I Cheated On My Boyfriend With Hanson

NEXT month will mark the two-year anniversary of the time I was forced to choose between the love of my life and my boyfriend.

The love of my life was Hanson. And my boyfriend…well, he was a Turd. Like most arseholes he didn’t really start out like one. My ex wasn’t just an arsehole. He was also insane.

There’s a fine line between pure insanity and absolute creative genius and he’d mastered the art of perfectly teetering on the edge of both. The day, sometimes even the hour, would determine which way the pendulum of sanity would swing. This didn’t actually bother me all that much because we clicked, and whatever planet loco he hailed from, I seemed to be fluent in his native tongue. He was a witty wordsmith whose musical and lyrical talents impressed the pants off me and that’s pretty much where they stayed for the duration of the relationship.

I’ve learnt I’m capable of tolerating a lot of bad shit for good sex.

He was the apple of my eye but I am literally allergic to apples. 

My ‘love’ for Hanson is more like a deep-seeded nostalgic adoration and fondness that I never quite grew out of. I don’t know why I never did?  I suppose it never occurred to me to try. I said I’d love Hanson forever…and so I did. It’s just a lame and dorky quirk I suppose.

But to my ex-boyfriend, it was offensive and it infuriated him. As far as he was concerned, it was as simple as this:

My love for Hanson offended him as a musician and my lingering childhood attraction to Taylor Hanson offended him as a boyfriend.

I thought he’d get over his disdain for my not-even-that big-a-deal long-stemming fandom of Hanson. But he didn’t. His resentment just got increasingly worse.

I remember when it was announced Hanson were touring Australia for the first time in seven years.

You know that feeling when you’re waiting for your food in a restaurant and you’re starving, and there’s that glorious moment when the waiter finally starts heading towards your table? Yeah. It was kind of like that.

Now imagine waiting seven years for your food and the moment finally arrives when your waiter is heading to your table.

And then out of nowhere some idiot comes and steals the dish from right under your nose. But that idiot is your boyfriend.

I’ve never had an affair nor have I cheated, but my calculated and secretive planning of my Hanson tour behind my ex-boyfriend’s back makes me think I’d be pretty damn good at it. Come to think of it, I should probably cheat more often.

Hanson played around eight shows in Australia and I bought tickets to five. He only knew about one.

For all intensive purposes, I was partaking in a full-scale affair with Hanson. I had the typical two competing desires – one to be with the one I loved, and the other to be free to explore another kind of love.

Both pure. Both real. But the two could not co-exist. It made me feel sick with guilt. But I also found it kind of funny. It was like Sophie’s choice and it was as bizarre and fucked up as it sounds.

Side Note: even when your partner is being a psychopathic dumb arse, it still feels terrible lying to them.

But for all of his idiocy, he was hyper-vigilant and switched on to my every movement. Even a perceived slight would trigger interrogations and scrupulous investigations.

Sometimes, if I’d be humming a song, he’d ask, “What song is that?” and if it turned out to be a Hanson song, he would flip it and a 3-4 hour interrogation and verbal berating would ensue. He’d often get into my car and check what CD was in the player. If it turned out to be Hanson, he would get out. To be honest, this behavior wasn’t limited to Hanson-related ‘misdemenours’. It extended to many facets of my life – friendships, workmates, my past, my clothes, my taste in film & television etc. He was relentless in his control of my life, but the main source of tension always came back to the Hanson issue.

Lol.

I learned pretty quickly to hide all evidence of Hanson. Kind of like the old days when people used to keep pornos under their beds, I had a secret Hanson drawer.

The fight about whether or not I would go to the Hanson concert lasted seven months.

Essentially, I was given this ultimatum – if I chose to go to the Hanson concert I was choosing to end our relationship. Further to this, if I went to the concert, that entitled him to have sex with somebody else, because essentially that’s what I was doing ‘in my head.’

Naturally, the ultimatum went down about as well as a warm milky beverage on a Tequila hangover.

I cried. I screamed. I slammed doors. I argued. I suggested therapy. I wrote him emails. I tried to get him to talk to other people. I begged and bargained. I probably even hit him.

Basically I did everything except what I should have done, which was walk the fuck away. But I couldn’t.

Love hadn’t blinded me it had lobotomized me.

I was in an abusive relationship and I couldn’t get out. It doesn’t matter how ‘smart’ you are, these things catch you unaware. I was so entrenched in the dysfunction, I wasn’t even able to identitfy what I was in.

D-day came and I was due to fly out to Sydney with my friend. I told him to come over because I had made my decision and I needed to tell him face-to-face. We sat in his car out the front of my house and the tension between us was palpable. I had never love/hated someone so much. Despite my fury towards this man who had caused me so much grief and frustration, I still remember how intoxicating he smelt.

It’s quite a devastating feeling being completely addicted to somebody you have no future with for no reason other than that they’re batshit crazy.

I don’t remember my exact words but they went something like this, “If I had to choose between you or Hanson, I would choose you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life. Even more than Hanson. But the fact you are making me choose means you don’t love me. Love is freeing. It isn’t constricting. You don’t love me. I don’t choose you. And I don’t choose Hanson. I choose me, and I hate you for making me choose. But one day I will thank you.”

Then he got really angry.

“FUCK! Couldn’t you have just fucking told me this on the phone?! Why the FUCK did I have to drive over here for you to tell me this?!”

And I responded, “Because I’m nearly over my cap.”

He didn’t find it funny. I did. But I ended up staying with him that night anyway.

That was the common theme throughout our relationship.

Looking back, I realise I found a lot of his abusive tendencies hilarious.

By the time I realised he was actually deadly serious and it wasn’t that funny, it was too late. I was in too deep…and so was he…*ba-dum-tshh*

I’d become isolated from reality and consumed by the push/pull cycle of abuse.

But I went to the Hanson concerts and had the most amazing time of my life. And he fucked somebody else.

When I got back from Sydney he was unusually forgiving and kind. He said he wasn’t happy, but he felt like he might be able to get over it. I smelled a rat but decided to let the dust settle for a few days. I was still racked with guilt and didn’t want to push it. I felt so sad that I’d hurt him. I’d had such a great time and had been so happy and I felt bad about it.

Eventually, as it always does, the truth came out. I don’t remember how it did. The whole thing was just a haze of fury and devastation for me.

One of the worst parts was that he thought I deserved it and claimed it wasn’t cheating, it was getting even. Besides, we were “on a break” so he got away with it on a technicality.

The insanity, hypocrisy and shock quite literally sent me over the edge.

The saddening part is I wish I could say this had been the end of it. It wasn’t. As with most abusive relationships, he weaseled his way back in with promises and apparently “reformed” behavior.

The cycle continued for another eight or so months until eventually it ended for GOOD.

I don’t remember how or when it was finally over but it was, and I began to heal.

Just in time for Hanson to come back THIS AUGUST!!!!!!!!!!

MMMbop off chop.