I was raised to stay by my partner.

Better or worse.
Richer or poorer.

My mother was raised the same, watched her mother stay with an alcoholic, verbally abusive husband, unemployed for years at a time, always keeping the bright side up. At his side, loyal to the end.

My mother married a poor bus driver, estranged from his family, with love, with faith, with trust that she would be happy, he would be happy, they would be happy and, together, they would make do, they would have a family and provide for them.

Through her support and love, his drive and brains, he almost made his ultimate goal.

And, he still might.

She stayed with him through all the fits he had. Stayed with him when his depression was so bad he would barely talk, barely function enough to put food on the table. Stay with him while he raged.

Stayed with him, even after he named her firstborn after a brand of auto parts. (Thanks, Dad.)

I was raised with the idea of unflagging loyalty, utmost trust in one's partner and the partnership that was formed.

When I headed out from San Francisco, the weekend GV8 proposed, I remember driving over the bridge, talking to him on my cell phone.

I asked him why he wanted to marry me, aside from his "I'm the whole package" schtick.

He said that we trusted each other, respected each other, that he saw my mother and father together and if I a) aged half as well as she did, he'd be thrilled and b) was just as loyal to him as my mother is to my father, that's what he wanted. And he said he knew I'd never lie to him.

Loyalty. Respect. Honesty. Graceful descent into old age.

Loyalty.

He brought that up many times over the weekend. That I was loyal. That my mother was loyal.

Most men, I know, would take that as sexual loyalty. A lack of straying. And maybe he did as well, as much as he wanted a sexually open relationship, I'd like to think that both of us were quite aware that I only ever need the person I'm seeing, only ever want the person I'm seeing, once I'm in a relationship.

He wanted my loyalty.

He had my loyalty.

But I still remember that dinner with my family, celebrating our engagement. I still remember him sitting there, big alpha dog, grinding in the point that he was now sterile, that my mother would not be having grandkids like she so desired. He wouldn't leave it alone. I watched the look of pain on her face. She already knew, I had already told her, discussed it with her. But he had to, I don't know, had to make it even more real.

Like a vasectomy wasn't enough.

When she walked away to get something, I asked him why he did that, why he wouldn't stop. He told me he wanted to make sure she knew.

Of course she knew.

Everyone knew. This had been discussed time and time again since he had his vascetomy while we were dating.

It did not need to be done. He was not the one who would need to do it, if it had been an issue. That should have been my job, my call on how to handle it.

My loyalty remains with my family.

And when some middle-aged punk decides to dismiss everything that I've written here because of a blog post done by GV8 when I finally had the realization of how unhealthy that marriage would be for me (and not just because of that small moment with my family) and publicly derides me for being a gold-digging whore, he can suck it.

I would rather be poor and scrambling for the rest of my life than with a man who would treat my family as such. Than with a man who would treat me as he ended up doing. Than with a man who would propose to me on my blog. Than with a man who would play headgames with me. Than with a man who would come into my private space and write a blog full of outright, no discussion, no debate, lies in order to fuck with something I care about.

Gold-digging? I wasn't raised that way. If I was, I would have stayed with GV8, no matter what the emotional cost. If I was, I would have tried to have a lavish wedding, instead of wanting to get married in a park with no guests but close family. If I was, I would have wanted some massive diamond ring instead of a simple gold band.

It doesn't matter what I do to some people, I know I've lost respect, lost credibility, lost trust with some of my readers. Hell, lost some of my readers, over what GV8 did.

I've never lied on this blog. Never intentionally misled. But that doesn't stop him from swooping in and doing damage. Hurting me for hurting him. As if he was the only person hurt in the whole debacle.

Doesn't matter.

Shouldn't matter.

When I told Rick how GV8 apparently wrote that I made him pay for every meal, he burst out laughing, exclaiming, "You?!" and falling back into laughter.

It's the people who know me, the friends I've had over the years, the ex-boyfriends, the ex-lovers, they know. They anchor me down to reality. They remind me that I am known to them, that my values, as odd as they are, are known.

I never thought my reputation would matter to me so much. But now... I know I have one. Where I stand, who I am, is known. And I like what is said about me, what is believed about me, by those who I keep in my life.

Loyalty. Family. Honesty.

I will give myself, I know this. I will give everything to the person I am with.

But now I know I have enough awareness to pull away when something will truly damage me.