WHEN I was younger, my grandma told me a story about how she and my grandpa met. “I was a freshman in high school. We both walked to school every day on opposite sides of the street. One day he crossed the street and started walking with me.” 

They’ve been together ever since. Since then, I dreamed of having that kind of relationship, though my grandparents argue more than most, and my dad said they might have been happier if they separated. But I always admired what they had.

I fell in love with the most beautiful girl I ever laid eyes on, and we dated two years. Five months before we broke up, I stupidly sent and received inappropriate texts from a couple of girls. Three months before we broke up, while at work with my best friend, I told him I was going to stop.

I had fully intended to never go behind her back again. Coincidentally, that same day I was hanging out with my girlfriend and got a text from one of the girls. I left the room as soon as I saw her name on the screen. To make a long story short, all the girls told my girlfriend about my texting that same night.

She was crushed; and I never felt lower in my entire life. I told her she had no reason to forgive me, but she gave me a second chance, anyway. Then, after one of the most amazing days I ever had with her, I went to a friend’s house to watch the fights and she went with a friend to babysit.

Little did I know her friend was having a party. When I found out and went over there, my girlfriend was drunk; and she said she was done with me. A few days later, she was taking intimate pictures with a guy I always hated: A player.

I was devastated, but couldn’t get over her. One night I insisted she tell me something to make me stop wanting to wait for her. She told me how she and this guy had had sex.

They stayed together six months before they broke up. Today, 10 months after losing the love of my life to a horrible person, I am with her again, but nothing is the same. How do I get over such a demoralizing reality?

Tom

Tom,
A saying which is hardly heard anymore is, “He was hoisted by his own petard.”

A petard was a small bomb full of gunpowder used to blow up walls. The man who handled the bomb was called a petardier. If the bomb went off prematurely, the petardier was said to have been hoisted (blown up or blown apart) by his own petard.

You were injured by your girlfriend in the same way you injured her.

It doesn’t matter when you intended to stop texting or sexting other girls; leaving the room to view a text was proof you knew you were doing something wrong. Good intentions don’t matter much now.

You were handling petards, and one of them blew up. That’s all. Everything which has happened since came from that one event. She was entitled to think, “I’m an attractive woman. Why did my boyfriend do this to me?”

So, your girlfriend paid you back by telling you she had sex with a man you detest. Paying you back allowed her to restore her self-esteem.

From your actions, your ex-girlfriend was led to think you are like Anthony Weiner, the congressman who lost his position in congress, and a chance to be mayor of New York City, because he would not stop sexting other women.

This relationship has been blown to smithereens; it will never be the same again. Don’t linger among the bomb fragments.

When you find a woman you actually love, you won’t be texting or sexting other women.