Married.

SIDE NOTE: I'm not angry, sad or hurt over the whatevership. He's lost me. He lost me a while ago. Which is fine. Just read. Cringey as this may get. Just read. 

Mark. 

At one point he was a front runner in this whole real life bachelorette shit show. 
Like neck and neck with SB. But then I realized, for a while, that no one really could top SB. Until they could. 
Because it's possible. 

Antyway. 

So Mark. 

Blue Eyes is what we called him at work because for a while I had to come up with nicknames to keep track of the guys I was talking to. I really am not just saying this to say it. For whatever reason, in June, not long after the boy slept in my bed, I was feeling like a badass. Because, you know, a boy slept in my bed and I could do anything. I could get anyone. I was confident AF. 

Enter Mark. So I see him on the dating app. Where SB is the OG in this whole dating saga, Mark is not far behind him. Actually today marks my one year friendiversary with SB. It has been a long fucking year. Mark and I had matched probably 2 or 3 times before this oh so fateful June. We talked. We connected well. He was cute (wait, is this something to still call a guy? Cute? I feel so weird calling someone "hot." Can I use the term handsome? Somehow that seems antiquated, but also appropriate for grown-ass men. I also just don't like calling people hot. But cute doesn't seem right either. You know what? Good looking) He was good-looking. I liked him, he seemed to like me. We would have some great conversations. Then he'd just disappear. A month or two later I would match with him again, like, "Oh my god! Where did you go?" 
So he disappeared for a few months, and I moved on...until I came across him once again. I was like, "Okay, last try." So last try, and it was somewhat successful, I suppose. Until it wasn't. 
We talked quite a bit. I kept trying to nail him down, but I was also talking to these four or five other guys so it wasn't like a priority at that point. Though I did like him a bit more than most of the others. We talked on the app, and eventually moved over to Snapchat. Where we talked regularly. Video chatted, sexted, video sex. Like all of it. I asked his relationship status. I did my digging. Because, y'all, I am REALLY good at searching for people, places, and things. If you need something looked up? I'm your woman. If you want to know something about someone? Come to me. I will scour the internet. I did my scouring, and I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Also, again, I did ask his relationship status. Additionally, I if he was looking for a fwb or long term. See where this went? Relationship. He was interested in pursuing a relationship. 
I was excited because, gahtdamb, FINALLY! I was finally going to meet Mark in person. 
*derisive laugh* that's cute. 
Long suffering can be one of my traits, but it's not always a good one. I will hold onto things that I just need to let go of. 
Shark philosophy: "Take a bite when you explore things. Don't be afraid to let go if it's not what you thought it was." I should have listened to the fucking shark philosophy. But, as life motto #2 goes, "Well, I thought it was a good idea at the time!"  
I should have let go. 
But I didn't. 
I really wanted this to work out. 
Like I said, long-suffering. Emphasis on the suffering. 
Not in a good way. 
Is this an unavailable man scenario?
Probably would qualify. 
Because they are my jam. 
And I hate it. 
I'm actually a bit of a paradox. Aren't we all to some extent though? I am impatient, but I am also patient. 
Antyway, so. 
This trying to meet up thing. It was a fucking nightmare, y'all. A. Fucking. Nightmare. 
Yeah, I was getting really tired of this bullshit. 
I did actually back off, and pursued a possible relationship with, god, what is his internet nickname. We actually used his real name at work because, y'all, he was a cool dude. Until he wasn't. I'm not sure I wrote about him, but he is not the focus of this post. Maybe I did though. I think it was the not enough, too much post if I ever published it. 
While I was doing that, I was okay with Mark dropping away. He'd check in every once in a while, but I was cool because I had this other dude (I really need to find his internet name). 

*Side note: I don't use people's real names on my blog. They have a blog name. I and my friends know who I'm talking about, and if a dude that I've written about ever read the blog they would be able to identify themselves. So there's that. 

As soon as I worked through three out of the five guys. Wait. No, yeah it was three of five. Mark popped back onto the scene, and I was thrilled. Like we talked every day, had serious conversations, and silly ones. He liked me; he thought I was cute; he could make me go stupid with just a particular look or...fuck... a wink. Or, Black Jesus in heaven, this lip lick thing that he did. *Melting* We had some awesome sexting and video sex message sessions. Oh my god. He also had this tattoo that I just could not get enough of. He had this amazing sex appeal, and he kind of looked a bit like Paul Rudd. Y'all, this dude's sex appeal was off the charts. I can't even explain it, and even now I'm smiling like a fucking idiot while I remember that. I'm laughing now too. Great. Oh, now here's the blush and warm feeling. Aaaaaaand we're going to finish that off with that like tummy, "Oooo!" thing. 
I need to get a fucking grip here. 
Ooof. He was good, and he was so good that I was dying to meet him in person. 
I tried so hard to get him to meet with me in person. We talked about what we were going to do on a date! We scheduled a gahtdamb date. Then he flaked out. He had to work. 
Then we tried to rain-check, but he was really noncommittal about it. Very vague and ambiguous. Y'all. I MOTHERFUCKING HATE AMBIGUITY AND VAGUE, HEDGEY, SHIT.
He was though. 
I'm not sure why I kept at it honestly. I'm going to have to process this, and I need to send my ass back to therapy to get through this bullshit. 
No, I do. It was the gahtdamb connection that we had. Like we got each other. I let him see me. Y'ALL I LET HIM SEE ME. What I mean by that: I felt safe enough to be completely myself with him. I felt seen, and I felt heard. I felt like I mattered. Which I did anyway, but there is something about another person outside of yourself validating those things--Seeing things about you. Liking them, even. I didn't do that thing where I hold myself back, trying to mold myself into the person that I think someone wants. In other words, I could be my ridiculous, funny, smart, beautiful, awesome, serious, imperfect self with him. That means so gahtdamb much to me. I don't let that out lightly or flippantly. I don't let everyone see that, but I did that with him (Aaaaand now here are the tears I have been holding in). 
Even now I'm feeling so raw and exposed. My anxiety is off the charts. I need to cry. I need a Valium. I need sleep. I need to write. I need chocolate and peanut butter. I need to finish this beer. I need to feed my animals. I need to spend time with my cat because I haven't seen her since yesterday evening. I need to talk. I need a hug. I need some sex (yeah, I said it). I need to feel okay. 
Back in October, I finally got tired of the bullshit, and I just very bluntly asked Mark (I almost used his real name here) 
Me: "Are we ever going to meet in real life?"
Mark: "And I will answer soon but short answer is that the last few months have been so many one-thing-after-anothers"
Me: "Ooo Lordt, that sounds a bit...not necessarily ominous but not wonderful." 
(I knew I wasn't going to like his answer)
Me: "Clarification, because I just overthink everything (I do some of my best and worst work when I overthink): my meeting in person expectations are like meeting for covfefe and talking for a couple of hours. Just FYI."
Mark: "Oh I know (smiley face)"

About a week later:

Me: "I hope you didn't ghost on me?"
Mark: "I didn't. Been a crazy week and it isn't over"

Few days later (my birthday):

Mark: "Hey happy birthday! I'm still in the thick of it here but I'll talk more and explain what's up when I get a chance to breathe"

Me: (general thanks and year 31 musings) "And okay. Not sure what words of support to say so just enter words of support here."

A couple of weeks later:

Me: "Just checking in. How are you?"
Mark: "Doing a bit better. You?"
Me: (enter general life happenings here)

Just after midnight yesterday morning (Merry fucking Christmas to me):

Mark: "You know that thing people do where they avoid things because they're difficult to deal with, but then it just keeps looming and getting bigger and/or so much time has passed that it barely seems worth it so you make an excuse in your head that eh might as well not worry about it now
That's what I've been dealing with for the last few weeks.
So, I tried to make the most of it--
I've been in a weird place with my relationship status. We've been separated, poly, separated, and then her dad died. That was the big thing I had been dealing with. Regardless of the separation status, I needed to do my best to make sure she was ok because I value her as a friend if nothing else. 
So, I wasn't trying to mislead you at all but it wasn't an important point at this point. 
Until it was. Y'know?
At this point I don't really know what's going on but I'm going to behave as though I'm not in a committed relationship."

*cue low-key panic attack*

Me (much later that day): I'm not sure where to even begin with my questions. 
Mark: "I get it. I won't take 25 years to respond."

Me: "So separated from a marriage or a committed relationship? [because separation is a marriage word. Like separated from a marriage. It's a marriage word]
Also me: "How long had you been together? Had you always been poly? *Poly when not separated [that is]

What I'm about to type is where I just felt like I couldn't breathe right. I still kind of feel that way. I'll explain why after I type this. Or this might be self-explanatory. 

Mark: "Separated from a marriage. Together way too fuckin long lmao (smiley face). 13? 14? Years. I got married at 19. 
Poly had been a recent thing because situations didn't allow us to have as much time together as we needed."

*cue all the feels* 

Me: "Do you still live together? How did poly work out for the both of you? Like actual relationships outside of that or just casual fwb type of relationships? What was your intention with me?"

Mark: (nothing)

I'm still having a hard time breathing when I read those words. 

Here's why: CONSENT.

I didn't know. I legitimately didn't know. I did my job. I did what I was supposed to do: I asked the right questions. I looked him up. I did my investigating. I gave myself the go ahead to let him into my world. 
Had I known? I would have NEVER matched with him or started anything in the first place. I am not a poly person. I am very much into monogamy. It's my own preference because I know myself. Sometimes I really wish I could do the poly thing because I know that self-actualization doesn't come from one person. I also know, through my #adventuresindating, each man had some great qualities. If only I could have taken those and put them into one dude. Which I know isn't possible. I can't get the words out of my head and through my fingers and onto the screen here. I have a perfect way of summing it up, but it's not coming out right now. 
Even if it was a poly thing with Mark, it wasn't ethical at all. All parties involved are supposed to know and be okay. CONSENT, MAN. 
Antyway, I'm tired. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm hurt. 
I didn't know. I wasn't even given a motherfucking choice here. I feel so conflicted. I have so many fucking feelings, and they are just swirling and rampaging around inside of me right now. I can't just grab one and say, "This is EXACTLY what I'm feeling." It's not working that way. 

NOTE AGAIN: I'm not angry, sad or hurt over the whatevership. He's lost me. He lost me a while ago. Which is fine. 
It's that I had my agency stripped from me. I didn't have the chance to make a choice. I would have never chosen this in a million years. Ever. I think he knew that too. 
I know he knew that. 
I know he knows that. 
He had every fucking opportunity to tell me. 
He didn't. 
14 years of marriage. 
14. Years. 
Of. Marriage. 
He just casually left that out because that's something you can just avoid in the hopes that it won't come back to bite you in the motherfucking ass. 
Married. He is Married. 
Am I explaining why I'm so upset well enough? Because I don't know. 
My choice was stripped away. I would never do this. Ever. Married people, even separated, are so off limits. Poly people are off limits for me. I want more than what they are able to give when they are in a married relationship already. I can't do it. I wouldn't do it. I want a certain future and freedom.

I am not okay with this. 
I need a hug. 
I need to see my therapist. 
I need a Valium. 
I need some sleep. 
I need to cry. 

Married.  

You know what insidious feeling is creeping into my soul right now? 
Shame. I feel shame. This has got to be my fault somehow. I missed so much. I should have picked up on this when he was being so hedgey. Maybe I expected him to be dating other people. I did. I thought that was it. I never in a million years thought it would be 14 fucking years of marriage. 14 years. 14. I got sort of involved with someone who was married. Or involved? What is it even?
I feel shame. 
I am ashamed. 
I'm also mad as hell.