The Mimsy Saga
Mimsy is the brown-eyed man. I named him Mimsy after we were cuddling on the couch watching South Park. Yes I stole the character name, but we can move past that. I never claimed to be original with nicknames. He called me Laurie Glenn Coco, which has a backstory so ridiculous I don’t even have time to dwell on it. Just know that I loved it, and I beamed every time he called me that.
I met Mimsy during my graduate program. At first I thought he was smug, ugly, and frankly an asshole. He was also quite the metro-sexual, which was so not my type. I typically don’t like a guy that dresses better than me… which unfortunately is a very easy thing to do. His hair was always perfectly in place, his clothes were ironed, and he looked put together. Even though I didn’t find him attractive, I recognized that he had it together. Also, everyone else thought he was attractive, and damn did he love that. He was incredibly full of himself, as he knew that he was admired. But deep down. Deep down Mimsy knew that he had absolutely nothing together, and neither of us was prepared for what happened when we got closer.
The friendship progression was instantaneous. The first few weeks, we fought constantly. Why were we even near each other? We both served on a student board, therefore were forced to interact. I don’t remember how we started hanging out during our free time, but it happened quickly. We went from arguments about philosophical and political opinions, to going out to bars and grabbing a bite to eat with friends after our board meetings. Mimsy was slowly beginning to grow on me, but damn did I still think he was an ugly asshole. He introduced me to others in the program, and some of his personal friends. I quickly became enveloped into his circle of friends, and I weaseled my way into every nook and crevice of his life.
At this point I would like to give some background as to where I was at in my life. I was succeeding in school, I was medicated, and I was in intensive therapy. Was I still drinking? Absolutely. Was I still self-harming? Yes, but only once every few months when something horrible would happen. I still wasn’t over Butthead, and I was tired of being alone. It had been a year since I had any type of relationship with a guy, and I was incredibly lonely. Again, this background is not an excuse for anything I’ve done. However, it does provide insight to my mindset at the time, and what I was thinking to make the decisions that I did. You would have thought I learned my lesson with the married guy. LOL. No, I learned nothing. Mimsy was in a serious long-term relationship, but I never had any intention of crowding in on that… until one day I did.
It was like one day I woke up and was hit in the face with a brick. I thought about Mimsy and said to myself, “hey, he isn’t so bad looking.” “If you squint hard enough, he could even be charming. Maybe the other girls are right.” The more we spent time together, the more I was attracted to him. I had never experienced falling for someone because of their personality, as I am one shallow bitch. But it was a refreshing feeling, liking someone for who they were. Even if who he was, was less then desirable. Don’t get me wrong, he has some amazing qualities. Highly intelligent, experienced, understanding, caring, and most of all helpful. He was a shoulder to lean on, and someone that would lend an ear when you needed one. Lord knows I needed that, so farther and farther I fell. I ignored the more tragic qualities (like being an alcoholic, a liar, a cheater, and selfish). I tend to ignore all the bad associated with the person I’m falling for, as I don’t want it to ruin the fantasy. Eventually I shattered my own fantasy, but we have a long way to go before tragedy strikes.
Thanksgiving. Goddamn motherfucking Thanksgiving. Me and my constant need for attention really screwed things up for us on Thanksgiving. Or excuse me, Friendsgiving. We were at Mimsy’s house… with his girlfriend present… and surrounded by our closest friends and classmates. We threw a Friendsgiving to unite the cohort together, and since Mimsy was the only one with a real house? Naturally he hosted. The party was a wild success. Everyone ate, drank, and was definitely merry. We all enjoyed the company of others, and we drank heavily. Me and Mimsy always drank heavily, as we were the only ones that could rival each others drinking habits. Cut to the night ending, and the party dying down. Eventually everyone went home, but I stayed behind to help cleanup. I was the Events Coordinator, so naturally I had to stay the entire time. That was the excuse I gave myself.
At that point we were both drunk, and Mimsy’s girlfriend had passed out in their room. Keep in mind that I liked his girlfriend… somewhat. She wasn’t my favorite, but I held no ill-will towards this person. She never bothered me, and as far as I could tell she loved him. Maybe not for who or what he was, but there was some type of love/obsession there.
Mimsy and I were cleaning up in the kitchen while taking more shots and just talking. I was talking about how I still missed Butthead, that I was lonely and that I missed kissing. I’m pretty sure I asked for his advice on dating at that point, but what happened next left me shaking in my little boots. He turned around quickly to face me. He moved towards me, closing the gap between us. He had this mischievous grin on his face, and I was slow to figure out why. He leaned over, tilted my chin up while I was still talking, and kissed me. It was a hard kiss, definitely a drunken one. But it had intent, and it had a purpose. It also had meaning behind it. What that meaning was, I’ll probably never know. I’m sure it will continue to haunt me for the rest of my natural born life.
With just a slight moment of hesitation, I knew what I wanted to do. I bit his stupid mouth pretty damn hard. Was I enjoying the kiss? You’re damn right I was. But nobody interrupts me when I’m talking, so he needed to be taught a lesson. So I bit, and I bit with force. He stopped kissing me and laughed pretty hard. We kissed again, and I bit him once more. Just a baby bite this time, nothing major. We both laughed, I mentioned the tiny detail of his girlfriend sleeping in the other room, and we straightened everything up. I left for my house, and what had just happened replayed in my head until I passed out at home. My spiral downward was a slow and exhausting journey over the course of the next six months. Strap in kids, it gets ugly.
I refused to sleep with him. You might not believe me, but for several months I absolutely refused. I insisted on taking the moral high-ground and refused to cross that line. I can’t do that again, I told myself. I can’t be the side chick again, I reminded myself. Despite my previous transgressions, I apparently learned nothing from them. Even though I didn’t want to sleep with him, I still wanted physical contact. So what did I do? I made a cuddle arrangement. You know those professional cuddlers that literally get paid to snuggle with you? Yeah, that’s basically what I set up without any payment. Free cuddles for the win. While we didn’t do the nasty (not yet anyway), we did touch. And by touch I mean we did everything else but actual sex. For some reason I convinced myself that hey, can’t be a side chick if you aren’t sleeping together, so might as well do everything else. An idiotic notion, I know. But hey, I was 22 and lonely. Sue me.
We spent nearly everyday together. When we weren’t in class, we were out at a bar. When we weren’t at a bar, we were at my house. When we weren’t at my house, we were at his house. The misses would leave for vacation or be at work for long hours, so we could get away with it. The idea of her catching us almost made it exciting. That thought makes me want to throw up a bit, now that I reflect back. Naturally when you spend that much time with someone, they really grow on you. We obviously developed nicknames for each other, he would take me to parties with friends that weren’t his girlfriends, and we would talk all damn day. I was definitely falling for him at that point, but still stood my ground about the sex. In a way I did it to tease him, as that was exciting to me. I enjoyed taunting him with something he couldn’t have, and it made the attachment stronger. He never stopped trying, but I wouldn’t cave. Until later, that is, but we aren’t there yet.
I hate to say it, but I idolized Mimsy. He seemed like he had his shit together, but as I got to know him I knew that wasn’t true. He had previous legal trouble, and serious trouble at that. He worked for a good company, but in a dead-end position that would get him nowhere. He drank even more than I did, and had no intention of stopping. He thought it was okay to cheat on his girlfriend like it was a game, but none of that mattered to me. He became my favorite person, or FP for short. If you have any experience with BPD, you know what an FP is. While it is not always a sexual relationship, this one had that element to it. Mimsy could make or break my whole day with just a word. He had so much control over how I felt that it scared me. The more time we spent together, the more the FP part grew. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing him, and couldn’t imagine why I would in the first place. Everything was going great, despite the intense arguments we would get in. Typically we were both drunk when we would argue, but it was about serious topics. Consequences, drinking, relationships, you name it. We could fight about anything, and it felt good to let the anger out. He could take it, and I could dish it.
What was really messed up is one time I almost hit him. I restrained myself, but I was pretty damn close. We were at my house, and I was having a breakdown. We had been talking about consequences, and what exactly we were doing with each other. I had told him to tell his girlfriend, and he said would eventually. That was a bold-faced lie, but I believed it. I threatened to tell her if he wouldn’t, and we both started screaming. He’s much taller than me, so when he stands he towers over me. He stood up, spilled his beer, and yelled at me that I had no idea what I was talking about. That I had never experienced a consequence for my behavior in my entire life. I was so angry that I grabbed his shirt and slammed him against my front door. My right hand trembled and formed a fist without me even realizing it, and I raised it to hit him. Instead, I just looked into his eyes. His pretty brown eyes on that stupid face of his. I let him go, and sank to the floor. It was in that moment that he tried to comfort me, but he also wanted to leave. I didn’t blame him. He made sure I was alright, then he left for home. In that moment I knew I was in trouble. I had never tried to hurt someone before, and nearly brought me to it. It was then I realized how much power he had, and it scared the shit out of me.
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