Part 2: This Pie Tastes Like Shit.

The first person I “dated,” and I use that term very lightly, lived on Planet 47 almost his entire life.


Long story short, I met this really good looking guy, who seemed super cool. Emphasis on the word “seemed.”

Our first date was really fun. We got along great and I found his life story to be very interesting. Little did I know that the reason I found it interesting is that it was entirely made up.

I do love a good story! HAHAHAHA.

There was also this thing about him that I couldn’t quite figure out.

Look – I’ve got a one line pitch when people ask me about myself. I’m a writer, I’m from Alabama, and I drink too much wine. It’s short, simple, and to the point. This guy on the other hand was elaborate in his stories and descriptions of life events. He would turn a small coffee shop interaction into an epic novel filled with anger, self-loathing, and plot twists out the ying yang.

I ignored it because I thought, “Oh he’s extremely extroverted. It makes sense that he kind of likes to talk a ton. I’ll just zone out until I hear my name at some point.”

Pretty soon, I was getting requests to be his girlfriend, which didn’t make sense to me. I didn’t want it and there was still that THING. Something was majorly off, I just couldn’t tell what.

A strong indicator should’ve been our first kiss. The first time I kissed him, I honest to God thought in my head, “Whoaaaaaa. This is NOT good. Something is seriously up. I felt like I just kissed a girl and did not like it.” But I ignored that feeling and remembered all of my training in grad school.

I was going to need it to figure this mystery out.

Gender is fluid. Judith Butler. This is normal. Or it’s not the “norm,” but you know what I mean. It should be normal.

My birthday was made a pretty big deal that I wasn’t necessarily into. I avoided the plans that he made for us on Friday night and opted to stay at home. Saturday, he kindly invited me and my friends out on a Duffy to day drink. We all had a nice time and my friends all seemed to like him.


At this point, it was haunting me.

Was it that he was short and I’m not into short guys? Was it his haircut? Was it the fact that he wasn’t really into girls at all and he preferred the touch of a man, but he was in denial and completely adamant that he wasn’t gay when he honestly was?

Index clues.

That night, I needed some space, so I ditched him to go have a GNO. As I was walking home, I got bombarded by calls and texts from him.

His chill was clearly inexistent.

He wanted to come over, so I told him he could drop by before I went to sleep. I went home pretty early, so I didn’t mind.

Almost as soon as he walked in the door, he began to cry. Large tears fell from his face.

“I love you,” he said.



“Excuse me?” I questioned inside my head, but my mouth didn’t move.


I’m pretty sure that my face drained white. Emotions aren’t my strong suit and I did NOT feel the same way. Not even close. Not even a centimeter of my body felt love for this person.

“Oh, cool,” I probably said back with pure horror written on my face. “I think I’m gonna pass on this one.”

He continued to cry and profess that I was his dream girl, etc., etc. I just couldn’t with that whole situation. I told him that someone needed to come pick him up because he was too drunk to properly function.

Jesus seriously threw the wheel back into my hands, like, “Girl, you need to figure this out, yourself. I am not responsible for this sh*t.”


He became adamant that he couldn’t leave and go back home. I was so over it and I just said, “F it, I’m going to sleep.”

Pretty rough night.

It gets worse.

The next night, he decided to top it off with a big bang. Not that kind either. He came back to my house sobbing for me to let him in. I’m not a complete heartless bitch, so I did. He kept telling me that he loved me over and over again and that some really bad things had happened to him. I was over this drama. I hate it, can’t do it, don’t want to do it.

Yet again, I asked him to call someone to get him. Yet again, he failed to have anyone pick up the phone. Finally, someone picked up. He put them on speaker phone.

HAYYYYYY!” the voice yelled in the exact tone you’d imagine it would.

My eyes jutted towards his and I mouthed, “Who is that!?”

He ignored my question and continued to ask the person to get him. Then two made plans to go somewhere.

After he hung up, I was obviously curious about what in the hell was going on. Who was this person? It sounded a bit sketch, so I asked him where they were going. Not that I actually cared. The plot twist was just immensely interesting. After asking him the same question for an hour, he openly admitted that this was someone from his “dark” past.

Finally broken down, he admitted that he identified as straight, but due to a warped childhood, was forced to rely on gay men to help him through tough times. Made sense. Sort of.

The next hour, he told me the most fabricated story that I’ve ever heard to date. It didn’t even seem real, but it was so intense and he was crying so hard that I felt like it had to be true. He basically told me that he’d been raped by his father, that his father raped his sisters, that he wasn’t confused by his sexuality at all, but was known as being bisexual in town, in which he wasn’t, and that his sister’s birth mother was the yellow Power Ranger.

The yellow Power Ranger? Wasn’t she Asian? She is Asian. I googled her. His sister isn’t.

The next week, I tried to be there for him emotionally. I was terrible at it. The week after that, I was over it. He got kicked out of his house, which he lied about, his car broke down, which I’m sure he probably lied about too, and he lost all of his money, which was probably a plot for him to give him money for drugs or something.

It was so unstable and I realized that my pity was the only feeling that I had to offer him. I started to slowly pack up my bags and got back on the space ship that was leaving Planet 47.

Time to go back to Earth…

I sent him a long message saying that I just couldn’t offer him anything. You know, the typical “I’m just not that into you,” subtext, but full frontal kick to the balls.

Little by little, by which I mean immediately, I cut all communication, thinking that this would work.

It was a nice try, but a restraining order was going to be needed for this one.

That Friday, he still hadn’t really received the ball that I was trying to pitch to him all week. As I was leaving work, he sent me the, “So, what are we?” message. Basically, asking me to be exclusive.

I broke it down and told him, no. He freaked out and started threatening me, saying that he was going to San Francisco for two weeks and that I needed to go with him. Ummmm… no. I have work… and a life… and you’re crazy.

Hardest of passes.

I’m basically slammed dunked a ball over his head and said, “I’m going out with my friends tonight, leave me be.” It only continued. As I was getting ready, I noticed my phone screen constantly lighting up. By the end of it, I had close to 20 messages from him, none of which made any sense.

He wanted me to beg him to stay, but I honestly gave no shits. I wanted to go out and meet other people and have him leave me alone. He sent me a text saying that he “lied” about going to San Fran and he was actually going to Sonoma to go save his sister from being abused by a man. This is where the eye roll came in. I knew this all had been a hoax and a giant lie.

The next day, I checked Snapchat, only to see that I had been right all along… except. Wait, what was that? He was with his ex… boyfriend!?! In San Francisco?!

That was the missing piece. The whole time. He wasn’t straight. He was someone fighting against his sexuality. He was with the person that he’d been with for quite some time. A person that he described as “a friend” and then later threw under the bus and said that he had taken advantage of him.


Further analysis led to my conclusion that this person lied about their entire life, because that’s what seemed to make more sense in terms of what I’d be accepting of. But it wasn’t just lies. It was malicious lies. Lies that would hurt people tremendously.

I’m cisgender, so maybe I don’t know what it is like to feel judged and feel the need to develop a story as to why I am the way that I am. But the terms and conditions of this story was a disservice to REAL people of different sexual orientations. There’s plenty of people out there who are actually brave and have to overcome enormous obstacles in regards to their sexuality. This person was not one of them. He was a rich kid who got hooked on drugs at an early age and couldn’t accept himself.

It angered me that he brought allegations of child abuse and domestic violence into the mix. Lying about this kind of stuff was not the way to get someone to like you for who you are.

After talking to his ex, she told me that he had sent a text to her sister that Friday when he left to go to San Fran complaining that he was gay, addicted to drugs, and a loser.


He could openly admit that he was gay to other people, but wanted to have me hooked for some reason, like I was a last stich effort to prove his masculinity.

Guess what? You can still be a gay man and be masculine as hell.

He proceeded to stalk me for about a week, sending me multitudes of messages, bombarding my friends with psychotic BS, and then found me on LinkedIn and proceeded to say weird things like he loved me sooooo much. Every message had to do with him and his feelings and how everyone needed to listen to him.

He wanted a platform to perform this giant opera that he had created.

I wanted to throw rotten tomatoes at him and boo him off the stage.

God. Only me. Only this shit happens to me.

I finally wrote him back and encouraged him to seek the help that he needs. I still feel sorry for him because I know he is ultimately struggling internally and searching for answers that I can’t help him find.

But he’s also a little b*tch.

I told him that he needed to be fair to the people around him and himself. For the past few years, he’s had several men in his life, but he will push them away when he feels like they get too close. I told him that he needs to embrace who he is. Running away from his sexuality with a woman isn’t going to clear things up for him. It’ll be a long, confusing road, if he tries to pursue that.

All in all, I hope he gets the help that he needs to figure this out. But I don’t feel like it was right to lie about such horrible things. There shouldn’t be shame associated with being gay or bisexual. You shouldn’t have to make up an enormous lie about it. A lie that involved trashing other gay men, accusing your parents of rape, and bringing in allegations of other types of abuse.


It feels good to be off Planet 47 these days. The past month has been so chill and my “on-edge” feeling has completely subsided.

Like the old saying goes: All’s well, that ends well and I still sleep with a knife under my bed.

You know, just in case.


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