Is it January YET??

I hate the holidays.

Halloween has always been my favorite holiday, but beyond that, there are NO holidays I enjoy.  Not my birthday, mother’s day, fourth of July, Christmas, Thanksgi…. you get the point.  The thing is, the indifference has changed into hatred of Thanksgiving and Christmas.  My husband celebrated Thanksgiving with his whore a week early while I was at a wedding.  The year that I was going to be be cooking at home, for the first time in 6+ years. So… there’s the fun thought of him celebrating and loving all over his slut while I was trudging 3 kids on a 4 hour each way trip, to see my cousin get married. Then, acting like he actually enjoyed the meal I made…and ate that meal with my parents. And of course, who can forget that he wrote her a freaking BOOK for her Christmas present.  She was his MUSE after all! He loved her and all she was to and for him.  He never wrote me a book, he wrote me a poem when we first started dating.  And he wrote me a few notes, because I made him.  She was so great for his creativity.  He wrote blogs to and about her.  She was just his everything.

And here is me.  His nothing.  His chains, his trap, his death, his downfall, his burden.  And I feel like I am all those things to him.  I don’t feel like he loves me, much less likes me.  And one of his big reasons for not writing things for or to me is because I didn’t read his book.  Guess how many of my blogs he has read…..  As many of his vows that he stayed true to!

Today

So, clearly I haven’t written in a long time.  I think about writing and then I wonder if writing about all this makes me think about it or thinking about it makes me want to write about it.

Anyway, I still live day to day, wondering what different decisions could or maybe should have been made.  I think about how my life would be different now if I made him leave.  If I tried to just make it on my own.  I didn’t have an income then.  I do now, but it’s definitely not “raise a family on my own” kind of money.  We spent many years putting money into an IRA for him, and a few bucks into one for me.  His investment averaged $200 a month, while mine was $25.  It was always very much a “his money” situation.  I stopped working when we had our first child and didn’t return to working until our youngest started Kindergarten, 9 years later.  Not having worked for so long, my prospects have always been minimal.  Plus, add in that I am still the primary caregiver for the kids, getting them to and from school, sports, discipline, and most homework, and most dinners, I can’t really get a full-time, fully demanding job.  I am currently an Executive Assistant.  It pays well, but only I get around 26 hours a week.  I recently had to put my son in extended day in order to get the hours I need in at work.  That takes away $150 a month, so I end up making even less.  It’s frustrating to think about how little hope I would have on my own.

My thoughts are so all over the place about what I want to say and get out and at the same time, I wonder how many women are on here, looking for hope of their own.  You know, the ones who just found out or discovered and they are on here searching, much like I once was, for that hope.  For that blog that talks about how “my husband cheated, I stayed and we are strong again, he shows me he loves me and knows that he made a mistake and although things are not perfect, he understands me and tries to be patient and giving in all ways.”  The unicorns.

For me, things were so bad at first that I couldn’t see an end that made any sense or had any semblance of happiness.  Things very slowly improved, and then we just fell back into the same routines as we were in before.  And now, just like before, I tell him that I am unhappy, feeling lonely, or needing more, and just like before, it falls on deaf ears.  “I will try” is what I get but nothing changes and no priority is placed on our relationship or our time together.  He planned a date, and kept talking about how he was excited about it, but leading up to it, he couldn’t even be bothered to be nice to me.  It’s like there is this one moment in time that I am going to be the things that I promised you I would be, but until and after that, I am going to be whatever I want.

Anyway, I am done for today.  Maybe I’ll be back again soon.  I am giving up on so much, maybe this will be one thing I give up forever, too.

Counseling

Tomorrow is another marriage counseling session.  I am so sick of dealing with all of this.  I cannot wait until I feel like myself again.  I cannot wait until I can go through one single day not on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

Today I lost it.  I cried, sobbed, over nothing. Just a normally stressful day, that I couldn’t handle.  Who am I?  I used to be strong.  And independent.  And trusting.

I do remember a point in my marriage where I had the train of thought of “I hope he is cheating, so I can catch him and get a divorce.”  I remember how freaking miserable I was and how I was looking for an escape.  Why have I stayed?

Anyone?

Every day I wait for the pain to go away.  I wonder if it ever will.  I haven’t even passed my year and my future looks bleak.

Even when I have good days, my mind is still bad.  I am foggy, slow, forgetful, fearful, worrisome, scared.  I have never been a person who was scared.  I have always been pretty confident, even if I lacked self esteem, I have always been out-spoken.  For myself, for my kids, for my family.

I hate who I am.  I really do.  I know, to an extent, that my husband is trying.  But, it never feels like enough.  He worshiped his whore.  Wrote blogs, and books, about her.  Left her love notes.  Told her how great and wonderful and perfect she was. His muse. What the fuck was I?  What the fuck am I?

I hate how we, as wives, fall into a role of only that.  I am his wife.  I am the one who cleans his clothes, writes his checks, rears his children, bares those scars, gains that baby weight, cleans his house, feeds the kids, drives the kids, waits at home, misses my life, hopes for the life I dreamed of, imagines the future, and then finds out the truth.  When do I get all the things I wanted?  He got the things he wanted.  He got the attention, the care, the sex, the life he wanted.  He just got all those things in 2 different places.  He didn’t give his attention to one, only to the other.  He didn’t value the sacrifice of one, only the slutty-ness of the other.  Where is my attention?  Where is my care?  Where is the person that will care for me when I am at my absolute lowest?  How am I supposed to be attractive to the one who didn’t want me when I was ok, when I am as far from ok as I will ever be?  Why the fuck to I care what he thinks?  Why?

Why do we care?  Why do we want to fix these relationships that they wanted no part of?  Why do we want the selfish, self-centered, egotistical, pathological liars, to care about us?  Why?  I really don’t understand.  I really don’t know why I want to stay.  It isn’t the first time he looked outside our marriage.  Why am I so disillusioned to believe it will be the last? I have changed for the worse, and I feel like he hasn’t changed at all.  What is different?

Our counselor says that I have to “live the marriage I want, even if it’s difficult.”  Right now, the marriage I want, is apparently to someone else.  I was living the marriage I wanted.  With a few hiccups that I felt would be resolved once the kids were older and out of the house, I thought I was moving forward with the marriage I wanted.  Things were not perfect, but you never hear that they should be.

I was the dutiful wife.  Make dinner.  Clean the house.  Rear the children. Clean the clothes.  Trust what he tells you.  Help with homework. Get the kids to school on time. Pick them up.  Make him happy.  Do all the things.  Do them alone.  Cry for help.  Be ignored.  Convince yourself that you are crazy. Question it all. Get no reply.  REPEAT.

I hate the cliche that I am. I understand suicide.  I would NEVER do it.  But, I understand the desperation of it.

The irony of this blog is that my husband LOVES to write.  He wrote all the time.  Even about HER.  His poor mother liked his blogs about HER without knowing what they were.  If she knew, it would break her heart.  But he won’t read mine.

There’s your devotion and change.

I hurt a deeper hurt than I have ever felt.

I want it to stop.  But it keeps on.  and on.  and on.

Please make it stop.  Someone tell me how to make it stop.  PLEASE.