He sat with me at appointments and told all my doctors with a stone-cold expression that he was "clean."Interestingly, they just...believed him. health history was scrutinized a second or third time as doctors nodded at him trustingly and went back to the drawing board to make sense of my symptoms.
His deceit delayed my diagnosis and necessary treatment.
I stayed with him because I wanted him to admit it—to admit that he lied to me and knew all along why I was so sick.
He took me yachting in San Diego, skiing at the famous Squaw Valley in Lake Tahoe, and wine tasting in Santa Barbara.
Our dates rivaled But then I started to feel sick—and I couldn't figure out what it was.
At first I thought I had a yeast infection or a bad UTI.
I had a great career making a six-figure salary as a senior editor for an entertainment magazine.I was the woman you envied: single, healthy, happy, attending red-carpet parties with celebrities, traveling the world at a moment's notice. He was my dream man: funny, smart, good looking, wealthy, charming, and we both shared a great sense of adventure.Between my ex lying and my doctors scrambling, my condition developed into life-threatening meningoencephalitis—an inflammation of the brain that could kill me, or if I survived, could cause lingering complications.All at once, I was confused, terrified, angry, and heartbroken. My boyfriend continued to keep up the lie that he was clean for months, even though I knew better.Every time I pulled out my food stamp card from my Louis Vuitton purse at the grocery store, I anxiously looked over my shoulder to see if anyone I knew was around me.
As I quickly scooped up my carefully budgeted food for the week, I often wondered if the store clerk judged me or assumed I was scamming the system—I definitely didn't like I had a disability. Just months before, I'd lived in a luxury apartment in Hollywood.