Buddy, You Thought You Found a Queen. Turns Out She's Packing a Knife in Her Purse
Six months into this relationship, you're sitting there like a fool, thinking the juice was worth the squeeze. Now you're choking on the truth that your 'open book' went to press without you in the credits. Your girlfriend’s been flat-out lying about a marriage and a kid? That ain't just a punch in the gut—it's a setup from the jump.
First Lesson: Trust Is a Weapon to Be Reloaded After Every Crack
This isn't some 'nice guy' issue. This is war. When she started dodging the name of a random Facebooker, you shoulda smelled the smoke. You asked questions like a man playing possum while she was already sharpening her dagger. The moment she called her ex-marriage a "mistake" and slammed the door on conversation, that's when you should've seen the red flag on the barrel of her .22.
Truth Bomb: She Wasn't Lying—She Was Scared as Hell
Ain't no rulebook for trauma. If she left a husband fast enough to qualify for a marathon medal, she’s probably got good reason. That ex might be the kind of man who paints the town red with bruises. Or maybe the kid? Leaving a child is suicide for the soul, not some fun extra credit project. You think she was hiding a secret? That secret’s probably screaming loud enough it’s got a bullhorn attached.
Here’s the Playbook: Call the Shots or Walk
Don’t come at this like a tourist with a map. You want the full story? You gonna have to treat her like a hostile zone. Sit her down when she’s fresh as a daisy, no distractions, no excuses. Lay it out: “You owe me the truth, not your therapist’s filtered version.” If she folds under pressure, that’s your answer. If she spits truth at you, you still gotta ask—is this intel or dynamite?
Trust? That’s a Luxury When You Ain’t Got Walls Up
After she drops the truth bomb on her history, you’re stuck choosing. Trust isn’t given—it’s earned by someone who bleeds the right color through the fight. For 6 months, she kept you blindfolded while she played 20-20 on her past. If you’re stupid enough to roll the dice again, she’d better start coming clean like she’s flushing a loaded deck. Every lie she told yesterday becomes a bullet in your chamber starting tomorrow.
Now Your Stank’s Got You in the Rearview
Let’s drop the other situation quickfire. “She got BPD and flipped out over my BO?” Here’s the deal—your nose ain’t her nose. Some folks got such powerful chemistry sensors up there it smells like a gas leak. But if this lady’s spitting ultimatums like a mafia don while she’s high on anxiety? You already know the score—this ain’t about hygiene, this is about control.
Read the Room Before You Call Gaslight
Don’t go charging in all Mr. Tough Guy. Could be your laundry detergent smells like a petrochemical spill to her. Could be you’ve been noshing on enough garlic to kill a hydra. But let’s not play dress-up with her BPD. That ain’t an alibi—it’s a live grenade. Either she’s got real issues pulling the pin on your visits or you’re looking at a textbook case waiting for a foot in the door.
Fold or Fight? That’s Your Final Move
If this lady’s got games to match your bad breath, you don’t need to be in her corner come fight night. Long-distance is already an MMA title fight of its own. Add to it a player using your sweat as an excuse, and you’re looking more like a sacrificial lamb than a champ. Know when you should be sparring and when the ring’s rigged against you.
Burn the Maps and Build New Fire
Women who lie about marriages and kid histories, they don’t just need trust—they demand trust. And if you’re walking into situationships where people treat your personal stank like a loaded six-shooter? That’s not a woman—it’s a full-on ambush. Your job is to either walk through the battlefield fully armored or call the retreat before you feed the eagles with your own dumbass pride.