress the feelings I have for her and look to other pussy to take my mind off things.

However it hasn’t worked as well as I hoped and I have relapsed on occasion. I have turned into a punk-ass shedding tears for someone who has clearly moved on to other facets of her life.

“You don’t know what you mean to me.” She tells me.

I want to tell her the same but I know that she loves him more. (Of course cheating on him with me would say otherwise)

“I’m never going to let you go.” She exclaims.

I feel the same but I can’t look at her without feeling like I’m lying. (Of course sleeping with the girlfriend of someone who doesn’t know I am would say otherwise)

Other men would love this position. They get sex on the side and no one would know the difference. However I realize that secrets rarely stay buried for long and it is only a matter of time before someone realizes what is going to happen.

It’s a great acting job but I don’t have the acting chops to continue.

I’m crazy … and I need to fine the cure as quick as possible or its going to get ugly.