Sunday, 17 March 2019


So as with my post titled ‘The Dumping Of Ex Number One’ this post again relates to THIS LINK titled ‘The Dumper’s Perspective – When the Dumpee Does Not Deal Well With The Dumping’ where I explain why when being on the receiving end of a dumping you must keep your crazy in check.  This is just a second of my shared experiences of dumping an Ex, and it’s a shocker.  It’s an example as to why you, as the dumpee, must keep your shit together because if you don’t it can lead ‘just like that’ into spiralling! 

If I can’t hammer home to you the importance of dignity and how you must keep yourself in check during a dumping with this example then I kind of give up...because I don’t know WHAT will make you understand…and I’m reliving the trauma of this for YOU now…and I don’t want it all to be in vain…


This relationship is in complete contrast to that of ex 1.  It developed slowly, naturally and respectfully from a really, really good friendship and during the friendship part he was VERY AWARE (as was the whole world I think) that I did have feelings for somebody else (that’s another fucked up story).  However, the start of the ‘relationship’ journey was great and we did love each other.  But two years into the actual ‘relationship’ his moods and emotions, his anger and neediness were getting out of control and the more I gave him of me (my time, my energy, my support, my ‘self’) the more he wanted.  He was moody and argumentative with me and his friends and family too; but I got the worst of it along with his mother.  And I’ll tell you this; if I spoke to my mother the way he spoke to his I would be cutting my own tongue out my head, it was SHOCKING.  I think the underlying problem was that he believed that I still had feelings for this other person who we would regularly see out.  If I’m honest he was maybe, possibly a bit right; this other person was my first love – but whilst I was with ex 2 I never actually physically cheated in any way, shape or form.


I was finding it hard to deal with his moods and the incessant arguing and he was pushing me further and further away.  I think I just snapped one day…Yes, I did…that’s right I’d had enough.  I’d kindly picked him up from the bus station.  The bus was early so apparently I should have anticipated this and arrived before time but now I was late **on time** and he’d had to stand in the cold for thirty seconds (the irony of moaning about standing in the cold for a mere 30 seconds won’t be lost on you by the time I get to the end of what happened).  So that was the catalyst.  He shouted, literally screamed throughout the whole 20 minute journey back to his and so loud that his throat was raw and my ears were ringing and I was quite upset – he was just getting over tonsillitis (his tonsils were back to ‘fully functioning’ would be my medical assessment) - I’d given him a sore throat and myself a headache…MY FAULT, ALL MINE…fast forward half an hour…

…he got out the shower and wrapped a towel round his waist; I said something innocuous and he ran towards me shouting ‘JUST FUUUUUUCCCKKKKKK OOOOOFFFFFF!!!’.  I remember thinking ‘shit, this is it, he’s going to put me in hospital’.  He removed himself out of my face and turned his back to me.  I didn’t say anything.  I picked up my coat and bag and I proceeded to do just that – he was going to have his way on this…I was going to ‘fuck off further and quicker than I’d ever fucked off in my whole entire life’ and my intention in that moment was to be gone for good.  So before he realised what I was doing I’m out of his room, down the hall and halfway down the stairs….

…I hear ‘Baayyyyb?  Baaaaayb?  Baaaaaabe!’  He’s confused according to his questioning shouty tone – he’s confused that I’m not still stood behind him putting up with THAT SHIT which doesn’t say much about me and what I was indicating to him that I was willing to tolerate.  And he’s chasing behind me now, ‘Babe, come back, bayyyyyyyb?  Where you going?  Please come back, I love you, where are you going….I was joking’.  Ha-di-fucking-ha – because I’m not laughing at or being entertained any longer by his **not** funny behaviour!  So now he’s chasing me down the stairs, I’ve run past his mother who I briefly locked eyes with through the lounge doorway and because she knew the nature of the beast, she was looking all like ‘oh shit…there goes my peaceful night in front of the television, because this is kickkkking offff’.  I opened the front door, through it I went and I’ve broken into a jog, up the drive to my car and I turn towards the house and he’s in the doorway and...

...he’s stepped out of the door, barefoot onto the drive, he’s burst into sobs, not tears, sobs, the towel around his waist started to unravel and it was slowly slipping down – down his thighs, calves, ankles and pooled on the floor at his shoeless feet...

So this is the current situation…It’s 7.00pm on a cold winter’s evening and he’s standing on his mother’s drive, with his mother watching on from the window no less. The security lights are triggered, we’re in a close knit neighbourhood cul-de-sac, folks are arriving home from work and he’s totally stark bollock naked facing south down the street, whaling like a banshee at full lung capacity, just y’know to attract even more attention to what has become the ‘current situation’.  ‘Please don’t gooooooo, please don’t leave me, please come baaaaack, I’ll chaaaaaaange, I’ll do whatever you want…’.  I’m shocked.  I’m statuesque.  I’m just glued to the spot not knowing what to do, because even for him this is nuts behaviour and he’d been doing some hella nutty behavioural type things in the lead up to THIS. 

He’s now on his knees… ‘oh my god’, I thought, ‘…good(?!), he’s retrieving his towel, he hit rock bottom just then and he’s on his way back up because he’s going to at least cover his modesty’…but no...fuck the towel…he’s not interested in the towel, he’s on the tarmac, on all fours CRAWLING towards me just to really highlight how very much he does not want me to go and he’s still verbalising that too ‘…coooommmeee baaackkk, purrrrleassse’.  By crawling up his mother’s drive, with everything dangling and totally on show, he thinks that I’m going to what?  Find this all very attractive behaviour, realise the error of my ways and take him back right there and right then; and have me realising my mistake right there and right then is apparently more important than him putting his dick away and getting back inside before he freezes to death? 

His mom has picked her chin up off the floor (so she’s doing better than me) and has stepped into action.  She knows what to do.  She’s out on the drive now too, she’s picked up the towel and her naked sobbing twenty-four year old son and is literally dragging him back down the drive porch-bound and I’M apologising TO HER (from a distance, cause I’m committed to getting the hell out of there) and repeating ‘I’m sorry Mrs x, I’m sorry Mrs x; I just can’t take any more of THIS’.  I got in my car, in the rear view mirror I saw him break free of his mother’s grip…shit, the slippery little bugger…I hit the accelerator and he’s chasing me up the street, full pelt.  And the distance between him/me and the busy main road is only short and as I’ve reached the junction, he’s gaining ground and I’m just screaming ‘let me pull out, please let me pull out’ because otherwise I was going to be joined by a naked ex.  As he puts his hand on the roof of my car, luck (in the form of a ‘gap’ in the traffic) presented itself and I took it – with a nifty little, totally in control wheel spin to my credit.  In my mirror I could see him just standing there, in the dust until he faded from view.   


BUT, an hour later, fuck me, he turned up on my drive in his mother’s car and he camped there for much of the night and into the early morning...crying.  And he either repeated this (or otherwise if he didn’t actually turn up he would threaten to do so over the phone) every Friday and Saturday night for a good six months.  And when he did turn up my mom would send me out to get rid of him and when I started to refuse, she would have to go and do my dirty work for me.  Getting rid of him would entail tolerating even more begging and sobbing and anger and EMOTION.  After that everything got ‘even more crazy?’  But I’ll leave it there in this instance because he got obsessive and I’m assuming as the dumpee of the moment, you haven’t taken things to next stage stalker level (Right?)…and if you think you should or (god forbid, if you have), DO NOT, because it’s a terrible idea…


Although the relationship was going downhill I was still in it.  I hadn’t planned to dump him that night so as I was trotting down the stairs a bit ‘wow, that escalated and now I’m off, that wasn’t quite what I had planned for tonight, but ok…’, my feelings were initially sadness and regret but also anger, which turned into being horrified, turned off, appalled, embarrassed and then ‘please god tell me how I have found myself in this situation – did I punch puppies in a previous life or something?  I promise I’ll be good from now on’ in the space of less than two minutes.  Driving home I was shaking and sad but mainly I was frightened because from his reaction I feared this wouldn’t be the last I’d hear from him.  I felt that the events of the night entitled me never to have to deal with a second more of him ever, because I felt as though his reaction to me dumping him was just not warranted – sorry, but that’s how I felt and I’m being honest.  And from that moment forward, I knew I had to be very clear with him.  I knew that I could give him no indication that I still had any feelings for him because then his pursuit to ‘win’ me back would never stop.   


Sad…then Pity…then Annoyance…then Irritation…then Fear…then Dread…then Complete Relief when he went away until he re-emerged again three years later, then Fear… then Dread…then Complete Relief when he went away or should I say ‘was taken away’.


I can’t un-see the lack of dignity on display that winter evening, so no, he DID NOT.  BUT the thing is, because we’d had a great friendship and for the most part a pretty good two years which was very much in decline when I made the decision to pick my bag up and go, there was part of me that thought whilst exiting his house, ‘yes, my intention right now is to fuck off for good…BUT…I do still love and care for you and I probably will be back – let things simmer down – I suppose I could give us another chance’; that is until the horror unfolded on his drive.  Right there and right then when he stepped over the threshold of his front door step barefooted it onto the tarmac with his soaking wet hair, even before the towel disassociated from him and the shit hit the fan, we were DONE.  OVER.  FINISHED.  If he couldn’t respect himself then I couldn’t respect him either.


I hear the odd story of him from time to time; we have a couple of mutual friends so I know that he’s not far away.  SO, with this in mind we have similar taste in music and I will even to this day, many years later, actively avoid going to see bands that I like in the local town or city in case he’s there.  I deprive myself of doing things I like doing just so that I don’t bump into him.  We’ve both moved on…I know…I believe he’s got a family now.  But such was the horrific nature of this dumping and the aftermath that I don’t want to risk bumping into him again for fear (irrational as it may or may not be) it would cause any unstable behaviour to surface.  He’s probably well over me by now (at least I HOPE he is!!!)…but I’m not willing to take that risk, so I exercise caution and keep out of his way.   

Emotionally spiralling out of control is NOT GOOD in a dumper/dumpee situation – do you see now?!

If you want to read about all about what happened during ‘The Dumping of Ex Number 1’, the link is HERE…and it’s very….emotional; in a horrific way!

Let me know about your dumping horror stories in the comments below…


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