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!

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.

WTF??

I am away.  And previously, that was the time that my husband would spend with his AP. (Still haven’t settled on a title for her)  When I went out of town for a funeral, a wedding, a holiday, and a visit or two to my parents house.  Honestly, the funeral is the worst for me.  I may have covered this in a previous blog, but I am not sure.  My uncle died.  It was incredibly unexpected and hit me hard.  I had another uncle die, then my grandpa died, then this uncle died.  Both uncles were unexpected, but the second was very much so.  I held guilt because I had not seen him when I had a chance to, close to his passing. He was stubborn and private and in a condition that he didn’t want people to know about.  He asked my Grandma not to tell me that he was in a physical rehab center, because of what brought him there.  I did not want to cause turbulence between my uncle and Grandma and therefore, I did not go visit him on the trip.  Not too long after, he passed away, in the rehab center he was in.  I was so devastated.  I still am.  I found a card recently that my parents sent me (which I need to clarify is my dad and step-mom because this was my birth mother’s brother) with condolences and happy thoughts of my uncle’s good life lived.  The memory of his death is muddied with the knowledge that my husband’s girlfriend saw it as so fortuitous.  My uncle died and she celebrated my time away so that she could see my husband.  My husband KNEW how shattered I was by the loss and still he went to her instead of spending his time worrying about my mental well being.  I had, and HAVE still, so much guilt about not seeing my uncle when I had the opportunity.  I am crying as I write this.  I didn’t go see him.  I should have.

And yet, this guilt and mourning are overtaken by the thought of my husband, who should care for me above all others, running off to his girlfriend’s place and making things right with her and reassuring her of his commitment to her. (apparently she was upset that he wasn’t spending enough time with her)

Then there was the wedding.  My cousin got married close to a holiday (which one will reveal far too much I am afraid) and my husband celebrated the holiday early with his AP.  Because they are so happy and comfortable with each other and can be so silly with one another and it’s a time he will never forget.  At least that is what he wrote to her about it after it happened.  Yeah, she posted his messages to her on her facebook page before she committed suicide.  And I find it so completely tragic that she didn’t find more worth in herself than her relationship with someone who was married. (this sounds sarcastic as I read it back and it is not, at all)  I wish she didn’t make the final decision she made.  But I also wish that the pictures, text messages, and other various writings were not still available for our children to happen upon one day.

And of course we cannot forget the holidays.  I went out of town to visit family on the major holidays and he went and visited his AP.  I don’t really know how often he was at her place or how much time he really spent with her, but I do know he had a key to her apartment and spent plenty of time with her when I thought he was at work or when I just plain didn’t know where he was.

So, I say all that to get the thoughts out of my head.  Wondering who he is talking to, what he is doing, what his plan is, what his goals are, what he really wants from our marriage, why does he care now when he clearly didn’t before.

Is this just the easy way out?  This way he doesn’t have to tell family and friends that we are divorcing because he cheated, twice, one time worse than the other.  This way he doesn’t have to explain to the kids that he loved someone else more than all of us.  This way he doesn’t have to face what he did unless I bring it up.  He has no real punishment in this.  The punishment is all mine to bear.  He doesn’t experience the fear, insecurity, doubt, pain, suffering, self loathing, self hate, questioning, etc, that I do.  He KNOWS he could find someone else.  He knows he is good enough, not only for me, but for another woman.  He has no unsteady footing when it comes to knowing that someone can and will love him.  I am unloveable.  Not only did my husband not love me, but he rejected me and chose someone else.

I don’t know where I am going with this blog and I don’t know what I am trying to get out tonight.  I know that I am away, for the first time since D-Day and I am experiencing feelings of panic and doubt and insecurity, and I hate every second of it.  I didn’t do anything to deserve this.  I don’t want this and I didn’t ask for this, but this is my new life. This is who I am now.  And I hate who I have become.  I am a little child looking for the approval and reassurance of someone who has more power and more control over me.  And I hate it. He cheated on me and I all but begged him to stay.  Why do I not value myself more?  Why can’t I stand up for myself more?

I have told my husband for years and years (double digits here) that I was unhappy and that I needed more from him. And his response was always that he was fine.  My feelings didn’t matter while I was crying out to him for help.  And then he says I wasn’t paying him enough attention and he needed it from someone else.  When do I get my attention? When do I get what I have been begging for all this time?  When do I get to feel like someone loves me with their whole soul, their whole being? So much that when I am sad or down they would do whatever it takes to help me?

I helped my husband cheat on me, without knowing of course.  He was working “long hours” and was so tired when he came home that he would fall asleep on the couch as soon as he finished dinner.  I told the kids he was stressed from work when he was cranky.  I explained away his long hours when my daughter asked me why she hadn’t seen daddy in 3 days.  I made him dinner, (which he refused regularly) for when he came home late after we all already ate. I made sure he had clean clothes and tried my best for a clean house.  I didn’t iron his clothes and for some insanely stupid reason, I have guilt over that, too.

Anyway, I am babbling and getting all off track on everything I am writing here.  I have no focus and I am full of fear and I am hating what my life has become.  I just want to find my true self again.  I think I was a pretty good person.  I miss me.  I wish someone else missed me as much as I miss myself.

What I want you to know…

I wish that you could understand the pain that I hide.  I wish that you could feel the anguish that I feel in my soul.

I look at you every day and I know that you have no idea what I am feeling.  When we talk about this, there is no way that you can even glimpse the depth of all of the hurt that envelops me, constantly.  Everything makes me think of the betrayal: places we go, words you say, holidays, events, EVERYTHING.  It’s exhausting trying to live each day with the outward appearance of being ok.  On the inside I am so torn apart, I feel like I am bleeding out, all of me.

I wonder how you could have done this to me.  How did you wake up each day and make the decision to do the things you did.  Kissing me goodbye in the morning and then going to her.  And you wonder why I feel so unsure about our interaction now.  I want to believe all of the things that you say and do.  But, deep down in me, my heart is still crying, wondering why, feeling abandoned.  I told you, for years, how I was feeling, and you didn’t seem to care, or you just weren’t listening.  I don’t know if you were too wrapped up in yourself or if you just didn’t care about me, or us, any more.

I feel like you don’t know me.  I feel like there is no way you could understand who I am, as a person and as a wife, and still do the things you did.  How could you love me and do what you did?  I just do not understand.

I hurt.  So much.  I cant put words to it, I don’t know that the words even exist.

When you say that you know what you did and that you don’t need me to keep telling you or bringing it up, it makes me see that you don’t know my pain or you just don’t care.  When I say “you did a really horrible thing to me” and you ask me how many times I am going to tell you that, and ask if I think you don’t already know that….. No, I don’t think you know.  I don’t think that you really know, or even care to know, exactly what you did.  It is so much more than the time and feelings that you shared with her.  It’s the time and feelings that it took away from me and our family.  It’s thinking back on the times that we shared, while you were in a loving relationship with her.  You cannot love two people at the same time.  You loved her, not me.  Where I was when I first found out, I can’t visit that place any more.  Places I know you went with her, I don’t want to visit those places.  Places WE went while you were in a relationship with her, I don’t want to go those places either.  I don’t want to think of the things we did while you were in a relationship with her.  Fathers day, our summer trip, first day of school, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, my birthday… The list is so long.

Writing this makes me sick to my stomach. I need you to understand, more than anything, I need to feel like you know what you did to me.  And I don’t think you do.