Ah, cell phones. They make our lives so much better, don’t they? I don’t know how I ever survived without people being able to contact me 24-7, regardless of what else I was doing. Oh, you’re busy feeding horses? Why didn’t you pick up? Uh, the tractor is a dangerous place for a cell phone? Ugh, but I needed to talk to you THEN.
*dramatic sigh* But that isn’t even the worst part. You know what is? Texting? No. Not the act of texting. It’s pretty sweet actually. I’m talking about the existence of text messages on your significant other's phone. Over there, right now, is a log of what that person thinks, feels, and says and it is at your inquisitive fingertips. I will be totally honest here. When I am alone in a room with my BF’s phone my brain does some really strange things. This is what happens:
I feel like those old drug warning movies where the pot starts talking to the kid that is supposed to represent you.
Phone/Pot: “Hey man. Come here I wanna tell you something. You want some candy?”
Me: “No. I’m not supposed to talk to you. I’m being good.”
P: “Nah. It’s alright. Really. It’ll just take a minute. No one will even know. It’s great candy.”
Me: “No it’s wrong. I should not be talking to you. I need to go.”
P: “Wait. Come back. It won’t hurt anything. We’re just, talking. You know? There is no harm in talking, is there?”
Me: “Well, I guess not…”
P: “That’s right.” *DING – TEXT RECEIVED* “Hmm, I wonder who that’s from. You wanna open me up and look for me?”
Me: “No. That’s wrong I shouldn’t do that.”
P: “But you want to so badly. You can’t deny it. Just do it. Just this once. It won’t hurt anything. You won’t find anything. It’ll make you feel so good. You’ll know where he stands. That fear you have? That he’s talking to someone else? It’ll go away. You’ll never have to doubt again.”
Me: “I do really want to…”
P: “That’s right. That’s right. It will make all your insecurities go away. There is no shame in just being sure. Just try it. Just this once.”
*Dramatic end scene as the unsuspecting girl reaches for the phone*
Fast forward two months and I’m stealing his phone and sneaking in the bathroom to scroll through texts every couple of days. The phone is whispering to me in my own head. I’m a junkie. I can’t stop. I need another fix. My self control is reduced to that of a fourth grader. I’m going through texts and emails like a pregnant woman craving chocolate with box of Oreos nearby. It doesn’t stand a chance. If it is written down I am reading it.
There are of course three things that can happen here.
1. I can find nothing to make me mistrust him more. The sun will shine through the window. His phone will glow all golden-like. There will be unicorns that dance, and flower petals will fall from the ceiling. My BF is perfect, I will think. I will never mistrust him again. Then, the dancing unicorn will turn on me and stab my through the chest with the most piercing guilt and self loathing in the history of my life. I will have a guilty hate spiral on myself as I am all but bleeding to death from my guilt. How could I have doubted? I should have trusted him. He would never mistrust me like this. Do I even deserve him? Should I take myself out of his life so he can be with someone as awesome and trusting as him? Why is life so HARD?!?
2. I can find nothing to make me mistrust him more. Which leads to a guilty hate spiral on my part. How could I have doubted? But my ego will kick in. Well, obviously I thought something was fishy or his damn drug dealing phone wouldn’t have convinced me to look. Maybe he is just hiding it deeper. I should look again! When he isn’t expecting it! Then I’ll catch him!
3. I can find something to make me mistrust him more. This leads to an angry hate spiral directed at him. Granted, I’m fueled to be pissed. I already thought he was up to something, and now I KNOW. I will take anything that was ambiguous and turn it into deceit. I will then lay a cunning trap to convince him to tell me what dirty things he has done without him knowing that I know. Or so I think. More likely he will walk back in the room to find me huddled in a pathetic sobbing wreck on the floor. I will point to the phone and stammer out my accusation. He will rebuke it with an invasion of privacy clause. To hell with illegal search and seizure, I will say. It doesn’t matter. I found it. We will fight. My own guilt at having discovered the material illegally will give him a leg up where he didn’t have it before. We will wind up in court. He will take my cat, which makes no sense because he has no claim to my cat other than I invaded privacy so I shouldn’t be allowed to have a cat, because they like privacy. I will stare at the judge and ask, “But why? He freaking cheated! How am I wrong for finding it out? How am I being punished for his deceit?” It won’t matter. There is no answer. This is the court of my heart, and the judge is anything but fair. I will be punished either way. I will wind up sobbing on the court room floor while he walks away with a girl that is most likely prettier, younger, more interesting, less psychotic, and by all means worthier than myself. Oh, and my cat will freaking love her.
And that is what happens in my head EVERY TIME I’m left alone with a boyfriend’s cell phone.
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