When Someone Tells You They’re a Sociopath, Believe Them. Don’t Help Them Cross the Border

Part 2

It was early morning and time to go to Mexico.

If you missed part 1 of this story, you can catch up here.

I crawled out of bed before sunrise and carried my small backpack and JD's big suitcase down the dirt path to the main road to catch my ride - a small sedan with JD, his friend, his friend’s wife, and all of JD’s freshly made shoes.

For the first 3 of our 5 hour drive to the border, I used all my willpower to hold back from vomiting.

If you think you’ve seen a bad driver, try a heavy-footed Guatemalan through the mountains.

We left our drivers at the border, found a questionable toilet, and walked our luggage into Mexico. After signing the typical tourist immigration paperwork, we were on our way again.

We still had three and a half hours until San Cristobal. It took 2 taxis, 2 chicken buses, and a lot of mental and physical strength. Loading and unloading heavy suitcases to help someone out didn’t make them feel any lighter.

Thankfully JD spoke enough Spanish to figure out the logistics without my help.

We found things to talk about throughout the journey, and it passed quicker than expected.  It would’ve been more enjoyable if I wasn’t so tense trying not to unnecessarily touch him while squished in tiny transports.

I remember at some point, he made a joke.

An irritating joke, but it kept him and his dad-humor amused. When I told him to drop the joke,

he responded with something like,

‘I’ll still be doing this when we’re married.’

WTF is that supposed to mean??

I was not expecting such a leap in our relationship considering he kissed me once six months ago. But I guess helping someone cross the border proves your wifey material.

We arrived at our Mexican hostel before sunset on a Saturday night.

After getting our lockbox passcode and keys to the room, we went out for tacos. The tacos JD had been raving about for the last few hours on our ride.

The tacos were good.

Worth the hype? No.

But to be fair, I was in Mexico City two weeks before, and all I ate was (hype-worthy) tacos.

We went back to the room for a nap before going out to a bar for him to watch some fight, probably UFC. I spent my time drinking and people-watching, opposite view of the televised violence.

^ a neon sign of support at the bar ^

The fight ended early with a K.O., and we strolled to a bar across the plaza for mezcal and beer.

SIDE NOTE: Indio is the smoothest beer I’ve ever had. Someone’s somehow mastered the beer taste without the carbonation burn. 10/10 recommend. Mezcal burns so much I question why I keep trying it. 0/10 recommend.

We arrived at the perfect time (per usual) to get a corner table in the back where we proceeded to get drunk and enjoy the cumbia band performing.

Everyone was either chatting loudly at their tables or dancing on the impromptu dance floor by the bar. By the time we finished our drinks, we were ready to dance.

On the dance floor, we kept getting separated by the crowd. It wasn’t long before I got pissed off by the persistent men trying to dance with me.

What’s the point of traveling with a man if they’re not going to fend off unwanted advances from other men?

While I was getting harassed, JD was the center of attention. Making friends with gay men and dancing by the stage. I would have been less irritated if he wasn’t smiling as everyone touched and danced on him.

I’m not allowed to touch a man living with me in a foreign country (and apparently my future husband) but strangers can?

Interesting.

The music was also interesting. Nothing I had ever heard before, but the crowd was having such a good time it made it more enjoyable. I found other people to dance with and reminded myself that I can have a good time traveling, even if I’m by myself.

The music:

When I got tired, I ended up in a corner waiting for JD. As I was waiting, I met a guy.

A foreigner who recently moved to the city and chatted me up about recent events. Like the violent cartel activity a few days ago forcing people to stay in their homes to avoid the crossfire.

SIDE NOTE: Did I mention you can’t drink the water in San Cristobal? Every traveler story I’ve heard mentions getting sick from the water. The water quality is so bad that locals recommend using bottled water to brush your teeth. Between the water quality, violence, and tacos, I’m not impressed.

As I was requestioning my decision to come on this trip, JD came off the dance floor. We headed back to the hostel for another (surprise surprise) uneventful night.

If we’re getting married, he needs to step it up. He only has one more night to redeem himself in the bedroom.

The next day

We went to a nearby indigenous village, Chamula, to visit his leather salesman.

After we stopped at the leather shop, we went to a church.

Normally, I’d avoid going into a church, but this one was different. It was one of the few churches where the locals overthrew the church. The once catholic church is now filled with religious syncretism (a mix of Mayan and catholic traditions).

outside view since pics aren’t allowed inside

Thanks (again) to JD’s Spanish, he got a local to explain the church’s history, symbolisms, and why people come to the church.

Like the saint statues holding mirrors to remind the people praying that who they’re looking to for guidance is within themselves.

Inside the church, the floor was covered in fresh pine needles (representing heaven) and circles of burning candles. We didn’t see any chicken sacrifices that time, but those are a thing too.

The local guide explained that everyone is welcome. Then he told us if we want to say a prayer, get down on our knees and ask with an open and grateful heart for what we want.

With all the candles and Mexicans practicing their rituals, it felt like the right place for a prayer.

I hadn’t said a prayer in a church in a long time, but if I was going to, this would be the church.

I left JD to kneel in the pine needles and think of what to ask for. After sitting in silence and trying to clear my mind,

I asked for clear and obvious signs to guide me on my path.

A fair request from someone wandering Central America with a man they met a few months ago in a different country.

After church, we stopped by some shops before catching one of the last buses back to the city.

Back in San Cristobal

JD went to schedule his airport transportation for the next morning, and I perused another market. I was hoping to find souvenirs, but all I found were useless trinkets not worth the few pesos I had left.

I met JD in the plaza at our decided time, and we confirmed our upcoming plans.

He’d leave early in the morning to catch his flight, and I’d find a new place to sleep before taking the long bus ride back to Guatemala.

SIDE NOTE: I considered taking the same route back to Guatemala, but without my translator, I didn’t feel confident. Instead, I opted for the safer and more expensive bus from a travel agency with hotel pickup and drop off.

I was unexpectedly calm considering I’ve always booked my stays in advance, but with all the hostel options within walking distance, I wasn’t worried. I could’ve stayed in the same hostel in our private room, but I’d rather save the money staying in a dorm and potentially meet other travelers.

After coordinating plans and JD being intentionally annoying (again), I mentioned getting a snack. JD wasn’t hungry and said he’d go back to the room for a nap before dinner.

With no phone service to check Google maps and most restaurants closed mid-afternoon, my hunger grew as I tried to find something to eat. With wasted efforts, I ended up at the same taco place as the day before.  

For some reason, the hungrier I am, the pickier and more indecisive I get.

When I got back to the hostel, JD was lying in bed, scrolling on his phone, with a takeout food container next to the bed.

TF???

I asked him what food he ate, and he said dumplings.

If you knew how much I love Asian food you’d have a better understanding of how pissed I was. The lie about not being hungry was already bad enough.

How does he expect us to get married if he can’t even communicate when he wants to be alone.

I just wanted the food.

Missing out on Asian food after months in Latin America was my limit.

I finally said something.

My confrontation turned into him brushing it off. At a loss for words but with a smile still on my face, I tried to push his shoulder. Really more like a tap to express what my words couldn’t say.  

He swatted my hand away so fast with so much anger in his eyes that I instantly remembered that he used to be an amateur fighter.

His overreaction ended our conversation, and I went to my side of the bed to scroll before taking a nap.

I woke up to him showering and getting dressed in the dark and then walking out.

This entire trip has now turned into WTF moments.

I was lying in bed in the dark trying to figure out what got his panties in a bunch.

My impression of our talk before our nap was playful. I was still sending funny memes while lying next to him in the bed before our nap, but clearly he didn’t feel the same way.

I sent him a DM asking if there was an issue and his robotic response proved (yet again) that I’d been trying to communicate with a 40-year-old man child.

He told me that my approach was wrong and that I needed to try again.

By this point, I was seething.

Why was I chasing a man who’d rather abandon me than communicate his feelings?

And then keeps me playing guessing games to figure it out? Did I mention he was 40?

I guessed correctly that he found my playful almost tap offensive. He graced me with another response telling me he was tired of me disrespecting his no-touch boundary.

Lying in bed turned into pacing back and forth.

I couldn’t even remember touching this child let alone “repeatedly” disrespecting a boundary.

Thank God for a lockbox and not needing to share a key for the room.

SIDE NOTE: Lockboxes are great for traveling with groups. If I’m deciding between Airbnb options, I always opt for the lockbox to avoid anyone getting locked out or unnecessary key handoffs.

I walked to the dinner restaurant I’d been waiting to try and sat down at a booth. I was so livid, my eyes couldn’t even focus on the menu let alone eat. Before the waiter could come back and suffer through my broken Spanish, I walked out to the central plaza and sat on bench to rant in my journal app.  

At some point during the rant, I remembered our church visit hours before.

This was the most obvious sign I could receive to not waste any more time on JD.

On the bright side, I was able to channel my anger into writing another blog story.

After writing everything I’d been holding on to for the past few weeks,

I went back to the room to sleep.

As I was getting into bed, JD walked in and in a monotone voice talked to me as if nothing was wrong.

His words were blunt and polite, but recognizably forced based off the absurd messages he had sent hours before.

There it was - the sociopath I was warned about.

I forced myself to sleep, and I woke up to him “politely” saying bye while dragging his luggage out of the room.

Good f*cking riddance.

I packed up and checked out to walk to my new hostel charging me a fraction of the price. Plus free breakfast.

When I checked in to my dorm bed, the other beds were empty. Perfect.

I went to the bathroom before stopping at the restaurant for breakfast, and then the doorknob broke.

I was trapped inside with all the employees and guests in the restaurant too far to hear me banging on the door or window.  

Thank God I took a picture of the Wi-Fi password before I went in. I kept calling the hotel until someone answered and came to help.

The woman who helped me check in tried her best to open the door. I use a credit card. She used a screwdriver. Nothing worked. She called a handy man, and then it turned into a waiting game.

After the last few days, you’d think I’d be furious, but I had Wi-Fi and a kind, English-speaking woman trying to help.

And I was free from a man only interested in mind f*cking me. I was feeling the calmest I’d been in a while.

I scrolled until the handy man showed up and was freed shortly after. The hotel owner felt so sorry for me, she offered me an extra free meal for all my troubles.

smiling thru the hunger of skipping dinner

I graciously accepted, booked my bus back to Guatemala for the next day, and wandered the streets to pass the time.

I was ready to leave. My stomach hurt from the tea water.

I bought some sage and a necklace from a gem shop and went back to the hotel for my free dinner.

When I woke up to catch my bus, it was still dark. I swapped buses at the border and successfully held down my vomit winding back through the mountain roads to Lake Atitlan.

The day long travel gave me plenty of time to think about my decision-making skills.

Why do I give people second chances when they don’t deserve it?

If the sex was that disappointing, why did I think we were compatible?

Was it the hair?

When I got back home to San Juan, I saged everything. The bedroom, bathroom, kitchen. Everywhere this man’s energy could’ve been lingering in the house. I wasn’t taking any chances.

Even with everything that happened, I don’t regret it.

It reminded me that God hears my prayers and grants me what I ask for when I express my gratitude for everything that’s already been coming to me.

Since the bus to Guatemala only did drop-offs to Panajachel, it gave me a chance to see waterfalls and a butterfly garden in a different village.

Guatemala sweet Guatemala

And it left no doubt in my mind that this man was not worth anymore of my mental energy. A clear and obvious sign to guide me on my path just like I’d asked for.

I will say it was nice having a translator and traveling like the locals instead of overspending like a tourist.

If I’ve learned anything, it’s

When someone tells you they’re a sociopath, listen.

When someone tells you they suppress a second personality because it’s caused other people anguish, run.

P.S. I’m also grateful for the fellow traveler and writer I met on the bus to Guatemala. She acknowledged what I had been feeling about my writing process:

It takes time to process and understand what and how I want to say about what I’ve lived through. There’s no need to rush it. (Hence me sharing this story 7 months after it happened)

P.P.S. San Cristobal gets a lot of hype. In my opinion, it’s not worth the visit unless it’s en route to your next destination.