Its funny how memories of your own life feel disconnected and vague, almost as though they aren't a part of you. I've been thinking about that quite a bit. There's so many decisions I've made, whether out of fear, laziness, ignorance or just survival that I would take back in an instance. Popular culture's advice is to not live with regrets but I don't know if I agree. Perhaps don't dwell on them but I definitely have regrets.
The first time I truly fell in love was in 2012. It was an interesting time for me. My best friend, Rocio, who I had known since 2002, and I had decided to move into our own apartment. It was Countrywood Apartments in Carrollwood. I was working full-time at Publix still, at that time, still on the track to moving up with the Company. I was single and not yet 23 yet.
Feels like a totally different and disconnected world from where I am now. I'm telling this story to the best of my memory. CW: gaslighting, cheating, manipulation, lies, weapons
I met Jerry (name changed) at my favorite gay club. It was my home bar where my drag family performed and where I had most of my problematic drunken shennigans. It was truly a home. Gay wasn't in fashion at the time (and I still argue it isn't but hey--whatever). I never really went on Sunday's but that one Sunday, I did. It was the only Sunday I ever went to the bar. I was shy and most of my friends were employed or performers at the bar, so they weren't really able to pay me much attention. Then, out of no where, Jerry approached me, told me I was cute and asked for my number. That never happened to me before! He was so well dressed. "Boujie" as my drag sister Anthony called him. He texted me almost instantly. I was really not the pursuing or pursued type, kind of awkward and unhinged on the whole idea of dating and relationships, so I would respond but pretty casually. He was persistent but not in a scary way--as I had previously dealt with the stalker type before. Nothing like that! I turned 23 that April and after much ado, I finally agreed to go on a date. What a glamarous date it was--at the Hyde Park Starbucks. We talked for hours. Looking back I couldn't tell you much of what we talked about--but he really liked me and I liked him, so we agreed to go a second date. The second date was at Timpano's, an upscale, far out of my price range Italian restaurant. He paid. I thought, "he must have money!" I would be lying if I told you that wasn't a selling factor. He was really cute, funny and had money? Yeah!
I met him up at his apartment--it was off of Lemon Ave. I can't remember the name. But it was the definition of boujie as far as Tampa goes. So high-class! I was surprised I was let within 500 ft. of the property with my credit score the way it was. His apartment was a studio with luxurious furniture. I remember so clearly now how there were no pictures or anything. He told me he lived alone but wasn't there much because he was in the military. It wasn't that odd to me. We had a romantic dinner he made and wine, a staple for dating me. That night was the first night that we had sex. It was great!
My friends were getting to know him and getting along with him, though my drag mother Joey had some concerns, she wasn't the type to interfere so much. I was falling pretty quickly. Little trinkets of appreciation, romantic dates, sex. Boujie apartment? What wasn't to enjoy?
He was set to turn 28 in December. I remember that. And I also remember looking at his little SmartCar and noticing the tag had an expiration date in June. So observant of me! I asked about it. He told me it was because it was easier to have the car registered in his dad's name. Simple enough.
But not really.
What I didn't know then but would later learn, through bouts of roller coasters and denial, was the SmartCar didn't belong to Jerry or his dad. It belonged to who we will call Dave. Dave was a military contractor away overseas. Dave also was the leaseholder of the boujie apartment. Oh, and if you hadn't guessed it, Dave was Jerry's fiancee' (though, technically gay marriage wasn't legal in Florida then and would not be for another three years). Dave remained his fiance for a few months while Jerry and my relationship was blossoming. Because Jerry (so slyly) wasn't active on social media, it was easy to hide--until one day Dave's sister caught us holding hands in public. I didn't know about the sighting.
I also was too naive to realize all the phone calls Jerry had to take "in another room" weren't really top secret U.S. military calls. I mean, I was 23 and naive.
Once more information came together, Jerry struggled to keep his lies together but really he didn't have to try hard. Not only had I fallen in love, I was chronically co-dependent, so I was pretty much available to buy most bullshit he sold me if it meant I could be loved. The story changed day to day about how Dave was an abusive partner, they fought physically, Dave used racial slurs, Dave cheated on Jerry. All these different reasons why Dave was bad. Maybe they were true or partially true but honestly, I wouldn't put my money on it now. But I was willing to believe it then because it justified what I wanted to believe. But most importantly, I was told that Dave and Jerry had split up and that the sister was mad because she didn't know about the split up and Dave was mad because since his family "loved Jerry so much" Dave had wanted to keep the broken up engagement a secret.
I'm sure it was all a lie. But it was a sweet little lie during it.
I must've known I was being gaslit but I was lovedrunk and desperate enough to go with it. Perfect recipe for a manipulator of his stature. It scares me to acknowledge what red flags and evidence I was willing to ignore to maintain this lie. One day, I got a Facebook message. It was from the awful, manipulative Dave. I read it. I read it three times. I got angry. I had Jerry read it front of me. The message told me that Jerry and Dave had been engaged, Dave was away and that the two had plans of Jerry moving to Germany to be with him. I remember the message saying something to the effect of, "I hope this comes as a surprise to you. I am assuming you did not know Jerry and I were engaged and in love and truthfully that I want to work it out with him still. I love him. But if you did know, I want you to know that you have hurt me more than you could ever imagine."
I didn't know. But I knew now. I never responded. I let Jerry tell me more lies and then I archived the message. I never heard from Dave again. I think that might be when they officially broke up.
Jerry and I were bickering more. Like I said, I was smart enough to know I was being gaslit--but co-dependent enough to go along with it. One day, I was at my apartment with Jerry and we weren't having a good day. We were arguing back and forth which had begun to become our normal. At one point, I was in the kitchen which was connected to the living room and I was half-way cleaning as a way to control my anxiety during our loud arguing. I must've dropped an aerosol spray can on the carpet and it made a little thud--next thing I knew:
Jerry started hollering and yelling about how he couldn't take it anymore, he ran passed me, punched a hole in my bedroom door, kicked a hole in my bedroom wall and then flipped over my coffee table before running out of the apartment.
I never experienced anything like that. What an adrenaline rush! I immediately locked the door and called my best friend/roommate, Rocio, and interrupted her friend date. Told her I needed her to come home right away--it was an emergency.
Well--Dave's SmartCar? That wind up getting crashed into my apartment complexes dumpster. I, to this day, have no idea why Jerry ran it into that dumpster but I do know that it was intentional. He had actually left the complex and come back to run into it.
I heard the crash and screaming outside. I ran outside. My co-dependency bells are ringing! It was a dramatic moment. A neighbor called 911 and the Hillsborough County Sheriff's Office arrived quickly. I remember them questioning Jerry and then making him pour out open vodka before they departed. No citation was given and no police report was filed. I told one officer of the situation in the apartment and the property destruction and also, that I did not feel particularly safe. He told me that sometimes people do crazy things when they're angry. The police left and so did Jerry.
I wish I could tell you this was where I left him!
Nah! We talked and he convinced me to let him come over. I know Rocio didn't like it--but what was she to do? And just like that, he sweet talked his way back into my life.
Around this time--he had moved to an apartment in Temple Terrace since Dave naturally threw him out of the boujie apartment. I started to realize Dave had the money--Dave financed our fancy and boujie dates. Thanks Dave. I did enjoy the money and glamour and I won't pretend I didn't but that wasn't ultimately why I was with Jerry. So--it wasn't a dealbreaker. The lying, cheating and property damage should have been but hey.
Our relationship grew and we had many lovely dates but also many tulmutous fights. He wasn't working. He was going to school full-time and got G.I. bill. But I was paying for most of the dates and activities on my lowly salary. I eventually had to pick up a second job to keep us afloat, working overnight at a gas station on top of my retail schedule. I was tired.
And with me working almost 24/7, fatigued and getting no emotional or financial support from Jerry--that's when I left him. Lol, just kidding! Instead--we agreed to move in with each other. Rocio moved in with us as well to this 1,000 sq ft apartment called The Commons. I loved it!
It was my first time living with a boyfriend. And it didn't take long for the living situation to be nothing but fighting.
Oh--and it wouldn't be a story of a manipulator if I didn't tell you how many times Jerry accused me both directly and indirectly of cheating. Constantly passively implying it or outright saying it--he would pull up and check on me at work, call me all the time, unless he was out late with no explanation. Sometimes he wouldn't come home until 3 or 4 in the morning. I remember having seen suspicious text messages. Oh, and then I found him on Plenty of Fish, a dating website. He told me, of course, that he made it as a joke with a friend--and I naturally believed it because it made so much sense!
But I'll never forget this one.
One day, after coming home from drill, he told me he got tested--and they found gonorehea in his rectum. His angle was of course, I, the grand master cheating ho top of Tampa, had infected him! I knew it wasn't possible because I hadn't slept with anyone else. But I knew I could have gotten it from him, so I went to Planned Parenthood to get tested. It took two weeks and it was grueling. When my test came back, it was completely negative of all STIs. Hah! I remember my big "gotcha!" You couldn't have gotten it from me! I didn't have it in the first place. So, he told me that the military health clinic messed up and it was a false positive. But what fool would believe that?
And that's when I left him.
No just kidding! I was indoctrinated at this point. I not only stayed in it but we moved again, this time without Rocio, who moved on to be with who is now her husband. We moved to New Tampa--far away from everyone.
I hated our new apartment. I hated my commute and I think I started to hate him.
I always had a problem with over-induldging and being a chaotic drunkard but during this time period, I really started acting out. I wanted to escape so badly. I was getting black out drunk on a regular basis and causing scuffles, flailing arms and stumbling galore. Jerry used this as ammunition as to why I was a terrible boyfriend--and definitely a cheater. Since I couldn't fully remember my evenings, it was a great way to sell a story that I was out doing questionable things. Also known as the things he was doing.
I'm not claiming I was an angel. I was a whole hot mess. I definitely got amorous and flirty while drinking but I never cheated. As much as Jerry wanted me to be a cheater, I never did. I might as well have though considering he still carries on that accusation today. If I had, at this point, I'd just admit it--but I hadn't.
The relationship started to get to a point where there weren't even anymore good times. There was no fun times to balance out the misery anymore. The sex wasn't worth it anymore. I was isolated. He complained about being around my friends.
I remember Jerry had a gun. He was all about war and guns. He kept the gun under his pillow--in case of robbery. Talked about wanting to use it in a break-in.
I'm not sure at what point in time it clicked in my mind--but I was no longer staying with him because of co-dependent love. I was staying with him because I was absolutely afraid of him. With him going off the handle early on in our relationship and slaughtering my drywall, I certainly could envision that one night, I'd drink too much or he'd get over suspicious that I was "out cheating" and that I'd be the one he used the gun on. He never did nor did he threaten me with it--but the fear was there nonetheless.
Around September 2014, two and a half brutal and miserable years later, he came from drill and told me he wanted to breakup. I remember he was mad I didn't cry or fight him on it. We agreed to ride out the lease but that did not happen. Somehow, without my consent, he broke the lease and with less than three days notice, I had to move out. Luckily, Joey and friends let me move in with them and I would stay in the Bone family house from 2014 until my sister in law's death in 2017.
I had a reckless year still acting up in my old, poisoning myself ways throughout 2015--but I started to calm down and heal. Regrettably, I did not give myself enough time to heal and had a couple of relationships that were short and emotionally harmful throughout the year. Then in December 2015, without looking for it, I'd fall in love the second time with someone else. That one didn't work out either--but overall, it was much healthier and I can remember it much more fondly, for the most part--sometimes things just don't work out. It is what it is.
Third times the charm perhaps--now I'm with my guy and it's healthy. It's loving. It's kind. I'm different than I was in 2012 at 23 or in 2014 at 25. The scars Jerry left for me are still very visible and real.
I share this story not my sympathy nor to drag Jerry. I couldn't care less about Jerry--and honestly, I forgave him anyway and that's my choice. I won't reconcile with him or be his friend but I forgive him. Shit, it happened. It's over. I never have to deal with him again.
But I know why people stay. And sometimes people who are acting out are people who need to get out--it doesn't excuse their--or in my case--my toxic behavior--but there are often underlying reasons.
If you know who Jerry is based on the details of this story, there's no reason to say so. Keep it moving. I just needed to account for this story of my life so I could own the narrative and I could reflect on it as I age. Perhaps there's someone out there who needs to hear it. If you're the me--please get out--and if you're the Jerry, by God, get the help you need and stop harming people--come clean now and reform. Please.
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