I too have been was with a guy who has literally destroyed my life, finally after years of profound solitude (many have consoled me but no one really understood me, not having lived the same things in first person), only in this forum finally I found someone who knows how these situations can be painful. Even my ex, while never having loved me, obsessively sought me when I left him, and I came back with him many times, he had declared his feeling to me too early, he used to kiss me mechanically … it’s all so familiar, so similar to what a had read many times on the forum!
My ex is also very misogynist. He writes very angry postings on Facebook in which he says that in his life he has been only with some bitches, for him a woman is worth the other, and when I asked him reassurance about us he seemed amused not giving me any answer, he was sorry for my “affective rants”, he said I was stupid because I was a girl, a girl who doesn’t like being contradicted, and he would have liked me to be more military, harder, a real shitty woman, solar and strong. Moreover, he compared me to all the women he had known, even to my friends, to my sister, letting me understand that they were better than me.
Then when I tried to leave him he threw himself at my feet and said he had a sickness inside, which led him to treat people badly … then when I “got back” with him, he immediately became another time the usual asshole. When we had sex it seemed like a funeral march, it was something that he did without joy, and I didn’t know what he was thinking about, but he never hugged me warmly, never pampered if not with embarrassment and a sort of disgust, superficial caresses, then he immediately he used to snort saying I was a person accustomed to ask for too much. He liked, however, to receive cuddles, like a child, with the excuse that he was sick. I felt like I was his mother or a whore to be despised, depending on the moments. You cannot understand, or perhaps only you who read here, you can understand that suffering, that absurdity I have experienced.
But I do not think I’m a victim because I partly knew he was gay. I was aware of some things, the relationship he had with his best friend and his anaffectiveness, the relationship he had with his mother (this is perhaps a common place), the total disinterest he had for intimacy with me … It was as if he was missing * that thing *, and I don’t want to say the penis, but the instinct to be close to me emotionally and physically, which then becomes a body in the sexual act. He is fixed with girls, he always speaks with this tone of … I don’t know, of blame, horror, it is not clear why he runs behind them, according to what he tells about it, and in general girls refuse even his friendship because he is not able to enter their sympathies, treating them as badly as he usually does.
All this is despite his being a handsome guy, that pushes initially all girls to speak to him and become curious about him (he is also clever and witty, original and creative) … Looking back I know that he loves me very much, he simply doesn’t accept me for what I’m: a woman. He used to say that I was playing the role of the female while I behaved in an absolutely natural way. He used to watch me cry in silence as if he could not connect with my pain. Sometimes he was kind, he was not a monster, let’s be clear. But he couldn’t be a loving guy. He used to show me affection only in the scene in which he was ill and I took care of him as a mother-nurse, and he in the grip of his “depression” (which I suspect is his repression) pretended to be dying and asked me to soothe his pain with my magical power or something, he asked me to feel his heart, to be near him … all the things he missed in normal moments, only that they were totally disconnected from the sexual dimension. His sexuality was all sadism in practice.
I talked a lot about him because what we lived still hurts. We were very close, symbiotic, and we really loved each other, even if we hurt ourselves and it is better for both of us to stay away (these situations are so absurd and contradictory) … I didn’t say anything about myself because I was with him even though I felt he was gay. But I want to say it because other people can pass through here and they could benefit from my experience as it happened to me.
So, first of all, I could not be sure that he was gay. He used to throw me many clues but he never told me it clearly and openly. Nor could he do it, because the problem between us was just that, he could not open up with me, there was place only to hurt me to vent his pain and to lie (even to himself), tell me stories, sell me his fictitious personality … there was no space neither to listen to me nor to truly express himself. If he is really gay, I don’t think he has accepted it at all, and if he has accepted it he denies it with all his strength.
Second: having a guy probably homosexual but who can have sex with women and has really sex with you from a certain point of view is a good move if you’re an insecure girl, because you know he cannot betray you. And also because (sorry if I use a stereotype but in my case it was so) with a gay guy you can have a friendship that with a straight guy is impossible to have. I remember that I really appreciated his patience, his passion for psychology, his gossip, his eye for aesthetics, the way we could talk for hours about how our male friends were, how they reasoned and so on … then when we wanted to, we also had sex, and I didn’t feel tested by him, because I knew he was thinking more than anything to himself while we were doing it, it was the affection towards me and his need to “unload” that motivated him, not my desirability as a woman … The price I paid for this “comfortable” relationship was the frustration of my real need, which is not only physical but also emotional and psychological. I had much more desire than him, and he began to say that I was nymphomaniac, he went around saying that even after we had separated.
So it was the fault of both of us for me. I knew, deeply, that I wasn’t really in love with him. He missed that light in the eyes that seemed to me to be the most important characteristic of the man I dreamed to have beside me. But when I tried to get away he was chasing me in every way. When I changed the phone number, he wrote to my sister, to my best friends, insistently, to know where I was … He didn’t respect my very simple request to be left alone to get over our story. When he thought I had canceled him he tried to come back with me. Perhaps he didn’t want to lose me because I had been more or less the only one who had seen him, albeit consciously deluding herself, like the straight man he wanted at all costs to be. Losing me meant losing the person who most believed in his artificial personality, the one he spent and still spends his life to sculpt and finish, full of artificial justifications about why he’s not normal, he is not like the other guys, he cannot stay in touch with people or women, because women are stupid and have to be more like men …
There is perhaps a third reason, sweet-bitter, that pushed me to stay with him, apart from the fear of a true love and the fear of be wrong about him, and it’s a mixture of voyeurism and pity. Something morbid, a curiosity almost like a reporter. He seemed to me and still seems, a striking case of how the repression can completely destroy the life of an individual.
Standing near to him I lived a kind of perverse reality show in which I expected at every step that he betrayed himself and that it turned out that he was gay with irrefutable proofs, or better I expected him to confess it clearly. Although perhaps I would have preferred to sadistically catch him on the fact, as in a yellow. I cannot really blame him for his feeling himself cornered and with his back to the wall or for his continuous questioning the sincerity of my love, because there was also a dark element in it, and I knew it. It seemed to me also my legitimate compensation for all the things I endured from him.
With the time I accepted the situation, I understood that it was not me who was wrong, that I cannot change him, that he is like that with everyone and not only with me because he suffers deeply. Sometimes I would like to help him, but I don’t know how to do it and I tend to say that maybe because I was his only girl and he was my most important guy in spite of everything … maybe I’m the last person who can help him. And this is very sorry for me because nobody has ever been so close to me, and for him it’s substantially the same … Now I hope the future leads me to a normal story, with a guy who wants to kiss his girlfriend, to cuddle her, to stay well together with her, and all this keeping calm and living quietly. It seems impossible to me because I’m very cynical about it, partly because of traumas related to my parents. I’m afraid that if I met a good guy I wouldn’t be attracted to him. But okay, I’ll see what happens. I needed to tell how much I felt understood on this forum. Thanks again to the OP and to all the others. Greetings.
If you like, you can join the discussion on this post on Gay Project Forum: http://gayprojectforum.altervista.org/T-a-girl-in-love-with-a-gay-guy