Staff writer - Maria Costa
Be happy with the man you love. It’s as simple and as difficult as that.
Concern about whether or not Mr.Caribbean loved me had long surpassed and now all I had to do was to be happy with him, right?
As it turns out, my wonderful mind – not to mention my old faithful intuition – had instead, invoked in me a sense of paranoia about Mr.Caribbean’s fidelity.
It is difficult for me to pinpoint the exact moment my mind became eclipsed by images of him with other women, but it was probably around the time I noticed that he wouldn’t let his mobile phone out of his sight. Coupled with the fact that he was now unanticipatedly spending more and more time away from me with a conspicuous distance to his stance – forthwith; an insecurity was born. And in its tracks, it left behind the unenviable task of having to independently deal with my hijacked mind, the permanent churning in my stomach and my heavy – oh so heavy heart.
I became a master at following his gaze to see where he rested it; in the vain hope that it would offer a clue as to what he was thinking. His phone became my anathema and at the same time, the beholder of all knowledge. Who was he texting? Who was calling him?
At the end of every evening, I would hold my throbbing head; the unrestricted fear of losing him to another woman had wholly encompassed me with a potent clout and I was powerless in my acquiescence.
As a natural introvert, I was adept at self reflection and I was the first to admit that my paranoia more than likely stemmed from my own insecurities but…could his behaviour still be to blame?
"The pain of cheating"
We already know about the history of Caribbean men with regards to the encouraged promiscuity but even so, I knew my hopeless romantic heart could never accept infidelity even if there was a logical – or indeed historic – reason.
Mr.Caribbean was one of those guys who looked in car windows at his reflection constantly, checked out who was checking him out and spent hours at the gym. And it was when he was at the gym one evening that I realised he had forgotten his mobile phone at home. My heart beat erratically as I picked it up and went straight to his messages.
There they were. Text after text sent to someone called ‘K’.
”I’ll be there at 7” read one.
”See you on Friday sexy” read another. They went on and on. If I didn’t require the phone as evidence, it would have had a long overdue meeting with the concrete wall.
Palpable pain pervaded through me along with nausea, shame, fear, and perhaps most poignantly, relief. Relief that I wasn’t going insane and that my intuition had guided me to a truth which although my heart would struggle with to begin with, it would eventually deal with. (I say this but I still cried for like, an hour).
If you can find me a girl who, when with her boyfriend can act like she’s fine when she’s not, I’ll show you the best actress the world has seen – and I was no exception. So that evening when Mr.Caribbean asked me if I was okay, I said no. Of course, he looked shocked (which tells me that when people ask you if you’re okay, they rarely care for the answer).
A cataclysmic effusion is what followed complete with the teeming of torrential tears. Within nano seconds, every repressed paranoid thought was swiftly transpiring to the surface in an unconstrained and free flowing fashion before I thrust his mobile phone in his face. If I wasn’t crying so much, I’m sure I would have marvelled at the fact that my overtly free spirited emotions were an outright antithesis to my trapped mind.
Unfortunately, the surface was a man who positively reeked of guilt.
There was no hug, no (albeit faux) declaration of innocence. There wasn’t even a gesture to serve as a signal of disparity between myself and a stranger to him. Instead, my long term boyfriend pressed his fingers on to his eyebrows in an exasperated fashion, proceeded to rise and say that he was going to bed. This ‘K’ character was just a flirty friend and he had no time for paranoid girls.
Because, that’s what I was to him; just a paranoid girl.
Now I may not be able to name every US president or remember directions the first time I’m told them but I did know that if someone you loved was in pain, you would and damn well should run to them.
Did I really want to spend my life checking his phone, holding my throbbing head and feeling sick to my stomach every time he went out?
Yes, I love him but…I love me more. That night I packed a bag.
Because good instincts usually tell you what to do long before your head has figured it out.
