Traumatised: Confessions of a Scared Little Girl in a Woman’s Body
Chapter 5: Couple Goals
I was so in love with you
You rarely see a love that’s true
Wasn’t that enough for you?
Wasn’t that enough for you?
Bulletproof Soul, Sade
Wednesday June 7, 2017, 13:10pm
I remember when I lost my mind.
A bottle of bleach was in my hand and I was throwing it like a paint splatter artist all over Dizzle’s clothes and leather bag.
He was holding me back and trying to take the bottle from me, but I wasn’t finished. I wanted to tie and dye the fuck out of all the clothes and underpants I’d washed that he had probably worn to go have sex with Moy, Camille, Khadijah, Khadisha and the whole block. But he was physically stronger than me and eventually snatched the bottle.
Okay dickshit.
I slammed his phone somewhere. I don’t know where it went but the screen cracked when it landed. Lovely.
It was fire time but I was no Lisa Lopes so I started small by setting his favourite cap ablaze. He was trying to stop me at every move and outed that flame too.
“You can’t do this; I know you’re mad but control yourself,” this pussy said while restraining me.
Where was his self-control when he was fucking the world? Where was this sound moral compass?
I needed him to be on the receiving end of the hurt and anger he’d caused. I needed him to feel how I was feeling, to get how much he’d betrayed me.
But as furious as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to physically harm him. I wanted to, I really wanted to, but I just couldn’t do it. He was still the love of my life. He was still all I knew.
I used to think I was exempted from being cheated on. I based this on my personal and exterior qualities, heart, transparency and the purity of my love. This doesn’t mean I dated just anyone; there were specific types of men I avoided because I thought they were more prone to cheat. I was never attracted to or interested in muscular men or the man with the cliché Clark Kent physique. I figured he’d be conceited, dishonest and a serial cheat. But then I met Dizzle.
It was one of those cases where we were unknowingly following each other on Facebook for several years, but suddenly started seeing each other’s posts in February 2016. I was drawn to his thoughts about popular culture and life, and when he joined a J Cole-lyric thread I’d started, I was sold.
My inner Nancy Drew kicked in and I saw he fit the stereotypical “gym body”. I was an open-minded broad and thus began to mull over my philosophy of the muscular man. Plus, there were photos of himself and a woman which traced back to his early teenage years, so clearly he could sustain a relationship with one chick.
This late night snooping unfolded in the bed of another man I had met on Facebook. We’d only been communicating since December, but when my tenancy at Jerry’s house abruptly ended in February, he offered his spot until I found somewhere else.
It was a one-room dwelling in the hood and we slept on opposite sides of the bed. I knew he liked me, why else would he let me stay? But I also made it clear that I didn’t like him and thanked him for helping me out until I got my shit together.
Dizzle and I would chat it up in the comments but I never knew if he liked me. He had made a post asking for advice about a girl he likes but not being sure if he should tell her. I was so happy for that girl and even commented that she’d be crazy not to like him too. I never would have guessed that girl was me. Besides, I wasn’t focused on being with anyone. How do you explain to a man you like that you sleep in a bed with a dude you barely know but you’re not having sex with? It was too complicated so I focused on going to work and saving my money until I could cover two months’ rent. I was also busy readying documents for a student loan as I’d been accepted into university that upcoming academic year.
But the girl was me. Dizzle messaged me and laid it out on the table without being overwhelming. He didn’t romanticise his intentions either; he just knew he liked me and wanted to get to know me. I told him about my situation and he seemed to believe me so our conversations continued. I was very upfront with him from early on and told him to leave me before he cheats. He acceded.
Dizzle knew of my plans and was helping me to save. He was also helping me to house-hunt. We weren’t together for two months when the dynamic of our relationship experienced a significant change.
I was asleep one early morning when I felt a kiss on my forehead. It was the guy I was staying with, towering over me with desperation in his eyes. I jumped up and snapped, but he kept repeating “please, please” like some uncontrollable sex fiend. I took my phone and tried to leave the room but he blocked the door. I was scared and started shouting. His whack ass finally moved and I ran out of the tenement yard into the street. It was after 4am and I sat on the sidewalk with some roosters and called Dizzle. After talking to his parents, he told me to come stay with him. So for those who knew we lived together, that’s how it started. It wasn’t because we were so in love and wanted to be around each other 24/7, it was because I was almost raped.
This was a big step for us. I was 22 and he was a year older than me, and though I wanted him to honor his commitment to us, I didn’t want him to feel imprisoned. He lived with his dad so it wasn’t his house and he didn’t have a stable job as he was in his last year at college. I realised how pressuring the sudden changes were and the last thing I wanted to cause was stress.
At the same time, I acknowledged that he was an adult and made the choice to be with me. He said it was perfectly fine that I stayed with him. The game plan was the same though: I’d work and save my coins and eventually move out once I had the rent money.
A month before school commenced, he told me I should use my money to pay my tuition and permanently stay with him as his parents were cool with it. I was hesitant at first because of the aforementioned concerns but accepted it as I thought his commitment to me was for the long haul.
I owe a lot to Dizzle. I wouldn’t be in university if he hadn’t dragged my pessimistic ass out of bed that September morning. He also supported my decision to resign from my call centre gig and be a volunteer writer at The Jamaica Observer. He paid my tuition that semester as I pursued my dream of being in the entertainment industry. He also got me the opportunity to network with veteran broadcaster Michael Sharpe and a chance to work at RETV. He encouraged my ideas and creativity too and stayed up many nights to ensure I submitted my assignments on time. He also showed up to school when I had presentations to give his support, and even handed in one of my assignments when I couldn’t leave work. He was my backbone. He drove me out of my comfort zone and brought out the best in me.
It wasn’t all smooth-sailing. He didn’t have a job immediately after college which affected his masculinity. I didn’t view him any less of a man — he was the best man I’d ever known. I was never and still am not the materialistic girlfriend. The most I’d want him to buy me was ice cream or a slice of cake. If I wanted my hair or nails done, I did it myself.
Then there was our sex life. He had a higher sex drive than I did and I had conditions I wanted to be met before I bussed it open. I’m turned on by cleanliness so if he’d been on the road all day, I wanted him to bathe before we did it. I also love a clean environment. If I had been working and came home to messy floors and really, additional “work” for me to do, I’d be turned off. So yeah, I didn’t just want to do it off the rip all the time under any condition, and that drove a wedge between us.
There were easier days, days when we both got it right and the sex was amazing. I’m a sucker for a fantasy. I’d be in lingerie and light candles before he got out the shower, and I’d massage him to some sexy music as part of our foreplay.
He appreciated it but didn’t require the fancy shit. He just wanted to do it, but most importantly, for me to be into it. But for me to be into it, we’d both have to be clean and the place would have to be clean.
He’d talk to me about wanting to have sex more often and I even caught him masterbating once. I felt bad knowing that we lived together and he had to resort to that, but I didn’t value sex the way he did and dismissed his concerns (what I now know is his love language) as trivial.
Though the physical intimacy needed work, Dizzle knew everything about me. We’d share our life stories late at night and I told him about my dad, the policeman, my uncle and Jerry. He’d always say he was sorry that I was hurt by those men, but how proud he was of me for still thriving and loving the way I do.
We’d have all types of discourses surrounding male and female gender roles, love, sex and relationships. Cheating wasn’t a deal-breaker for him, and we also shared different views on privacy in a relationship. I didn’t have a code on my phone. I was cool with him answering my calls, reading my messages, answering my emails…sounds secretarial but I had nothing to hide. His phone was locked and he never gave me the code. He’d say it was because people confided in him and he wanted to respect their affairs. I asked him if I’d ever be disappointed if I read his messages, and he said no. I believed him. I trusted Dizzle with my life. We were driving through St Mary once on a rainy day and he lost control of the car and ran off the road. I felt and saw the car skid off the road and accelerate into some bushes, but I never flinched nor made a sound. That’s how much I trusted Dizzle with my life.
I trusted Dizzle with my heart too. Of course, we had arguments and would hurt each other with our words and truth, but I knew he would never seriously violate or disrespect me.
If he told me he had a linkup with his friends on the moon, I believed him. Once I trust, I trust. I give blank slates. I don’t see stains on clothes, I don’t smell foreign fragrances, I just trust. It was only in retrospect that I saw the red flags.
Clingy ex
He was still friends with his ex-fiancé which was understandable because of their everlasting history. Many of Dizzle’s friends didn’t like me because I wasn’t her. They were cheering for them to get back together and made snide remarks online. He assured me he didn’t want her back and I believed him.
Summer came around and he was going on a hotel trip with his friends. They had booked everything before he and I got together so I understood and told him to have a blast. A day after he returned, my friend sent me a photo of his ex at the hotel. I asked Dizzle if she was there and he said yes. He said he didn’t tell me because he didn’t want to upset me, and reiterated that this was all planned before I got in the picture. I would have felt more comfortable if he had been upfront with me instead of hiding it.
She became a third wheel in our relationship. She was going through things and would call him all the time like he was Jesus on the telephone. He would say people like to confide in him and that’s all it was, but she had a boyfriend, she also had God. I didn’t get why she couldn’t respect this chapter in his life and back off. I didn’t get why he wasn’t making those boundaries.
It got worse. We were making a supermarket run when I saw her hiding behind an aisle. Dizzle had been texting the whole time we were there so I figured he told her where he was. He left my side and went to the perennial damsel in distress while I continued shopping. He popped up when I reached the cashier to say she wanted to talk to me. It took everything out of me not to tell him and her to fuck off. She’d been such a pain in my ass since I’d been in this relationship and I didn’t want to hear anything her crazy ass had to say. I left them at the supermarket to go visit my girlfriend out of town. It was after 8pm when I returned and these two were still together. I passed them without saying anything and went inside the house. Goldilocks was clearly sleeping in my bed.
“Was she on the bed?” I asked when he came in.
“Oh, yeah. Daddy was in the kitchen and I didn’t want him to hear her business.”
There was the veranda, the backyard, a myriad of parks in the community, the church yard, the mall and her house, yet you thought it wise to have her in the bed we sleep in?
I took my handbag and left. Dizzle was calling and texting and I later told him where I was. I didn’t know anything outside of Dizzle. He was the man I wanted to be with and he was my best friend so we returned home.
For my 23rd birthday, he surprised me with flowers, cake, jewelry and a trip to the country.
Soon after I had shared some highlights on Facebook, his friends called to say that he hadn’t done the things he was doing for me for his ex. He said he would cut her and those friends off from that day, and I don’t recall hearing about them thereafter.
Anniversary
After a year of fuckery and fun, we celebrated our one year anniversary in April. He got me a rose and told me to pack a bag for the weekend, and we were off to a mystery spot (Couples Sans Souci).
It didn’t stop there. He surprised me with a dinner date then told a white lie to rush back to the room to transform it into a rose-petalled, candle-lit, sexy music love den. That evening marked the first and only time I’ve ever cried during love-making. It freaked me out but I couldn’t help it. I’d never had a man cater to me like that before, love me like that before, and listen to me like that before — even when I wasn’t speaking. Dizzle was my dream guy. He wasn’t perfect but he was all I wanted.
Wednesday June 7, 2017, 12:15pm
I had stopped my ventures as a volunteer writer and was in search of a paying job to ease the strain off Dizzle. He’d gotten me a gig today and I was scheduled to be there at 3pm. Before I went, I wanted to make some calls for some job openings I saw online, but I didn’t have any credit.
I went to him in the bedroom and asked if I could make the calls on his phone. He unlocked it and I returned to the living room to make the calls. Notifications were coming in and I recalled him telling me I’d not be disappointed if I read his messages. Some people would say I suspected something (woman’s intuition) which is why I lurked, but I didn’t. I was overly-confident that I wouldn’t be disappointed. This is someone I spent every day with, I always knew where he was, he was honest with me, his stories added up - I didn’t suspect shit.
I used WhatsApp Web and didn’t have to scroll far before seeing the first mistress. Her name was Moy and they were scheduled to meet at 2:30pm to fuck. I would have been out the house by that time and enroute to the gig he got me. She had detailed their previous encounters and how they fucked so hard that she couldn’t take it anymore. They had a morning ritual of saying “I love you,” then she would say she wished he was next to her. He’d wish the same then say, “You know the situation already.” I don’t think I was alive as I read. I couldn’t have been.
I headed to the other chats and there were so many women that I grew dizzy. He wanted to fuck this broad who asked “What about Sade?” and he said I was on the rag. He even asked one “friend” if she could send over someone for him to fuck when I wasn’t at home.
There was another conversation with some tattoo goddess he was enraptured by. Apparently they had a thing but it didn’t work out, and he let her know he’d be pursuing her in the future. His photo gallery was a pussy picture exhibit. This was more than a double life. I didn’t know who this nigga was.
I went to the bedroom and threw his phone on the bed. I started removing my clothes from the closet and it took him a while to realise I was mad. I didn’t know what I was doing, where was I going to go? What did I have besides Dizzle?
I snapped. Everything just came out of me like a volcano. He was mute. In fact, he walked out the room and continued his conversation with Moy. I instantly became so sick that I had to go to the toilet. Yes, it literally drove me to shit. I had the laptop in my lap as I watched their conversation unfold via WhatsApp Web.
“I guess she read my messages when I gave her a phone call,” he wrote.
“And… What else??? How? What is she saying?” Moy asked.
“She’s been making reference to our convo.”
She replied, “So am not seeing you today then. Sigh almost reach Spain.”
She just cared about her dick appointment, and he clearly didn’t care about me as he only had words for her.
My potty time was done and that’s when I went for the bleach. I felt ignored. It’s bad enough that you deceived me and hurt me this way, but to dismiss me when you were the bad guy? I lost it.
I took a bath and left the house. He left the house too, I assumed to go to Moy.
I announced his infidelity and our split online. The caption read in part, “We started publicly, so let’s end publicly.” The responses were mixed. His friends said I shouldn’t have posted it online, and his best friend insinuated that I wasn’t an adult because I brought it online. Dare I say Dizzle wasn’t an adult as he wasn’t able to stand in his truth and be honest with me from the getgo.
The situation was more painful because I didn’t want to go home. My relationship with my mom was still strained and I had been out of her house for almost two years. At the same time, I had no job and no money to move out, so I had to return to Dizzle’s house. He said I could stay until I was able to move out, and I slept in the spare room.
Those were undoubtedly the most difficult and saddest days of my life. I cried every day and night, I barely ate, and I exteriorized darkness. I tried smoking once and even slept with a pack of razors and a knife in case I decided to end my life.
He’d creep into my room and try to console me. I just wanted answers, but the answers never helped. He seemed inconsistent and confused, but then stuck to the narrative that he cheated because I wasn’t paying attention to his sexual needs.
I’d cry throughout his speech, amplifying his performance, then he’d kiss me and try to have sex. I was so desperate, I kissed him ravenously looking for the answers in his mouth. He was tainted now. All I saw when I looked at him were the conversations, names and pussy pictures. I didn’t want him inside me.
He wanted a second chance which I think was out of pity more than anything else. I decided to give it a go because I couldn’t see my way out. I had created a life with him, he was all I had. It was difficult; I didn’t trust him and I despised him.
It was the deceit for me.
It was having to do an HIV test for me.
It was the women sucking his dick but commenting #CoupleGoals for me.
It was the Robert in him for me.
I had major trust issues and it didn’t help that he still spoke to the women. His premise? He doesn’t believe in malice. But you believe in infidelity? Make it make sense.
I called it off when I found myself arguing with one of the women who messaged him. This wasn’t going to be my life. He understood and said I could stay until I was equipped to move out.
I was such a broken person. I started to question my attractiveness, my everything. I was still waltzing with insanity. I heard him on the phone one night and left the house to walk around the backyard to where his room was, jump the wall and listen to his conversation. He victimized himself and the chicks would avail themselves to poor Dizzle who wasn’t getting the love he deserved. He was Robert. He was worse. He was the worst. But I still loved him.
The craziness culminated one night when I was transferring some files from the laptop we bought together. I had made up my mind to go home and wanted all my documents saved to my drive. I was in his room where the laptop was kept, and he wanted me out. I wasn’t finished and told him I’d leave when I was. He started pulling me off the bed and I was pushing him off. The push and pull continued until he lifted me up, opened his door, and threw me on the kitchen floor. The thud of my hip hitting the floor woke his father up and he enquired about the fracas. Dizzle didn’t help me, he just said if I had listened “that wouldn’t reach me.” His father helped me up and I called the police. The cops came after 2am and had us drive to the station to file our reports. I knew that was my last night there so when I returned to the house, I packed all my bags. By that afternoon, I was gone. I never followed up with the police report, he didn’t either. He and his friends joked online about the wicked girl who was trying to imprison the good black man. It was such a mind-fucking paradox how this man who was my dream turned out to be a nightmare.
Being back home was rough. I had made so much progress when I left and felt I was returning to square one. My final hurrah was accessing someone else’s Facebook account to message him to see how easy he was. I didn’t have to try hard, he was ready to meet me and have sex. His infidelity could never be solely chalked up to me not tending to his sexual needs. He had an insatiable sexual appetite and simply couldn’t be monogamous.
I’ve been different ever since; less naive, which is good, but dark. My ears perk up now whenever I’m with a guy and his phone rings or a message comes in. I listen for a change in tone, inflection, choice of words, body language... I trust with my life now, but never with my heart.
So yeah. I remember when I lost my mind, and I’ll be damned if it happens to me again.
