From the NY Times…

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My rose-colored glasses are broken.

Maybe I am rewriting history…fuck their advice…

Maybe it’s because I’m so fucking pissed at my fucking-asshole-husband…

Maybe it’s because she lives inside my fucking head. I cannot get her out. From the moment my eyes open until I close them at night… Sometimes in my fucking dreams..

She’s always fucking there.

I think she’s a sign,.. A symbol in some weird, twisted way… beyond the obvious, that she is the other woman and fucked my husband. In doing so, inadvertently Fucked. my. Life. (I’m truly not casting the brunt of guilt to her. She didn’t cheat on me… My husband did… she just happens to be the fucking married to her third husband, self-righteous bitch-whore that came along at the right time…

When my husband needed his feeble and pathetic  ego stoked… Fuck him. Fuck them both…

But I think that’s why she’s always there… She’s the big “ah-fucking-ha!” sign that I should just. Get out.

Let him go…

Be rid of all the utter bullshit …

I think I want out. If I’d be fucking honest with myself. I’d say “I know I want out”

Not sure I’m ready to be honest with myself yet though…

Mostly because I’m not sure I trust what I feeling, maybe trying to tell myself… that I’m ready to let it go…

I don’t think there’s anything worth repairing or recovering in our marriage. I think letting go and walking away will allow me to salvage so many beautiful memories.

The one’s I haven’t shredded yet…

I think it’sbecoming toxic.

Maybe not..

Maybe it’s just the seething anger I now carry that never reaches the boiling point.

Just hovering and lashing out.

Trying desperately to make sense of my life…

How it got here…

Where the fuck it’s going…

What I’m supposed to fucking do now..

So many years together. Not so fucking rosy. I’ve put up with so much fucking-utter bullshit, it’s mind-boggling. And then to discover an affair. That’s spanned years and thru the course of their life. And I didn’t fucking know? Fuck him, it was Nothing. She was Nothing

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Nothing:

pronoun: 1. not anything; no single thing.

synonyms: not a thing, not anything, nil, zero, naught/nought

antonyms: something  “something of no importance or concern.”

adjective: 1. having no prospect of progress; of no value.

adverb: 1. not at all.
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Darling, you are mistaken. Just so fucking wrong.

It was me that was fucking nothing!!

I truly believe you, when you say you never considered me. What I would say, feel, think, do… if I ever found out about her. I’m finally beginning to accept that you really are so shallow and self-centered, that you don’t give a much of a damn about anybody.

Certainly not me..

So long as a situation suits you.

Only you’ve convinced yourself that you care about and love me.

You’d even convinced me. Until I found out about her…

All I have to do is say the words, “I love you.” As long as I respond when you say that you love me…

I’ve quickly noticed how it hurts your shallow feelings…

how you pout when I don’t day those three little words…

So I do.

That keeps you happy…

Our current situation,..

You’ve told me your happy. Great. Fucking great.

But what is making you happy now? Not a fucking thing is different. Nothing

Except I know about her.

Every-fucking-thing else is the same!! And you have a sex life again. With me.

At least you did… But you seem happy enough to let us drift back into a sexless marriage, that made you unhappy and decide that cheating was ok…

Whatever. Make your selfish passive advances and grope if you must. I’m not going to stoke your fucking ego. You know what I expect from and for our sex life.

So you say your happy…I believe you think you are, and so I can’t and won’t bother debating it with you.

But I think maybe you’re starting to sense something has changed…

Is changing…

Maybe not…

I’m always left guessing.

Wondering…

Because you never say anything. You never ask me anything.

Am I happy?  You likely assume you know the answer, and of course your answer is right. Once you decide there’s no convincing you otherwise..

I don’t even bother anymore.

But.. if you fucking cared enough to even ask..

or listened to what I’d say…

I’d tell you No! I’m not fucking happy.

I’m not even anywhere near what I’d long ago settled for, as happy…

Happiness left fucking years ago…

when I started to see what a shallow, immature, irresponsible, self-centered, selfish, lazy asshole I married… And I sucked up all the fucking utter bullshit for years.

Accepted you for you and the “happy enough” Life we were living in.

I committed to you for life.

Asshole.

But she broke those rose-colored glasses.

Shattered.

you cheated on me.

Cheating on me. Ever. Was a fucking deal breaker. You know how fundamentally disgusting I think and feel and believe cheating is.

It’s one of the very reasons I wanted an open marriage. So you wouldn’t fucking cheat on me!!!!! Everyone around me that’s been of any importance or significance in my life has cheated. My mother, both my grandmothers and grandfathers. Numerous aunts and uncles. Several cousins, My best friend. Our neighbors…

The list of less relevant cheaters we know is long. We both know a bunch. Cheaters so fucking suck!!!

Hell, I was the other women many years ago. I fucking sucked too…

You knew how I felt about cheating. Hours and hours of discussions about infidelity.

It’s sheer destruction.

YOU FUCKING KNEW… How passionately and desperately and intimately I didn’t want that for us. Just couldn’t nor wanted to think about, imagine or hardly fathom infidelity in our marriage.

You know how I feel about monogamy. That I truly believe that we as mammals aren’t wired to be monogomas. We’ve talked about it so many times. You even mostly agree…

You know I don’t believe in, but willingly practice monogamy, for you. Because of your feeling about it and how you struggled.

You just need to understand that made a conscious and verbal promise of my fidelity to you.

I never fucking cheated on you.

You assured me. Promised me. So many fucking times…

That you’d never cheat. But you did. You fucking cheated on me. On us. Asshole.

This is the nothing that YOU did to ME!!!

And here I am… blogging away

because you’ll never understand how you’ve totally destroyed me.

But,

I don’t think I care enough..

anymore…

I think what was once happy enough, Isn’t quite what I wanted to begin with…

Seeking Council ..

So I finally did it. I made an appointment with a councilor “Jstew” for 3/17 at noon. It seems like no big deal, but it is for me. I’ve put it off far too long. I seem to be stuck at a place of being afraid to feel most anything. Except sadness, pain and grief. I’m not the “clinically depressed, that you can treat with Paxil.” and it goes away. I just can’t move forward. Or when I do, I creep along and only gain inches. I’m afraid of moving. Mostly because of all the things I don’t know. Somehow I’ve decided that I’m protecting myself by not asking the questions. Because I’m afraid of the answers. I keep telling myself that those answers are just “details” that “don’t matter” anyhow… I struggle to get past this… I’m also afraid that any answers and information will make this all more unbearable.

We had a lovely evening last night. I made one of my family’s favorite meals. It has no name, it’s really just “my own” dish. (I am a chef-wanna-be and food-prep junkie; cooking is one of “my favorite things.”) The dish quite simple; chicken cutlets sautéed in EVOO, fresh garlic and Italian herbs, just until it blackens and then de-glazed with a bit of water. (Last evening I used wine, as I poured myself a refill.) I added a side of Parmesan cheese angel-hair pasta, fresh-steamed Brocollini and roasted Brussels sprouts. It was a delicious meal and I had fun making it. Even better, I knew that everyone would enjoy the food I’d prepared. We also had a guest. My DD#2’s boyfriend was here. He’s a kind young man and he adores my daughter. There was activity, easy conversation and casual laughter about the house throughout the evening. My son got home with our youngest and the banter became more animated. All of us around the dinner table…My husband and I sipping wine and playing a trivia game and the kids all helping us, while doing homework.  It was all so pleasant and comfortable. It felt like what “normal” used to feel like.

I woke up feeling cheated again. Still sad, afraid. Lonely. I let down my shield and allowed my self to “just be” so that it doesn’t hurt. I dared to remember how silly, carefree and simply happy I could be with such mundane things, and at the same time feeling like I was going thru the motions “trying” to feel all those things. I know, it doesn’t make sense.

That’s what I mean. Stuck. And then I get angry. At my husband. And her. Because he cheated on me. They cheated me. I’m stuck, feel stuck, because of him. Because of them (spit.gag.puke.) She, Mouse, squeaked her feeble excuse and weak apology. Then blocked, erased and deleted the affair away and retreated back into her fucking hole of a life. Then there’s my husband, who has just moved on past the whole “Oops I tripped over my fucking self. Sure hope nobody saw me *blush* *blush* , *shrug* *Oh, and BTW, sorry I broke “you” when I fell on my fucking face.”

He “doesn’t recall” and “doesn’t remember.” He insists the whole affair was “Nothing.” And that it’s me, ME making it a big deal. “Well, excuse me? Isn’t having a fucking affair and cheating on your wife, lying to your wife for YEARS a big fucking deal??? He’s so fucking passive!!! He’s cheating his way “out” of his affair. Not taking a hard fucking look at himself to see why and how he could do this to me. To us. To Himself. He’s not doing a fucking thing. So, really it’s because of him I feel stuck. But, I can’t change or fix him. I can’t control his actions or choices. The only place I can start is with me. See if I can get “unstuck” and find some way to move forward… or somewhere. Anywhere but stuck. Here sucks.

My mind is all over the place about”where I should start” with Jstew next week. I’m putting in the work to mend my bruised, battered and broken heart. I want to go all in, lay all my shit out there so she knows where I am and we can get me unstuck as soon as possible. I don’t want to waste weeks rehashing my life and what got me here, where I am.. Under what feels like a shit pile the size of Kilimanjaro. I don’t want to waste time getting to a point where I can start to feel better. I want to feel better now. I hope to soon. So I think I can write it all out. Here in my blog.

I’m thinking that I’m going to use my blog as a way for her to understand me. If I end up not sharing it I’ll at least chronicle about “My life as told by me.”

So today I feel like I’m taking a step forward, toward me. Simple really but a bigger one that I’ve taken and one that I’ve been afraid to take…

The Elephant in the Room

Cheaters suck.

Discovering my husband’s yet-to-be-defined affair (emotional, physical “just sex,” old friends, ex-lovers…) that has gone on for an undetermined number of years has been the most painful event in my life. I’m sure most betrayed spouses agree.

Before October, I had read very little about infidelity, beyond the mainstream media. It wasn’t something I ever expected to need a better understanding for. Why would I?

Since October, I have scoured the internet. My iPad has become my refuge. It’s one of the very few places that I’ve found support and validation as one who’s been betrayed.  I don’t believe anyone can understand the overwhelming emotional shit-storm that infidelity and betrayal unleash, unless it’s something we’ve  have personally experienced. Only then can you truly identify with it’s madness.

I started my initial reading and searching after Dday on a message board that I never joined.. Just lurked for hours. Then I found personal blogs. I’ve since read hundreds, searching for someone that has affair story similar to mine.   I’ve read blogs of betrayed wives and husbands. I’ve read from the perspective of the cheater and the other woman. I’ve read support blogs of professionals, experienced in infidelity and affair recovery. I have compared my experience with each of your personal experiences that I now follow. So far, mine is different, but only the details and background. We’ve all been handed a scripted affair, and here we are. Sharing our scripts. Here’s more of mine…

I believe that for the majority of married, committed or “exclusive” relationships, homo or heterosexual, that monogamy is a choice. A choice made by cultural, societal and histororical and familial influences.. It’s engrained in our subconscious and so we seek exclusivity with our sexual partners. I don’t believe that we, as Mammals, Homo-Sapiens, are monogamous creatures. There are certainly exceptions, but I really don’t want to write about my theory and belief in this post. I’ll save that for another blog post “Monogamy vs Polyamory!” But stating that gets me to where I need to be in this script…

My husband and I had monogamous marriage by choice. The short story goes like this… He and I met and quickly entered into an exclusive relationship (by exclusive I mean my theory as tated above.) I was 28, had recently  experienced a major crossroad in my life and was ready to settle down and start a family. I really wanted to be married. To this point in my adult life, I had been in an immature and  premature marriage, doomed from the start.  We had both cheated on each other within weeks of getting married… Craziness. Separated in less than 2 years and divorced at 3.5 years. After we separated I moved around frequently  for Military training, the 1st Gulf War, and eventually returned to my home state.  I had an amazing dating life!  My heart was broken a couple of times but I always moved on. Rarely were any of my relationships “exclusive.” They each provided something. Some had more depth and emotional connection. Others were just mind-blowing sex. But for whatever reason, none manifested into the subconscious “exclusive” monogamous husband. Until I met M.

We met (18 years ago this past Monday…) and 8 months later our son, a 10 week preemie was born. We bought a house, suffered a miscarriage, got married and found out were expecting our daughter #1 the following year.  By our first wedding anniversary, I had a toddler and demanding 3 month old. (remember this is the short script…) By our second anniversary I was pregnant with our daughter # 2. Yep… We where living the socially, culturally and historically defined “politically correct” monogamous relationship and the American dream.

I started to question monogamy after 5-6 years of marriage and at about 7 years together, I proposed the idea of open marriage to my husband. After months of reading, research and discussion, we agreed to try an open marriage. In hindsight, I was probably more persuasive than he was in accepting of  the concept. But we tried. I really tried. I really wanted it to work, but M morphed into a giant green eyed-monster.  It got to the point that as much as I wanted the open marriage to work and believed that it could, I had to accept that it wasn’t going to work with M. His jealousy was making us both miserable and me crazy. I decided (and together we agreed) that we needed to return to a monogamous relationship, and  a “closed-marriage.”

He had a really hard time accepting the whole concept. He tried and as miserable as it made him, he was unwilling to quit trying. He’s competitive that way. He was fine with his outside partners, not so much so about mine. He was always suspicious that I was seeking to replace him.  I was unable to make him understand and believe that he was the man who I wanted to be married to and grow old with. That he was my dream come true and my happily ever after.  And he was… I wanted to grow old along with him, raise our family and share our life. I also wanted  for us to be able to enjoy the attention and companionship of other partners. I wanted this for both of us. And it would have essentially eliminate the opportunity for either of us to “cheat” or have an “affair.”

For the past 6 years our marriage has been closed, or so I believed… Now here I am, trying to find someone who has an experience like mine. See my asshole husband could have avoided and spared me this shit storm, mind-fucked, post Dday hell. He could have spared himself whatever shit he’s going thru because he did this to us, because he couldn’t manage an open-marriage and cheating on me seemed like a better option than communicating his wants and needs.

Enter the elephant…

We made a choice, a very conscious and deliberate decision to be exclusive  and monogamous to and with one another. We made that decision together. Not just vows and promises.  We were vested in what we were committing to.

And he had a full-blown-fucking-affair. I don’t think it will ever be less mind-blowing.

Mondays

I think it’s safe to say that in general, Monday is the least popular day of the week. We see the memes, and hear the newscasters and  DJ’s make jokes about it as we head into our busy week. It’s weekly headlines and office jokes. “Mondays suck” messages plaster our Facebook wall.

I drove my kids to school this morning. It’s cold, wet and snowing. Big, fluffy snowflakes are falling and coating the earth here in New England. The roads are icy. The Polar Vortex is back. We are creeping into out long cold winter. Reluctantly welcomed by many, as it stays far too long. My summer tan lines are fading. Bathing suits, sun dresses and cami’s have been packed away. Wool, fleece and flannel have come out from their short summer reprieve in the hope chest. The furnace hums and unfolded blankets litter the chairs and sofas. My mud room floor is wet from foot traffic of the cats, dog and us as we’ve already started this Monday.

I’m home alone now. I welcome the solitude. I’ve always looked forward to my kids and husband leaving on Monday morning. Listening to the Today show, sometimes watching a segment that catches my interest; Scrolling thru Facebook to look at the pictures and read the stories and experiences that my friends and family share. Often, I would find a recipe or many, and neatly file them away on my Pintrest. I’d make a list, sometimes written, most times mental, of all the things on my to-do list for the coming week. I stay in my jammies and drink coffee, cuddle a cat. Sometimes I’d go back to sleep. I allowed myself to enjoy the peaceful Mondays, to not feel pressured to do something or guilty because I’m not. I have a 3 story house with 6 cats, 5 people and a dog as habitants… There is always something that needs to be done! Guess the point is, I never hated Mondays. I’d wait for them and I welcomed them. Mondays recharge me. I would prepare myself for the next 6 days of chaotic schedules and unstructured routines. It worked imperfectly,  but Monday would soon arrive again soon.

Six weeks ago, my Monday mornings changed. That particular Monday, my husband let our son take his car to school and then work and he planned to take the bus. This all so I didn’t have to drive my son to work after school. Because it was raining, I felt guilty, to not offer to drive him. I did and he accepted. I drove in my jammies. I returned home and was greeted by my dog and the Today show.

I’d planned for this particular Monday morning for 3 days. Since finding the “I miss you too, baby xoxoxox” text to LKL. As I’m sitting here writing this I can’t tell you why I didn’t further investigate that very day, after finding that message. But I didn’t. My parents had stopped over for coffee. They brought banana bread with chocolate chips, an indulgent favorite of mine. They brought an anniversary card for us. I was nauseous and later vomited.  I don’t remember much more about the visit. My ears were ringing and I had this weird heavy sensation. I was trying to make sense of the text he sent to someone who was so personal. “He calls me baby.” I was hurt, but mostly able to rationalize it, at least enough to get thru the busy weekend we had ahead of us.  “I know my husband…” He’s charming and charismatic. He’s a flirt. He would never cheat on me. He came home with 16 long-stemmed red roses, his traditional anniversary gift. One for each year we’ve been married. Also, a lovely card that I found  just this past weekend and reread. Now it ends with “but I’m having an affair and I’m lying to you.” All the cards, memories and moments, holidays and months. Years. Now those all end that way… So many fucking lies

We sat by a fire out back that night, after I found that message. Smoked some pot, had a beer. We talked about the day. He decided that he wasn’t going to go to D.C. for a planned business trip the following Wednesday thru Friday. I’ve since learned this trip was arranged by LKL, and that she would have been with him. I found an email, that Monday, he sent, stating he had to cancel because our youngest needed him and I had work obligations. Yeah, he blamed it on me… He said he would be in touch with her Monday. We went thru the weekend as casually as our weekends typically are. But I waited for Monday.

I don’t remember the specific details of how I began my search, or where even. I did figure out who she was, where she worked and realized she was someone I have known by name, for years. They had connected on Facebook years ago, childhood friends. She was friends with his sister, since childhood as well. Friends with my father-in-law. I knew he had sex with her when they were in high school. I knew enough to know that my husband was having an affair. I don’t know how much I searched that day. It all blurs with all the searching I did over the next few days. But I knew enough. My landslide started. I didn’t have a plan to confront him. But he called and asked if I would pick him up. It was still raining. I did. It was grey and dreary and I just asked you, to tell me more about LKL. I think I was still hoping that he could explain it, that I was wrong. But I knew enough. I’ve come to know so much more. I still have so much to learn.

We had some good moments this weekend. We went to Starbucks. I wanted to try one of the new holiday drinks. I’m not sure why, but is was irritable on entering. I was short with him trying to decide what baked treat to share. I told him to just pick something, that I didn’t care. We ordered our drinks and he paid for them, along with the pastry. We waited while the barista made our brew. Still irritated, he sweetly tried to feed me a bite. I didn’t want it, but took it .. A mouthful of banana bread. It made me nauseous. I’ve since decided the Caramel Brûlée Latte sucked. That may be unfair. His phone rang and he answered, further irritating me. I walked out to the car. He followed, a few feet behind. We went off to do our shopping. I later asked if he took her to that Starbucks. He did. So there were some shitty moments…We got home to an empty house. Had some wine and mind-blowing sex. Watched something. I mostly enjoyed being around him. I always have. The rest of the weekend went like that good moments and not so good moments. Some really shitty ones.

So that sets the stage for my new Monday morning. I get to here and just want to melt into a grief-stricken, frightened, confused, overwhelmed puddle of tears. On Mondays I don’t have to keep his affair a secret, protecting it, as our kids don’t know what he’s done to me. I just want to shut the world off and deal with this crisis in my life. Without any distraction. Don’t we all? But no, I’m sitting here making my mental list and recharging as best I can to be ready for the next week.

It’s the starts “Hockey Season.” My son and 15 yo daughter both play. So does my husband. There’s some excitement about the season this year, as my son, who’s played for 12 years missed last season. He missed lacrosse and soccer season as well. He had the misfortune of needing both his ACL’s repaired, 9 months apart. Completely separate incidents.

I also need to make a call to my youngest’s dance school. Her competitive dance season is ending short, abrupt. I talked with the surgeon this morning. I need to discuss her contract and try to return about $800.00 worth of costumes that have arrived over the past few weeks. Hopefully recoup some of the fees we’ve invested for competition. I need to talk with her private instructor and cancel her solo lessons. I need to check the status of her $2500.00 back brace, to treat her back injury.

It’s the holiday season. I’m hosting Thanksgiving. I have for years. This year has a small guest list, just my parents. I’m need to invite my brother, his girlfriend and their daughter, my 4-year-old niece. The rest of our family have plans to travel elsewhere, much to my relief. I need to make my menu and shopping list. I need to bake some and get my jelly roll pan back from my sister-in-law.  I’m dreading this  holiday season. I host Christmas too, but I’ll deal with that after Thanksgiving.

Right now,  all I can manage is this moment, This Monday moment. The rest is just too overwhelming. 

To the Other Woman

Dear L,

This is Ra,but you know who I am, have for a while. I’m M’s wife. We’ve never met so I thought I would introduce myself. I know he’s probably told you a bit about me and our life together. I also suspect he’s lied to you. After all, he’s been lying to me for years now. He started sometime after you and he connected on Facebook in 2009.

I asked him to give me a time line of your affair. I need to know when my marriage became a lie. He’s told me generalities about you and answers questions, although vague. I get it though. He’s ashamed of himself. I hope you know that what you and he “shared” as “abysmal” as it was, still wasn’t real. It’s based on lies, deceit and selfishness. You stoked his fragile ego.

His timeline only provided a reference of your clandestine activities. Again, its vague and he sucks with detail. Always has. It’s probably self-serving now. I struggle with the history that you and my husband share. I knew you were a friend of his sister, and that you fucked in high school. I  had no idea about the multiple “hook-ups” later, in your 20’s, long before I was in his life. In all fairness, I never asked. It wasn’t really important until you and he decided to keep your relationship secret and then fuck. If we were keeping score, you’d have one up on me. I cannot compete with the history that you and he share. Actually, I find it intimidating. I’ll never believe you were “just friends,” that fucked a few times.

So what I know about you.. His timeline has 4 times that he met you at a hotel to fuck; met for coffee or lunch 4-5 times. Yeah, that’s it! That’s all he remembers. I searched our phone bill (only 15 months available) and see all the texts. I searched his email (work) and found a dozen or so emails (all trashed or archived, so I can’t see what the body of the email says.) that’s really about all I have.

He told me your married to your 3rd husband and have 4 kid, all girls. I know where you work and I know your husband’s name. I saw your FB page, what little there is to see.

Oh, there’s that one , ONE single phone call from his iPhone to yours. One 13 minute phone call that he claims he told you it was over because I found out. One single fucking phone call in all the time you two have been screwing; Only responsible for yourselves, not giving a shit about your husband or me. One fucking phone call. He insists that is the only time he ever spoke to you on the phone. I hope you can see my skepticism.

He’s told me that it was “just sex,” good sex even. He told me that it was for professional gain. That statement makes me laugh now because of its obscurity. He has his master’s degree. Your title may be CEO of that little rural healthcare center, but lets call a spade a spade. You are a glorified office manager. (He doesn’t even know if you got your GED, but recalls that maybe you dropped out of high school.) When I ask him, “why?” his most ridiculous responses include,  “because I could,” or “I don’t know” or “I  didn’t think you’d care.” He claims he has no feelings for you. I saw messages that said  “I think I like you pretty lady” and  “I miss you too, baby.”   He claims that were just words. I will never know the truth. But the pen is mighty.

He used to call me pretty lady and baby too. I’ve told him to stop. It used to be endearing. Now it makes my skin crawl.

I was naive and foolish. He hid it well. I was blindsided. I never saw the affair coming. Even in hindsight, there are very few signs. They were there, but I didn’t notice them. I didn’t realize there was anything to be concerned about. He told me he’d never cheat. I had no reason to doubt him. I believed him. I trusted him. He lied to me.

You don’t know me or about our life together. Whatever he told you about me and us, is probably a lie. Our marriage wasn’t perfect, but it was based on love, mutual understanding and truth,  Although clearly not enough. You and he carelessly and effortlessly destroyed it. We’re still married, but it will never be the same. Honestly, nothing will. Nothing will ever be the way it was. It can’t. Together you and he destroyed it.

I need nothing from you. Nothing. I wish you didn’t exist. That you would just vanish. Disappear. The last email you sent him (that I saw) was the day he called you to end contact. It was an article about putting relationships on the back burner. I wonder what you’re intent was. M says he doesn’t know, that you never talked of a future. I don’t know. I have a hard time believing him. There’s so many lies and so much time. I know so little. I have serious doubts. I’ll never feel the ease and comfort  he was able to provide before destroying me. I will never know the truth or the all details. It doesn’t matter in the end. What I do know is that your very existence feels threatening to me. It always will.

Continue living your mere pitiful life hiding behind the lies you’ve told your husband. Wallow in your deceptive memories of my husband, but know that it was not real. He lied to you too.

I am moving forward. I don’t know what direction it’s going to take me, but for now it includes my husband. It doesn’t include you. You will never be welcomed again.

You never were. And you can’t be friends.

I lost my mother.

I was reading thru blog posts this morning. One in particular has redirected my thoughts, or added another stream of reflection. Probably the later, as I seem to have multiple thought processes at the same time. The analogy I envision is that I’m following multiple movies at the same time, and then someone changes the channel… All in HD!

I shared a few days ago that it was the 8th anniversary of my mother dying. She died too young, just shy of 60. She and I had a complicated history and most of it I’ve dealt with thru counselling. Since the discovery of my husband’s affair, old wounds have reopened. Or maybe they are new, in the light of his betrayal. I’ve wished that my mom was around these past weeks since my “aAH (after affair hell) started. My landslide. But the reality is, she wouldn’t have been here for me if she was alive.

She had multiple affairs and what’s a compulsive liar. To the best of my understanding and memories, my mother first cheated on my father when I was a toddler. My first memory of her infidelity, Is when I was about five. She left my dad, me and 3 yo brother and went to live with the other man. She got pregnant, ended up recommitting with my dad and put the baby up for adoption. I remember several times thru the next 5-6 years where my mother was gone for questionable time, sometimes days and then the angry bitter fights that erupted afterwards.

As I got into early teens I wished for them to get to a divorce. It was verbally abusive and hostile. There’s was also physical abuse. At least by today’s standard. Both of my parents had heavy fists. It wasn’t frequent. I used to threaten my kids that I was going to send then with the gypsies if they ever knocked on my door, but I’ve never raised a hand. Ever.

When I was 13, things cycled into an angry, violent period again. When I turned 14, she disappeared for six months. My father found out she had left with another man. Again. He proceeded to divorce her. He maintained custody of my brother and I, as she didn’t want us or the responsibility.  We moved to another state and had every other week visitation. She acted like a big sister or best friend; no supervision, certainly no role-model mothering on those weekends. I became self-destructive and risky, promiscuous.

The reality is, now I find myself so fucking pissed at her, because of all the pain she caused my father. Because of my husbands betrayal I have a whole new understanding of the pain my father went through all those years. It’s allowed me a new level of forgiveness for my father as I know how truly difficult those years must have been for him. He and I are very close now and I told him about the affair. He cried with me. I haven’t told my husband that my father knows, and he hasn’t asked. I suspect he knows.

Reality is that my parents ended up divorced, as nearly half of all marriages do. I believe I read the percentage of those that end in divorce after reconciliation is nearly 80%. Fuck. We have a lot of fucking hard work ahead of us if we don’t want to become statistic.

So I sit here in my new reality, this after affair hell and run thru my thoughts and memories. Still trying to make sense of it all. Old wounds that I thought were healed have opened, but I’ve found a new peace about my father and my childhood. Which baffles me only because I truly thought some of these things were behind me. I’ve gained some clarity in reconstructing memories. Hindsight….

Realities change. It’s not static and linear. I believe it’s  affected by things in our past, our present and even our future, the things still unknown. This frightens me. These very things sometimes make me feel defeated already and sometimes hopeless. I don’t think about the future very often or for long. I’m trying to refocus and direct my energy on the concrete things I have in my life today, the things I can see, feel, taste, touch and smell. The things that I need to do today and this week. Those are real. I have so much to be thankful for and have been truly blessed. I live a beautiful life and I’ve never been afraid to color outside the lines.

I lost my mother many years ago, when she chose to live her life without me. She met my husband and children only once. My daughters don’t remember her. They were 1 and 3 at the time. It was a few years later before, that I accepted our relationship for what it was. Her dying provided a relief. I no longer had to accept that she didn’t want to, or couldn’t be a part of my life. I can and do grieve for her now, but she is no longer lost. She died.

I need space to connect the dots

I’ve wondered since I discovered his affair 25 days ago if we needed to physically separate. I think we do. Honestly, I know we do. As the days have passed I find myself loving him less. I watch him go about his daily life as if nothing has happened to us. We are friends, best friends really. And that’s another piece that I haven’t  really acknowledged. Not only did my husband destroy me, my friend did a number as well.

I feel like I’m outside myself and watching these past weeks unfold. I see myself going about my life and *coping* really well under these circumstances. But see inside myself and how utterly destroyed I am. I don’t get how they don’t see me. My kids know something is up. My 15 yo daughter is really suspicious…

I hate protecting this awful thing that has happened to me…

I hate by protecting the affair I have become a part of it..

And that’s why we need to separate. So I can sort thru all the things that I’m feeling. I need to find some sense in all this. If there is any…

I think deeper down I have serious doubts about the affair being over. I have serious concerns that it is much more established than I know. They’ve been connected since he was in high school. Then connected 3 more times before he got married to his first wife. He denies ever cheating on his first wife. Denies ever connecting with her unit Facebook in 2009 or 2010. He did admit that he has always kept communications with her secret with a few exceptions. I’ve poured over the phone bill history 15 months back and have record of every text. There is one phone call. ONE FUCKING PHONE CALL. Which, get this.. Just happens to be made the morning after I confronted him. A 13 minute phone call that he claims was his “NC” call. He made it the morning after I confronted him, and then admitted that same evening that he was having an affair. He fucking destroyed ME. That’s where MY fucking landslide began.

He gave me a timeline of his affair, a week after I requested it. I also asked for him to really think about what his feelings were/are for her. He still hasn’t given me that answer. But the time line, he started the timeline in 2009. They connected on Facebook. The earliest I found a post from 2012. He was really good at clearing history on his gadgets. I mean really good, especially in hind sight. I just chalked it up as one of his quirks.

He has a work phone and email that I don’t have access to. I’ve seen a dozen or so emails on a limited version of his work email I have access to on his iPad. He has 2 laptops and a desktop, a work phone, a personal iPhone he uses for work and a paging system. I just can’t track it all down.

The irony is that Apple recently released IOS 8. I read an article somewhere about how a bunch of people found out about their partners’ having affairs after updating their phones. Seems there was a glitch in how messages were distributed in iCloud. That’s exactly how I found out! Just so happens that Matt updated his iPad and LKL got an iPhone because she supposedly lost her phone and replaced it with an iPhone. And I very naively opened up Matt’s iPad and saw the text message “I miss you too, baby xoxoxoxo”

He has since admitted that he would have never told me about his affair. The last email she sent him was a link to an article about putting relationships on the back burner. I think that 13 minute phone call set up an already conspired plan to put things on hold and let things smooth over and connect again when thing are clear. I think he and she made a few mistakes and I happened to stumble on them, but truly they have done well to cover their affair so well. I wasn’t supposed to know. I still don’t. This is what I think my gut is trying to tell me.

So, am I being irrational? Am I loosing my fucking mind? I honestly don’t know. But I think separating will at least give me space to try to get a grip. It makes sense to me.