Why Open Relationships Dont Work

There is no worse feeling on the market than laying in your bed alone knowing your girlfriend is sleeping at another guy’s house. Believe me, open relationships aren’t for everybody. Like many people within their early 20s, I fell into my open relationship by using a girlfriend who cheated on me and wanted our want to last.
I was twenty years old, naive totally, and driven by the thought of appearing adult; all I had was my little apartment in the North End of Boston and a controlling girlfriend who gave me a significant case of Stockholm Syndrome. We’d been together because the end of senior high school and her approach to dictating my life was the only path I knew how exactly to do things. During winter break, where she was home, she cheated on me and tearfully admitted it per month later. I was brokenhearted, but as determined as she was to help keep the relationship going.
At that time, I thought she was the main one and would visit nothing to be sure we lasted. She suggested opening ourselves around other folks – with several ground rules, needless to say: no falling in love, and a code word that could alert the other they were busy… “busy” meaning “sleeping with another person.”
The first couple of months actually went well, because she and I had exactly the same level of luck – or lack thereof – which let us bond and consider the option of ending the open relationship before anyone got hurt.
Then, all of a sudden, there was a guy. Let’s call him James. Almost instantly, she became infatuated, breaking our no falling in love” rule. I knew something was happening when I started receiving that code word in texts: elsewhere.” My stomach churned and filled with anxiety as I began to to get insight into their relationship. He was a tattoo artist, loved punk music, was leaps and bounds cooler than me. I hated him.
My own dive into dating others didn’t particularly smoothly. For a girl who seemed so open-minded, adventurous, and, y’know, so deeply into someone else, she got pretty damn upset when I casually mentioned that I had slept with another woman. She yelled and cried and swore, most likely feeling a fraction of what I had felt every single damn time she felt the necessity to divulge probably the most intimate information on their sex life if you ask me.
I understand what you’re thinking, I have to have split up with her the entire minute she gave me hell for sleeping with another girl. Right? Wrong. Another year I stuck it out for, because I was crazy in love and unmedicated totally. Year with her taught me a whole lot about myself – but all in retrospect That. Year During our final, I was a jealous, angry wreck, the sort or sort of guy who snooped through emails and texts. She became worse aswell, tightening her grip around me and ruining any potential relationships I started focusing on. There is no final straw that broke the camel’s back, but instead an anticlimactic fizzle that I cast upon her as my love on her behalf dissipated. I stopped returning her calls, stopped texting her, but most stopped caring about her other sexual ventures importantly.

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