with women. Everything is the same as before, before me.
Am I glad that I didn’t manage to get him back then? Undoubtedly.
She suffered a lot. I cried at night. I dragged myself to the club during his shifts with my friends to shine. I agreed to have sex when he was drinking too much and dragging me along. I went to try to enter not only law school, but also medicine, to prove to him that he was not the only one who wanted to become a doctor. He never did. I studied for seven fucking years.
Sorry. I didn’t want to swear, but how we still love to drive ourselves into traps.
It’s good that she left to study in another city, we never saw each other again. Time helped me recover from the fixed idea and reconsider my life guidelines.
I never loved him, it was just a thirst to defeat my rival.
Do you know why I say so confidently?
Right! You learn quickly.
Because I never wanted him. The panties, so to speak, did not stick to the ceiling.
"Treason."
Oh, this is a new chapter and new details. If this has never happened to you, get up and go away.
Kidding. But I don’t believe that there is even one unfortunate person who has never found out about the betrayal. Please note, I’m not saying that she wasn’t cheated on, I’m talking about knowledge.
Everyone has gone through this at least once.
And I guess that I finally caught the adulterer in an unseemly act.
I used to think that everyone always changes. But in reality it turned out that not all, but at least once.
What I mean? I'll explain now. Every person, by the age of thirty, or even twenty-five, has encountered the fact that he was cheated on or that he himself cheated on him at least once.
Life is such a thing that if it is faced with a serious harmful action, it tries not to repeat it again. Rare exceptions cannot cope with this without outside help.
Here I will touch on my sister a little and tell you what influence she had on my life.
From the age of eight, I was something like a recorder for my nineteen-year-old blood friend. I didn’t understand anything of what she was saying, but I wrote everything down. I tried to keep the conversation going because she was giving me money for ice cream.
She woke up after another disco in the morning, on fumes and tipsy, gave me money for tomato juice for herself and sweets for me, and after I returned from the store, she told me about the guys.
I always admired her beauty and charm, she had no end of admirers, but at the same time I didn’t believe them one iota.
– All guys cheat, there is no such thing as love, you just need to use them.
I heard these guidelines, almost like a mantra, from my sister for ten years.
I grew up and we even went to clubs together, but her attitude towards men did not change – an exclusively consumerist approach, no attachments, one hundred percent confidence that as long as she cheats on herself, they will not cheat on her… and therefore will not hurt her.
She doesn’t talk about the part of the phrase after the ellipsis, but it’s a no brainer.
Another interesting observation that I made is media propaganda.
Remember the Argentine TV series "Black Pearl"? There, Perla was constantly disappointed with Thomas, that he was weak in the front.
I was a fan of this series, and of course it left its mark on my worldview.
Next, gossip about relatives and acquaintances played a role: Uncle Sasha cheated on Aunt Sveta, my cousin’s boyfriend cheated on her throughout the relationship, his ex-wife cheated on my father, the parishioner’s husband left for another woman, Uncle Gena cheated on Aunt Lena and eventually left her.
How prosaic everything is, you say. I will confirm your words. It’s trite when people cheat, but we’re still shocked every time: “He seemed like such a good person.”
So yes, I expected something like this all the time.
And finally, when I relaxed in my twenties after three years of seclusion, and began the first serious relationship in my life (it lasted about two months), he left me.
And later he admitted that he had cheated.
This man drank every day, drove drunk, threw hysterics about sex, even proposed marriage to me. And in the end he left with the words: “You were too nagging at me.”
As a religious fanatic, I tried to make a man out of Dima, criticized and nagged him so that he would change, manipulated sex so that he would change.
And in the end she got hit in the back.
Do you know what's terrible? I wasn’t upset that this fallen little man slept with someone else, I sprinkled ashes on my head for my nagging.
I sincerely believed that I should return him and slow down. That since he wanted to get married, then he is the one and I need to change myself, become more loyal to his shortcomings, more patient, forgive and start all over again.
Of course, you already know the sequel. You can guess that I started drinking with him, going to nightclubs, skipping school, and generally becoming more cynical than I was.
Girls, if you tried to imitate your imperfect man only on the assumption that he was the one, then let the world cry, because this is the greatest stupidity of the weak half of humanity.
So what could I do then.
First, do not start a relationship with an alcoholic at all. In Russia, despite the supposed genetic predisposition, there are still men who do not abuse alcohol.
Secondly, I could recognize his psychoticism even in his first hysteria and drive it away.
Thirdly, after he stopped picking up the phone and calling himself, it was worth leaving everything de facto. It was worth completely immersing yourself in studying, and maybe even working part-time, so that there was no time left for stupid thoughts.
Every evening I returned from university to a rented apartment, where my neighbor regularly worked or slept after a night out, and cried in the bathroom.
I hardly ate, I got hooked on “The Sims” (this is a computer game), and if my friend could stay with me for a little while, I occupied her ears and made her depressed.
It was a difficult period, I took Corvalol twice in order to somehow fall asleep. Thank God, I clearly understood the harm of antidepressants and psychiatrists and did not go for “help.”
Zhanna, that same neighbor, had been on antidepressants years earlier because of her boyfriend’s infidelity. What did it cost her? There was barely life… She tried to commit suicide one night while on medication.
Yes, you heard right. Not before or after taking them, but during. Before the intervention of psychotherapists, Zhanna simply suffered and cried, her threats of suicide were just words, which alarmed her parents.
But after a week of taking psychotropic drugs, Zhanna got up at night while the “convoy” was sleeping and went to commit suicide.
Her parents woke up in time and stopped her. This was followed by a difficult period of rehabilitation with withdrawal symptoms, but she coped with it and stopped taking the terrible drugs.
I, taught by her experience, clearly defined my life: “I will never take any drugs to treat mental pain.”
Corvalol was the only weak drug that I wanted to use as therapy.
But in the end it wasn’t he who helped, but you know what?
Comedy club. Yes, yes, the same one with Pavel Volya and Alexander Nezlobin.
The guys pulled me out of my apathy without