This is ourselves

I try to be honest when I write. But I’m also very conscious of people I write about or reference. Although I can count the people who read this without needing my toes, I’m careful not to make people obviously identifiable; while my “inner circle” might know who they are, the casual reader wouldn’t. I also attempt to be balanced and acknowledge that my feelings and views aren’t the only possible perspective and be sensitive to other peoples’ feelings and situations.

I’ve been particularly aware of that recently as, although I haven’t seen or heard from the boy (or “the fuckwit” as he’s now known to my friends) since our final meet, I know he’s active on Twitter (it was “our space” for a brief period) and still follows me. This blog is linked to my Twitter account so it’s possible he may read it.

He also blogs. Mainly poetry or political prose and I’ve consciously not looked at it since we ended things. However I was tipped off that there was a new post that I might want to read. I wish I hadn’t. It’s a recounting of a night out with a friend. From the headline that’s all good. Time with friends is precious and can be a much needed restorative.

Bearing in mind we parted ways because, although he allegedly cared deeply about me, he felt he needed to give his 25-year relationship one last attempt at resuscitation, even though it had apparently been dead in the water for over a decade. Imagine therefore my joy at reading about his evening of chatting up various barmaids and handing out his contact details. Yep. You got it. He clearly doesn’t have the same ethics or cares about his potential readership as I do. More fool me.

From deluded idealist to complete player in one fell swoop. I definitely got played and I’m an idiot for believing anything he said. And blokes wonder why women have trust issues! There must be one decent single bloke out there, surely. Someone prove me right, please.