The Ghosts of Girlfriends Past

I stopped updating this blog with details of my affair, not because the affair came to an end. Sparks did not fade and leave us drifting apart; my Beau did not confess all, nor did we sail off into sunset for a happy ending.

The novelty of revelling and proclaiming each and every detail, however, did wear off. I stopped updating due to my desire to hold every moment as precious, private - maybe even sacred. To me, they always will be.

Sadly, the story was not all perfect. We've finally come to the end of our affair and our last chapter is a fraught and painful one. It would seem deceitfulness is a trait more ingrained in my Beau than I had first realised - and I wasn't the only one having an affair. After one whole year of sneaking around, being called "Lucy" (which is not my name) on the telephone and stealing moments of intimacy I finally realise I was not the dirtiest of his little secrets. And now I am on the receiving end of the pain of another person's affair.

In the past week, I have learned more about my Beau, his past, his present and his very person than I had ever imagined. The person I once adored, now leaves me numb. The shock still resonates that the man to whom, for a year, I aimed my affections is not the person I once thought.

I should have remembered: Getting to know someone is getting to know how bad they can be, not how good.



I guess I should sign off this final entry in the traditional understanding of my moniker; A pained and distinctly EX-girlfriend...

Upon Reflection...

Since writing this blog, I have been plagued with guilt. Though most of it not my own. I was surprised that, after only two or three entries, readers of the blog got in touch via email to tell me about their situations whether they be directly related to my own or tangibly.

I was also struck by one email I received asking me if I felt ashamed of myself, for my actions, my deceit. Well, here is my answer to that question:

Simply, I am not ashamed of any of the things I've done.

Many of them were, in retrospect, perhaps not the right things to have done. In some cases they were, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the wrong things to have done.

I have compromised my morals and values and sometimes the ones of those surrounding me. I have devalued myself, degraded myself and undermined myself. Sold myself short and given others reason to think less of me. I have ignored advice and better judgement.

I have been angry, jealous, gluttonous and proud. I am almost always lazy, greedy or lustful.

But, not once, never, have I been malicious, calculated or intentionally inconsiderate.

I am not defined by my actions. And nor are you.

AN ASIDE

I'm so bored of "fashion". It's everywhere I look. It's all anyone talks or thinks or cares about.

We spend so much time planning our outfits, fixing our hair, painting our nails, etc., before we venture into the outside world. But, what would happen if, instead, we spent that time planning how to start interesting conversation?

It strikes me that it is when we are vulnerable, unsure and insecure that the superficial things matter most. So, does this mean we are an entire generation of vulnerable women? Women who base our worth on the condition of our skin as opposed to our intellectual capacity? Are we women who admire each other more for our ability to keep our wardrobes up to date with Vogue magazine than to make one another laugh? I sincerely hope not. What chance would the next generation, our daughters, have being brought into the world by women racked with self-doubt?

In the words of my very wise Father; "There is no material or physical asset on the requirements list for being a kind, interesting, lovely person. "

And that, dear Readers, is all that really matters.

A BRIEF INTRODUCTION

We've all been there. That feeling like you're walking on air. Cheeks aching from constant smiling. The feeling of airiness from within. It is the elation of infatuation that seeps through every pore of our bodies and every iota of our souls. Sometimes it last merely a day, sometimes we're left swimming in its hazy euphoria for weeks, even months.

One factor remains the same, however; The uncontrollable desire to tell someone. Anyone. Everyone.

Our friends, family, work colleagues all bare the brunt of our endless outpourings. Details of the first date, the second date, the kiss, the sex... Gradually, (or in some cases rapidly), the recipients tire of the incessant gushing but, drowning in new-partner-intoxication, we barely notice.

But, what happens when, due to some circumstance or other, you can't tell anyone. Not even your Mother. When you can't even acknowledge to your nearest and dearest friends that you're even considering such relations with the party concerned, let alone confess you're buzzing from the post-date cocktail of nerves, excitement and anticipation? For if you were to even let slip the most remote possibility of the aforementioned, the consequences could be catastrophic.

Reader, I can assure you, the feelings described in the above are not dampened by such circumstances. They are heightened, intensified but, accompanied by guilt, over analysis and fear.

My name is X and this is exactly the predicament I find myself in. So, where a written diary that no-one but myself can access has failed, a public (and anonymous) account of our love affair will hopefully succeed in satisfying my girlish desire to scream it, shout it and tell it to the world - I am completely, utterly, infinitely infatuated with Him.

Welcome to The X Girlfriend Archive.