What I Learned from Betrayal & Boundaries

I didn’t see it coming. The knot in my stomach is so tight it feels like my ribs might snap. How the fuck did I find myself standing in this spot?

Let me give you a little backstory here for context.

I met CT well over a year ago when AC and I were still together. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure how we met—if I remember correctly, it was on Snapchat, which is wild because I didn’t make a habit of chatting with people I didn’t know there. But there was something about him.

It started with a little flirty banter but quickly progressed into chatting about other things. He felt familiar. Comfortable. And his voice—there was something about his voice that made me melt inside. We quickly hit that happy energy together, where the ding from their message almost makes you high.

What we both thought would never be more than some playful conversation for a few days turned into an emotional affair that spanned well over a year. All this time later, and my heart still skipped a beat when I heard the ding.

Our relationship evolved as time went on, and even though we had never met in person, not once—not ever—did I question either his feelings for me or where he stood politically. He was from a blue state, and based on everything we had ever discussed, I fully assumed we were aligned. But we all know what happens when you assume something.

Someone gets made the ass.

Fast forward to last week.

In a string of typical workday banter, we were going back and forth chatting about all the things—with a side of White House ranting from me.

The last message I sent at 3pm on Thursday said,

“I am an ally to every human except for those who voted for the orange Cheeto.”

Silence.

By lunchtime on Friday, I was sweating bullets. It was the first time I actually questioned if we were on the same side, because we had never openly discussed it.

I have been grounded to my core in the fact that I do not have time, patience, nor anything nice at all to say to anyone who has fallen victim to the stream of hate and lies coming from the Cheeto’s mouth.

I sent over a voice note:

"I’m sure I’m in my own head here, but like, the last words I said were about the orange Cheeto in the White House, and then you went dark on me. Please tell me we are on the same side."

I did my best to push the intrusive thoughts back underwater and keep doing what I needed to for the day. Somewhere around 3:00, he finally replied, laughing hysterically at me and telling me to get the fuck out of my own head. As soon as I heard his voice, I relaxed, laughing along and smiling as I listened.

"Tab, you could idolize the president of North Korea, I don’t give a fuck. I like you for you."

If only he had stopped talking at that point. If only the next message never came, because there I was still smiling when the second voice memo began playing…

"Buuuut, in case it matters, we are not on the same side."

“I keep telling myself I’ve learned, that I can see people clearly now. So why do I feel so goddamn blindsided?”

I almost dropped the phone.

FUUUUUCKKKKKKK.

He continued… blah, blah, blah… but I don’t care what side you are on (something that only MAGA says) followed by more blah blah blah. I wasn’t listening anymore.

It took me back to that time I was strolling down a sandy pier in Florida and casually kicked a pile of sand—only it wasn’t sand. It was fire ants. I couldn’t take back the kick, and before I even understood what had happened, the sting set in. A slow burn at first, then a relentless, searing pain that brought me to my knees. The bites came all at once, small but brutal, and I had no idea where to put the pain.

HOW the fuck did I not vet this yet?!

The last thing I heard in that message was him saying that he truly hopes I can still talk to him.

Can I? Will I?

FUCK HIM for putting me in this situation. My girlfriend Amy was on the other end of the phone asking if I was really going to cut him off.

I shuddered and didn’t want to think about it. “I don't know” was all I could mutter back to her.

The thought of cutting him off and never talking to him again made my stomach turn inside out and tears well up in my eyes. But, respectively, the idea of continuing this relationship as is—knowing that he voted to take away the rights of millions of Americans, myself included—felt just as painful.

This isn’t a matter of agreeing to disagree. This is about who he chose to stand beside when it mattered most.

I make no apology for cutting any and all MAGA out of my life. Nor am I quiet about the way I think that those who voted for the Cheeto are either hateful racists or too fucking stupid to possess any critical thinking skills.

So which side does this 40-something white male from a blue state fall into? Is he a racist hiding in plain sight, or someone who lacks the ability to think for himself?

FUCK.

This isn’t the first time I’ve gone through this surprise with someone. But it’s the first time I have struggled to cut someone out.

A few years back, my one-time best friend and maid of honor showed her red MAGA card and that was it. I cried hard, said a silent prayer, told her I loved her, and moved on with my life.

So why does this feel like I am standing on hot coals with my back against the wall?

Though I never said it out loud, I fell hard, to the point that I would be tempted to say I love him.

I know our lives will never intersect on an in-person basis. I know we will never be together, but he makes me feel things. Things that other people struggle to make me feel.

I shoved all of it into a box and went about my day as if everything was fine, while inside, I was crumbling.

Enter Dreamy.

The timing of all of this couldn’t have been more ironic, really. I had already committed to the fact that I was going to tell Dreamy about CT. About the emotional entanglement I had created with him.

But instead of that being the conversation, the conversation took a slightly different turn when, during our nightly catch-up, I asked Dreamy:

"Have you ever found out someone was MAGA, and it just totally caught you off guard? You never saw it coming… and you can’t believe it because it doesn’t fit. None of the pieces fit."

Without missing a beat, he shot back.

"Nope."

One word. Cold. Immediate. A wall slamming shut in front of me.

I let out a frustrated breath, trying to explain, filling in the gaps of how close CT and I had gotten and the fact that I was vested in him—emotionally, mentally—and now, well… now I don’t know.

I stumbled over my words, searching for the right thing to say. Some kind of justification, some reason why this was different.

Dreamy let me ramble for a minute before cutting through it all.

"GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE, TAB."

I froze.

"You are nothing more than a playtoy. He’s been telling you what you want to hear this whole time—that’s why the pieces don’t fit. You don’t know the guy."

Ouch. His words landed like a gut punch.

"That’s not—” I started, but he wasn’t done.

"Babes, this guy wants the one thing every guy wants. You naked. Nothing more, nothing less."

I bristled. “There is a ten-hour car ride between our homes. We have never met, nor is there an intention of meeting in person—so that can’t be it. He will never have me.”

I waited for my words to land, but I could already feel the weight of what was coming next.

Dreamy’s response was sharp, pointed.

"And you’ve never sent him a photo?"

Silence.

"Babes, I don’t want to be the one to tell you this, but you don’t mean anything to him. You are a toy. A fun distraction. Someone to boost his ego and get him off as he goes about his merry little life. You know that, right?"

My chest tightened. I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him he was wrong.

"The man is going to mirror anything you need in order to keep you around. He’s good at playing the game."

I stared at my phone, my mind racing. Was that all this was? A carefully constructed illusion? A man who had said all the right things—not because they were real, but because they were easy?

The reality hit like a wave crashing over me.

I get what Dreamy was saying. I do.

But none of this feels right.

Tears were building, and inside, it felt like bombs had been dropped and war had been declared.

Was the connection real? Was any of it? Or had I just fallen—again—for the kind of man who knew exactly what to say, exactly what to be, to keep me hooked?

I keep telling myself I’ve learned. That I can see people clearly now.

So why do I feel so goddamn blindsided?

I shut off the light and rolled over.

But as I stare at the ceiling, replaying every conversation, every moment, every piece that felt real, the questions won’t let me go.

Is Dreamy right? Am I nothing more than a toy?

Or was the connection real?

What do I do next?

I have no idea.