The window.

My last post has had so many reach out to me. I can’t thank you all enough. I use this blog to release what’s inside and it helps me to sort of “look at the big picture.” I truly don’t know where I would be if it wasn’t for all of you, your support and your own stories. ❤️. I am doing alright, I feel strangely strong and hope this feeling lasts.

I’m just rambling this morning… trying to get my head around life at this point.

I’m a very visual person.

Meditation and visualization have been a part of my life for so long, I don’t really remember a time without it.

When I discovered he was talking to another woman, a window appeared in my mind.

It’s beautiful, really. It’s in a very dark room, the window frame itself is in silhouette, there are lace curtains softly framing it. It’s open about 6 inches. There are golden beams of sunset light coming through the glass, the beams glow in an unseen fog, as though there is smoke in the dark room. The stream of light rests on an old, wonderfully worn wooden floor.

So there’s my window. I’m not sure why it came to mind as it did, but there it is.

I am comforted by that light.

But always present is a small seed of panic building deep in my stomach if the window were to close.

When I found out about them talking, it appeared. As time went on, it remained the same. He promised me he was not having an affair.

I believed him.

He swore to me she did not reach out to him after I sent her a text, pretty much telling her he was lying if he told her our marriage was over.

They only talked for 10 days before I found out.

Surely I stopped anything from progressing further. Surely I did, look at how we were with each other. The sex was incredible and often, we talked more than ever, we broke down the marriage to the bones. I thought we were rebuilding it.

There were many moments I thought that them talking actually ended up making our marriage the strongest it had ever been. It made us realize what we had to lose.

So I thought. But in actuality, it was tearing me down to the bone, not our marriage. Yes, we talked, but it was more talking about all the things I did wrong. It didn’t make us realize what we had to lose, it made me fight hard for him and our family as he began to pull away emotionally. Not physically, but emotionally he started to hold himself back.

But the window… it was still open. It was still the same.

Christmas comes and he walks away from us and moves in with his nephew. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. The 27th finds me packing our kids into the suburban and driving to Florida to sit on a beach.

I asked him a thousand times that fall and early winter if they still talked, saw each other, if she was the reason for the emotional withdraw.

And when he leaves us, I ask him if she’s the reason.

No, he says. No. She is not the reason. She is not in the picture at all. They haven’t spoken once since I found out in September.

Do you promise? I ask. “I promise you.” He says.

The withdrawal and leaving us is due to depression, he tells me.

He laid in my bed Christmas Eve and swore he hadn’t spoken to her and never would again, he just needed some space and time, he said.

Now I know he spent the entire day with her, then came over to our house and chilled out in my bed.

“Will you come back home?” I asked. “Yes, this is my home.”

The window stayed the same. Still open, still comforting.

I find myself on the beach, I can hear the kids laughing in the waves. It’s December and we are getting sun and salt water therapy. I’m on my stomach, sun is warm on my back and I stare at the sand in front of me.

I believe him, I tell myself. The window is still open. There’s hope in that light.

But yet there I am. On a beach hundreds of miles away from him, and believing him when he says she is not in his life at all.

He’s not cheating on me, how could he? I think of how physical we have been. It’s like we are 20 again, but with time and age comes a level of trust that makes it even better than when we were 20. A level of trust comes with being with a man 25 years at that point.

I trusted him.

When I came home from Florida, he was standing in the kitchen. He tried to leave to go back to his nephews. I wouldn’t let him.

“This is your home. This is ridiculous, you belong here with your family.”

“I’m not ready” he said.

“If there is no one else in your life, then explain this to me, why are you living on a cot in your nephews house?”

“There is absolutely no one else. I just need peace.” He says.

I look at the gold band flashing on his hand. I’ve never seen it not on his hand.

The window is still the same. There’s hope in my heart as long as it’s still open.

I believe him.

But on some level that maybe I didn’t know how to face, I knew. I knew. It’s why the window appeared in the first place.

He doesn’t go back to his nephews that night. We end up tangled around each other for hours. He moved his stuff back in the next day.

The window stays open and looks so comforting in its lazy golden glow.

There is hope. I believe him.

Later in January, I text Toni. Something is off… something isn’t right.

She goes on to tell me that they haven’t spoken since I sent her a text in September. She says something definitely wasn’t right with his story when she got that text from me, so she didn’t talk to him anymore from that moment.

I believed her.

My window stayed the same.

February rolls in and my son tells me she met up with them at a Taco Bell by the dumpsters.

My husband says she just randomly showed up.

My son tells me before she showed up, that his Dad looked at him and said, “Toni is going to come by, are you OK with that?”

My son was NOT ok, now he’s in a bind. Should he tell me?

Yes. But it takes him until the end of February to do so.

My window isn’t the same. It’s almost shut now. Somehow, there’s no longer beams coming through transparent glass panes, now the panes are black and there’s a small line of light shining under the sash, but it’s almost gone.

The light isn’t warm and golden anymore either, it’s a harsh white light in this dark room and it’s hard to look at.

It’s not closed, but I no longer want to be in this dark room with that small stream of light. I want out. Panic has set in and it feels very heavy.

He spends some time explaining the Taco Bell visit. Swears she just texted out of nowhere, swears she stopped by just to say hi and see how he was doing. Swears swears swears.

I believe him, but I don’t.

My window doesn’t change back, it remains the way it is.

But it’s not closed. But I’ve now come to see it for what it is.

Hope. Hope that he’s telling me the truth. There’s a small glimmer of hope that he’s telling the truth.

Monday, April 25th rolls around and he hands me his burner phone.

I lose it.

“The only reason you would have a burner phone is if you were fucking her.”

“No no no!” He swears. “No! Just texting and talking! I swear! I promise! We didn’t see each other physically at all except that day she showed up at Taco Bell.”

The window stayed open a little.

I leave the house with that phone in my pocket. I’m losing it. He has no idea where I am that night. He thinks I’m at her house and her and I are talking. I let him believe that.

I told him she told me it was a full blown affair with all the bells and whistles and confetti.

He admitted it then.

The window slammed shut. I swear I could hear it. It sounded like bulldozer bucket slamming into the ground. I could feel and hear the room shake with slamming of that little window.

Very dark now.

It’s never opened again. Not even a little since that day.

That should tell me all I really need to know.

I think about that window sometimes. In the beginning, it was pretty and comforting. I miss it at times.

After what I found this weekend, I’m not sure how to move forward.

I’ll definitely talk to my counselor today about it.

But I have no desire to talk to him at all about it.

About anything.

A person can only take so much.

I am not a fan of the silent treatment. I think it’s abuse. He does it to me all the time after a fight and it makes me insanely sad.

I’m not doing that to him, I won’t. But I don’t even want to see his face right now, much less hear words coming out of his lying mouth, or even using an ounce of my energy to speak to him.

I’m so angry.

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I keep digging.

Some days, I’m good. The affair crosses my mind every single day, but some days it’s easier to push away and keep moving.

Other days, I get lost in the “stuck.”

I’m stuck. I’m pissed off that I’m stuck. It’s annoying, I’m annoying anyone that talks to me about it, reads about it, I’m annoying myself.

I know the “stuck” is because he refuses to talk to me. I know that to process through, I must Go through, not around and ignore it like he wants me to.

It’s hard to bring it up with him, because when we aren’t talking about the affair, we are good.

Very good. Maybe.

But it feels fake. So maybe we aren’t good… maybe it’s just not stirring up a fight by keeping my mouth shut.

He left this weekend for a camping trip with our sons. So I went digging.

One of my biggest questions to him has been “WHEN. When would you see her? Because you were always home when you were supposed to be, I had no clue!! How could you carry on an affair that long with me not being aware?! You were either at work or home! How did you take her to restaurants? When did you see her?!”

He gets annoyed and will say, “Whenever I could. But she was always giving me crap that it wasn’t enough and I didn’t have time for her.”

“Well, then when?! Give me one time you went to her house, but I thought you were somewhere else, like band practice or work or something.”

“I don’t know.”

Bullshit.

I pressed this one a bit. When.

So one day a couple of weeks ago, he finally answered. Sort of.

“I don’t really know. But I can tell you that she could go into work whenever she wanted and get off early if she wanted.”

“So you really would leave our bed, and me, in the mornings and go to hers.”

He shakes his head! “No! Never on the same day!”

I asked him, “How often would she get off early or go in late?”

I don’t know. He would say.

He has held strong to telling me he never slept with us on the same day.

Like he deserves a fucking medal for that or something. He says it with so much pride, like maybe he wasn’t doing something so bad by not being with us on the same day.

What good would it do for me to know the truth now?

None.

But I do want to know.

The mind movies and insanity have always had me feeling like he ran to her every single day.

The mind movies of him kicking through her front door in an erotic frenzy to be with her. Breaking speed limits to get there, already hard with desire before he even gets to her door. Clothes being ripped off each other’s bodies..I can’t even go on with what else the mind movies show me. I think I would have to be an erotica writer to even attempt it.

Did my husband lie to me? Of course he did. Coward. Did he truly hold himself to some kind of standard to not have two in one day?

No.

So he leaves for the weekend and I’m curious. Sometimes the truth really does help me, I process, I grieve, I cry, I move forward. Slowly, but it is still a forward movement.

So I realize I can look at his hours he worked. He keeps a record for billing purposes. (Self employed.)

I find the calendar and take a look through the end of 2015. Because 2016 is suspiciously missing.

I compare it to texts between us. We texted a lot while the affair was in full swing. We would talk about what we had done with each other the night before, or that morning before he left. He would graphically tell me what he wanted that night or the next morning.

Finding out Toni even existed sent me into hysterical bonding right away. Believing him when he told me they were not talking anymore was even better for that lovely hysterical bonding.

So we were together almost every single day in some way or another, but for two weeks of healing after a surgery that December.

So I compared… his hours are usually 7:00- 4pm.

I have high schoolers, I’m up at 5am everyday with them and watch what time my husband leaves for work. It’s the same everyday. He leaves 6:30. Sometimes later, but always right around that time.

He logged start time almost everyday those months at 9am. He also seemed to get off work around 2pm at least twice a week, even with the 9 am start time. Sometimes 3 times a week.

Some days he only “worked” 2 hours.

Looking at our texts and communication during those times before 9am or after 2pm… we didn’t text, or I would be texting him during those times, but he wouldnt answer. The phone bill shows I tried to call, but he didn’t pick up.

No wonder we didn’t have any money then. He was gone for work… he just wasn’t working.

So now I know.

Now I can plainly see how much time he spent at the whorehouse.

I wondered. I asked. I asked a lot over the last three years. “When?”

He lied out of his lying liar hole. But now I know.

It was a lot.

It was definitely on the same days he and I were ‘together’.

How wonderful for him. I bet he patted himself on the back and gave himself a thumbs up in the mirror every morning!

I bet you he made a clicking noise and finger gunned his image looking back at him. “What a man you are!” He would tell himself, after giving himself a little wink “You have two women wrapped up in your web of lies! You are the man! No one is as manly as you! You’re getting laid several times a day! Everyone wants you!”

So I now I can see right in front of me how often he went there. Some of them are hard to see.

His birthday. He went to work at 10am that day. But he left here at 6:30. I texted him throughout the day what he wanted for dinner. He only answers one text that day around 2 pm.

What a wonderful birthday morning he must’ve had with his trash whore.

The day before thanksgiving. He went to work. We texted a couple of times throughout the day, but he didn’t log any hours.

All day with her. Hope she basted that turkey well.

I know I had a pretty good day on thanksgiving after I cooked all day.

Asshole.

The worst was my 20th anniversary. He spent that whole afternoon with her, and 3 hours the next morning.

I went to dinner by myself that night.

So now I know. I can see the lies written down in front of me.

I can physically see the lies rolling out of his liar hole.

So now I know.

Now I know he lied when they started fucking. He said it was the middle of October. But his own handwriting for his billing hours determined that was a lie.

So now I know.

It looks like he started popping over for some morning lovin’ (after leaving my bed 🤮) the week I found out about them. He told me he wouldn’t speak to her again. She told me she wouldn’t speak to him… I believed them and they got to high five each other over my stupidity and fuck each other every day.

How he was able to keep up with the two of us, I’ll never know.

So now I know.

But he doesn’t know I know. I haven’t said anything.

I documented everything. It was so much, I needed to take notes as I went through the sheets, the texts and our bank and phone statements.

My stomach has been hurting since Saturday when I went through them.

He saw her almost every single day.

For 8 months.

My memory, journal and texts tell me he and I were together at least 5 times a week during the 8 month affair time.

I’m sick.

But I am the one that went digging. I’m the one that wants answers.

I know some may say that just because he was at her whore house doesn’t mean they were having sex… I get that…

But I know him.

They were having sex.

Im sick.

I don’t think I can be with this lying cheater.

I deserve better.

Tomorrow’s therapy appointment should be interesting.

I apologize for my crude language and rambling on… I’m just venting so I don’t stick a fork in his head.

I want to be mad at myself for digging and doing this to myself… but reality is, I didn’t do this to myself, did I?

For the first time since Dday… I don’t want him to touch me. Ever again.

Session #2. What just happened?

I will probably write out these sessions, mainly because writing it out helps me look at it, and a year from now I’ll be curious where I will be and how I come out of all of this.

She wants to get me to a place where self harm is not an option for me and she wants me to have a plan in place to control the attacks.

She spoke of the 5 senses. I feel the attack coming, I am to try to ground myself with doing the following:

This is definitely something I have tried in the past, I have never gotten to the ‘hear’ part. But I will try it again.

She had me hold an apple and describe it in detail without looking at it. I struggled doing this, because it’s an apple. Once you get past “round and waxy with a stem” what else is there?

I am to remove myself from the situation too. If it’s my husband that has triggered the attack, I am to remove myself from the room or area I am in.

I hope I can do that. I have not tried that before… just walk away in the heat of the moment.

If I trigger in the grocery store, I need to put the grounding technique into place.

That’s nice… as triggers hit out of nowhere, anywhere, and it’s not just about resorting to cutting, that usually only happens during the worst attacks. It’s also about learning to get through the small ones and moving forward.

I also need a token, an object that has something that can bring my focus in, like a fidget or something like that. Something physical that can help ground me.

I have no idea what to choose for that. She seemed interested in my reaction to that. I realized in that moment that I didn’t want to pick the wrong thing. Would she judge me if what I picked was stupid?

No. But I actually felt panicked I would choose the wrong thing as my grounding fidget.

She may have more than she realizes with me if I’m sliding into an anxiety attack right there in her office because I don’t want to choose the wrong fidget and couldn’t describe the apple in detail.

😬

I’m ridiculous.

I work in the autism program. My son has Aspergers. He has a ton of fidgets at all times. What the hell is my problem?

Moving on, she wants to now establish a safe place for me to “go”. She says when we start EMDR, I may need this.

She asks me if something comes to mind.

Something does immediately. I am to describe it to her. I do. Now I’m to associate a word with that place. “Peace” comes to mind.

Now she pulls out this light thing and tells me to watch the light moving as I think of the place and the word.

When she stops it, she asks me how do I feel.

I said “Better than I did, more relaxed.”

She smiled. She said she can see that. That my body language was very tense before she started.

She says we are going to repeat that again and starts the light thing again.

Now my safe place has a fancy sign over the door that says “peace” in a beautiful swirly script.

Interesting.

She asks how I feel again. I said, “Good, relaxed.” Then I tell her of the sign that’s now appeared above the door.

She smiled again and said, “perfect.”

I don’t know. All I can say is I’m glad I’m going to her.

Now if I can just find an object that does what she wants it to do for me, without stressing about it.

🙄

I got this. It’s my path, my journey, and if it works? Maybe it will be a more peaceful one.

Side note:

I had read of the EMDR light in my researching of it and totally pictured party ball lights of insanity.

It’s absolutely nothing like that! 😂😂

Hmmm… as I finish this, I wonder if a spinner ring would work for my object?….that feels right…

Session #1

This is the get know you session.

During our time, she begins to highly recommend EMDR, and is telling me how it works.

But as she went on telling me about it, she tells me that she does not feel I am ready for it now. That we need to put into place some ways to first deal with the self harm.

She tells me that emdr is not easy, it’s hard as it brings up pain and until we can teach me a different way to deal with the anxiety/panic attacks, she doesn’t want to start yet.

Sounds absolutely wonderful.

For the first time in three years, I have a glimmer of hope.

I was able to talk to her about anything she asked from my initial questionnaire.

I was honest. I also almost cried but didn’t.

I was determined not to cry.

I made it through talking about the affair, the trickle truth, my parents and some of my childhood without spilling a single tear, though I did have to stop and breathe a few times.

She asked me how long since I found out. I was somewhat embarrassed when I told her almost three years. I told her I feel like I should “be over it by now.”

She smiled and said absolutely not. There is no timeline to “get over” something like this. She said, “It’s trauma. There’s no deadline on dealing with trauma.”

I told her of the trickle truth, and told her it literally sets me back at dday each time.

She said that was completely understandable.

I liked hearing that. Because he makes me think I’m insane for wanting transparency. He says it’s “not natural.” She said, “Its completely natural to want information, as it helps you move forward and helps begin to establish trust.”

I think I’m going to like her. At one point she smiled and told me she was a huge neurological nerd and spent some time explaining how the brain works during the anxiety attacks. She explained how the rational side literally shuts down, you cannot think straight. I said, “He says I’m crazy and need help.”

She said, “His brain is thinking rationally, and yours is in fight or flight mode. You probably do look crazy to him.”

It made sense.

So let’s get my head fixed.

Maybe my heart will follow.

EMDR?

I’ve read about it, wondered about it, hoping it can be a thing that works. Let’s see.

Just set up my first appointment/consultation for this coming Wednesday.

I am not looking forward to yet another therapist. I also hope that dread of telling the story again doesn’t weigh too much on me and I approach it with an open mind and heart.c

I think I need help.

I know I need help.

No matter how much peace I seek, I can’t always escape the dark thoughts and self harm.

I need out of this hell I feel I’ve locked myself into.

She will be #4 since dday.

#1 was a mess. I would spend my hour with him looking at his computer and telling me about dead beavers that talked to him.

#2 told me to have a revenge affair.

#3 was a marriage counselor that H and I pretty much wrecked our time with. But I liked her.

So I guess I shall see…

It’s good medicine.

Self reflection.

I wrote a while back that I often head to Gettysburg -my happy place- and just hang out.

I have more than one happy place.

As the weather turned colder I found myself not going to Gettysburg as much and sticking closer to home.

I still feel that overwhelming need to get out of the house. Not that I’m getting away from him, as he is not even home when I go, it’s just these four walls, they close in.

Winter is always a bit hard on me, I like to be outside.

If you believe in astrology signs, I am a Sagittarius… we do not like to be inside. It’s a nope.

My property is 56 acres. 53 of those acres are woods. There are many logging trails through them and we connect to a local county park that has miles and miles of trails.

So I do not have to drive anywhere to get out of this house, I can just walk out my front door.

And I do.

A few years ago, sometime in late January, I pulled into the driveway and saw a large herd of deer standing in the front yard. I can’t tell if they are bucks or does, none have antlers. So I text my step dad, “When do the bucks drop their antlers?” He replied, “They start around now and can go until April.”

This particular January is when my husband was in full swing of his affair.

I thought it would be nice to take a hike around the woods and look for a shed or two. My stepdad gave me some pointers on what to look for and told me to get out there and look.

“Being in the woods is good medicine” he said.

I did not tell him I needed some good medicine, but I’ve always found an amazing peace in the woods, so off I went that day. The vibe was weird and off in the house, so I had no problem running into the woods.

I didn’t find anything. Not physically. But what I did find was I felt better.

We had some snow storms that year that only allowed me to get out a couple more times. I would call or text my stepdad “R” when I was out there and as time went on, I started to learn what I was looking at.

He sent me a book called The Tracker by Tom Brown jr.

He would call me and talk to me of how deer move, sleep, eat… how to see what else was out there.

My goal was to find an antler. They were dropping them and I wanted one.

I would hunt with R as a kid. I never got anything, but I learned. I learned at 9 how to walk without making a noise. I learned how to safely handle my rifle. I also knew then that I didn’t want to kill anything, I just wanted to be out there in the woods and hang out with him. He was and is to this day my dad and someone I love, trust and respect.

Inside my house, my life was falling apart, but outside the front door and into the woods, I was finding a peace that was addicting.

When summer came that year, I stayed out of the woods, I’m insanely allergic to poison ivy. That’s when I started heading into Gettysburg for that same peace.

Winter came and as the woods emptied of the few hunters permitted to hunt here and their season ended, I headed back in.

I’m going to find one this year. Im determined.

Back on the phone with R, he tells me again what to look for. That book has helped too. I can’t believe it, but I’m at a point that year that I was following buck trails, identifying their markings, I have a good feeling this will be my year. I will find a shed.

I didn’t, but the addiction of being out there is powerful. R is right, it’s good medicine.

I search everyday the weather allows me to do so. I don’t hit the same spots daily, I don’t want my scent messing with them. I can see where they sleep, I can see where they head off for the day, I just haven’t stumbled on any sheds yet.

One morning I went out right after sunrise. They had already moved on from where they bed for night. I searched, nothing. So I found a spot under a pine to just sit for a minute and listen.

If you sit for a bit, the woods will adjust to you and come back to life again.

I heard something coming towards me. The sun was still low in the east sky, and there was a bit of early morning fog. Sun beams coming through the pines and the fog was stunning. Breathtaking.

A deer came over a small hill and looked down at me sitting there. She had sun the behind her, all those early morning sun beams in the fog lighting her up. It was gorgeous. We looked at each other for quite some time. I didn’t move. She didn’t move.

This is why I come out here. Moments like this.

When she finally turned and sprinted away, I knew that image was going to be forever in my memories.

So that year, I came up empty handed in the shedded antler department. But I got to know my woods better than ever before.

I found old mason jars, where the turkeys roost, a full blown junk yard that looked like it was from the 60’s, deer trails, a hidden pond, eagles nest, owl nests, fox, coyote tracks. I watched countless sunsets, I walked every inch of the banks that run along the creek.

The Canadian geese hate me. I don’t know what it’s going to take to get them to trust me, but they hate that I wander around out there.

I got to know my woods and the creek. My marriage was crumbling, my husband was cheating on me, my family was falling apart, the aftermath of the affair was almost debilitating. I didn’t know who I was… but as time went on, I was starting to find myself again. Getting to know my woods was weirdly teaching me how to get to know myself.

2019 rolls in and as soon as hunting season ended, I go back out. This will be my year.

Now, my kids have started to tease me. “There goes Mom again, looking for an antler.” Eyeroll. Laugh.

“Come with me, let me show you what’s out there”

They say “no, that’s alright, you go mom.”

I don’t get it, at their age you couldn’t keep me out of the woods. I’ve always been drawn to it.

I tell myself I should maybe wander off my property, into the county land and look there. But I change my mind, if I find one, I want it to be from one of “my” bucks.

Now though? It’s not really about finding a shed. It’s about being out there. The peace. The realization that I am at a crossroads in my life, in my marriage.

I have always been the caregiver. Always. From my family to my job, I take care of those around me.

I’ve never taken care of myself. It always felt selfish. I will do for you before I ever do for me.

I do not want anyone “taking care” of me. It’s uncomfortable. It’s awkward.

So for the first time in my life, I’m just taking care of me. This alone time I so desperately seek is perfect. I even make sure it’s during times that the kids are in school, husband at work, or even when the kids are at work. Everyone is taken care of.

I like getting to know myself.

I recognize and accept what’s going on with me. It’s all okay…

I’m angry. For the first time since dday, I’m truly angry. Yes, I’ve been insanely mad before, and thought I had already gone through that “five stages of grief” anger stage a while ago.

No. I didn’t. Not like now.

It’s not an all consuming rage, it’s more like a quiet anger of realizing that that man did me wrong. I’m starting to see him clearer. The bad…and the good.

I’m depressed. I can see it, feel it. I’m okay with it. It won’t last forever.

I’m self reflecting. Who am I? I don’t know yet, but I am really starting to like who I am, who I am becoming. Maybe the depression is lifting.

It’s March 26th. I’ve been in the woods since January… just looking. If it’s not raining, I take some time to go look.

I found more mason jars this year. They are old, it’s nice to know I’m bringing them back into this old farmhouse where they belong. I found a cast iron pan too, it’s almost 100 year old pan! I brought it back to life and cook in it almost daily.

I’ve watched many sunsets out there this winter. I’ve watched the geese start to pair up and many are already sitting on eggs. I watch the red tail hawks circling above me, I listen to the strange sound of the turkeys I rarely ever lay eyes on. I have a favorite tree I sit under and listen, and sometimes I bring my journal out and it’s the perfect spot to sit and write and listen.

It’s an old tree. Massive. I know it was here watching Union and Confederate troops go by on their way to Gettysburg. I wonder what all it’s witnessed.

There’s even been a warm day here and there that I can drag my kayak out.

The water was insanely cold. But it felt invigorating.

I go out as much as I can. I go saying I’m looking for sheds, but honestly, I go for what R calls “medicine”

“Mother Nature will always give you what you need. If you need to heal your body, she has what you need. If you need to heal your mind, she has what you need. She will always give you what you need.”

He tells me this a lot. I wonder if he knows something is broken in me, but doesn’t want to pry.

He doesn’t ask, he just teaches me what to look for.

I found one Sunday.

I send a text to R right after I calm down.

I’m not done. I may never find another one, but I will still go and look.

Medicine.

The STD test

Often a group I’m in or a conversation with my twitter fam definitely get me thinking.

Funny that today, it came up in both my group and on Twitter.

The STD test after finding out the cheating lying liar possibly exposed you to something.

My story:

They started on September 10th. I found out she had him over to her house on September 15. I found out they were talking on September 20th. Around the 23, he told me he went to her house that previous Tuesday night.

He swore on the 21st he would never talk to her again, he swore they didn’t do anything that Tuesday, he swore and swore and swore.

He lied. But I know that now, I didn’t know that then.

Come early November that year I have to have myself checked out. I’m bleeding heavy and I’m not doing good.

I go see a new gyn. She doesn’t know me, I don’t know her.

After the exam and a sonogram, she pulls me into her office to tell me I have large fibroids and gives me all the options. After talking, she asks me, “Do you have anything else you would like to talk about?”

I took a deep breath and looked out the window.

Did he fuck her that night? That Tuesday night? Sitting there that day, I believed him when he said he didn’t… but something wasn’t right, something was off… I should be sure…

“I think my husband was with another woman…”

I choked up and had trouble breathing.

She finished for me…”So I’ll be ordering a full std panel”

I nodded.

I left her office with lots of bandaids on my arm. Blood drawn for the panel and for tests for the upcoming surgery we scheduled.

He took me that day and was waiting for me in the truck.

I told him what I had ordered. He didn’t say anything.

When the results came back clear, I told him. I remember him smiling.

I thought that was odd then. But now I know why. I got tested, it comes back clear, so now he thinks he’s in the clear.

Fast forward to him telling me when they first started screwing. He said it was sometime in mid-October. I was tested around November 10th.

Was that too soon?

Do I go again now? Make him go?

There’s always lots of talk and lots of two sided conversations about infidelity.

But this is one that makes my blood boil. No matter what your relationship is going through, it’s the most selfish act ever to expose your spouse or partner to an STD.

We have no say. There isn’t one of us that would happily agree to being exposed to something like that.

Selfish assholes.

When I brought it up to him later, he stupidly said, “But she was clean. She had been married.”

Are you stupid!?

She was married 3 times, possibly 4. And straight from her foul mouth to his ears she had “many stalkers that wanted her”. So many. So many men just can’t live without her.

She spread her legs for a married man, I’m sure there were others before him and others in between all the other ex husbands. Whore.

How dare he expose me?

How dare anyone do that to someone.

A debate I’ve had several times was, “would you tell a friend if you knew their partner/spouse was cheating.”

Yes. In a heartbeat, if I knew for sure, yes. That liar is exposing said friend to something they are not aware of. That is the biggest reason for me, period.

Since the cheater can’t seem to open their lying liar hole and admit to their spouse that they’ve exposed them? Definition of coward right there.

I’m bitter tonight. I’m not not sure how I can ever let go that he selfishly exposed me. I had no say.

And now I’m wondering if I was tested too soon.

What just happened?

So after I saw that text between D and my husband, we had it out that weekend.

I basically let 2 1/2 years out. I took up for myself and let’s just say there were a lot of tears and I asked him a lot of questions. I explained why I needed out of the trickle truth.

For the first time since DDay, he didn’t turn it around on me and weirdly let me sit there and ask my questions and just be upset.

But oh did I mess up…

I rapid fired questions like a machine gun. I couldn’t hold back and wait for an answer. It’s been so long of holding so much in that it flew out like a flood.

Some he answered, but for the most part he blinked. Just a whole lot of surprised blinking and wtf looks.

I also seemed to answer most of my own questions… which I’ve learned from other bloggers that I can’t do! 😣. Just because I believe my own version of events doesn’t mean he is lying.

This didn’t go on long, as we had to pick up our daughter from work and I refuse from here on out to bring any of this around them. They have had enough of their dad and I to last a lifetime.

I messed up, I know. We have talked since and I have apologized, explaining that the affair is in my thoughts every single day and I hold a lot in. 99% I hold in.

He said he understood.

So a couple days later, I sent him this email with this link to an amazing video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xzRARnXmRAM&feature=share

He never replied.

I knew I messed up that night, so I’ve been back to holding it in.

But D had his birthday party last night.

I told my H no way was I going to hang out with him and his scummy friend.

But I did. I went. I’m trying to rise above.

Maybe I want them to see that the person my H described was not that person at all. Maybe I wanted to make them uncomfortable too. We have been around each other many times since DDay and D is always awkward around me.

Good. I didn’t do anything. Be awkward.

Maybe I just wanted to go out. We were hitting three breweries I had never been to and maybe I was selfishly going to make him uncomfortable and check out the local beers.

I was quiet all night and enjoyed myself.

But I did have some questions for my husband surrounding this whole thing with the nasty text and what went down that night.

“Was Toni there that night at the party that I didn’t know was a party.”

“No”

I have to stop asking. So there, it’s a no.

“After I left the bar, did she meet up with you all?”

“No.”

Again, I won’t ask again.

That was last night.

Today, I brought up a few things, but he immediately got angry and went to his studio to play guitar.

I gave him some time and then went down.

“Why do you run away every time questions come up?”

“I don’t want to answer.”

“Did you ever watch that video I sent you a couple of weeks ago?”

He looks embarrassed? “No.”

This makes me sad, because he’s watched 30 how-to videos on camping stuff and tools for his job just this past weekend. He has time to watch how to hang a hammock and tighten a drill, but not anything for our marriage.

I don’t say any of that.

“Will you watch it?”

“Yes.”

Did he? I don’t know!

He comes up from studio about an hour later turns on the TV.

Bowling.

He watches for a few minutes, he loves bowling. I was at a concert this past Friday, he and one of our kids and some friends went bowling.

“You want to come out Friday night with us and go bowling?”

“I would love to.”

He watches a few minutes on the TV.

“Chrissy.”

I look at him.

“I want to tell you something I’ve never told you.”

He’s being weird, the vibe feels funny.

I look at him.

He pauses the TV.

“Remember my bowling lessons?”

Yes, I do. 23 years ago he was taking weekly lessons from some guy that was on some bowling tour thing that was a pro. I know nothing of the sport. He had lessons from him for months, he learned a lot, he’s actually pretty good.

“It was a woman. My lessons were from a woman.”

“Wtf?”

“Back then I didn’t want to tell you it was a female, but I’m not that person anymore and I’m just going to start telling you everything.”

Me… what the actual fuck is happening right now?

“You lied about that?”

“Yes. I was wrong. Also, when the group of guys went to Vegas for the bachelor party in March of 2000, you were right, we went to a strip club.”

What is happening?

“I’m not going to be that person anymore. You’re getting everything.”

Did he watch that video?

I think something got through.

Over two years later….

Now I don’t even know where to start.

He had to go pick up our middle son from work, it’s snowing like crazy here, so after saying that, he got dressed and left.

I’m still blinking and trying to figure this out.

Maybe he’s just done hiding and trying to shove everything under the rug.

Maybe he knows I’m not PMSing and survival for him stands a good chance.

Maybe he is tired and facing this head on and honest talking can heal him too.

But he hasn’t done anything yet… and I have to think about this and what I really need to know to move forward. So let’s see where this goes.

Not tonight, all three kids are here and I’m not ready. I’m in shock.

Maybe I’ll just start at the beginning… 🤷🏻‍♀️. Seems like a good place to start.

HW, OW, THOT…

Pointless post this morning.

Big debate going on in a group I’m in this morning on the acronyms.

It is being said that we, the BS (betrayed spouse) need to stop calling the OW, OW.

We need to call her HW, they say.

Home wrecker.

This ignites a ridiculously huge keyboard battle.

Absolutely not, most say. The cheating spouse gets that title, they are the ones that wrecked the home.

No way, others say. She knew we were married, she knew we had kids, she spread her legs for him anyway. She wrecked our home.

I read the comments as they go on and on, then find myself bursting out laughing. Someone comes in with, “let’s drop the whole OW and HW and call them what they are, a THOT.”

That hoe over there.

Ok 👌. I’m good with THOT.

-Who did wreck the home?

My husband.

-Who helped him?

Toni.

-Who is the other woman in my marriage?

Toni.

-Who is that hoe over there?

Toni.

-Who is that other hoe over there?

My husband. He can be a thot, too. Why not.

-Who am I?

Betrayed spouse.

All acronyms so far are correct.

She DID know about me. She DID know about our kids, our family. Yes, he 100% lied to her.

He wrecked the home.

But she knew.

Maybe as betrayed spouses, there is a comfort in the acronyms used in the world of infidelity. It’s easier to tweet, it’s shorter to type and maybe we just like to call it as we individually see it.

My husband cheated. To me, he is The Cheater.

That’s not all he is, but that’s what he did, and that’s what I associate him as during the time he did it.

Toni is anything I can come up with. But she is also the other woman in this story and she did help wreck our home. To me, it will never matter that “she was not the one who married me and made promises to me.”

The bitch had her role in this and that’s that.

She is and always will be a THOT.

I also think long debates and arguments over silly things like this help.

Takes your mind off what actually went down.

I went digging. I shouldn’t have.

Or maybe I should have.

Here’s the thing… we are 2.10 years out from Dday. I still do not have the whole picture. I’m still very lost. He still lies and turns it back on to me.

I very much want to be healing from this and I very much hate that he still lies to this day because he’s a coward and a child who is afraid of “getting in trouble.”

I don’t tell him that though, I’m pretty silent about the fact that I see him as a coward. I mentioned it once to our MC and the look on her face when I called him a coward made me think maybe that wasn’t something I should do.

I read an entry on Jacks blog that I’ve been thinking about since he wrote it. It’s so good, so true. Advice to the Betrayer

I copied it and two days ago I sat on the couch next to him and read it to him. I told him I’m stuck. That I needed the whole puzzle together. I needed the whole picture. He has the missing pieces and the key to help unlock this. That it’s been too long.

He got up in the middle of me reading it and picked up the cat and started petting him. He didn’t say anything.

I asked him if he was willing to talk a bit then and there, that I wasn’t out to badger him, or punish him, I just needed some missing pieces and truth.

He pet the cat.

I asked him again, “Can we talk? The kids aren’t here, it’s a perfect time to do so.”

Cat got more petting.

“What is it you would need from me to feel safe to have a conversation?”

“I’ve answered all of your questions.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Can we talk now?”

“I haven’t gone to the bathroom yet since I came home from work.”

So I got up and left. Went to the gym and immersed myself in an intense kickboxing class.

I pictured his face.

So last night, I’m laying in bed and it hits me. He works a part time job and that paycheck is deposited directly into our joint account. I have long wondered about that Valentine’s Day with her. I’ve asked, he reluctantly ended up telling me, even though it took him 6 months to do so.

He worked that part time job that V day, and then went by the store and got her flowers and took them to her. Then he went to another store on his way home and got me and my daughter a little orchid and some cupcakes.

This is what he told me.

I processed through that a while ago. I asked him what kind of flowers he got her. “I don’t know.”

Anyway, my goal was to look at his paycheck from that time. Did he lie? Did he actually spend all day with her and tell me he was working?

Turns out he was telling the truth. He worked. But looks like he worked only four hours. He was gone from 5:30 am to 6pm that night.

So I looked at the bank statement a little closer. He went shopping at a local grocery store and spent 60.00 there. Then the next purchase is from the other store where I know he got my daughter and I something.

I think he bought that whore a $60 bouquet of roses. She wouldn’t want anything less. High maintenance.

I’m a carnation kind of girl. Roses are pretty, but they are expensive and die fast. Carnations smell amazing and last for weeks. Whatever.

During the time I was stalking her online, I saw a friend of hers posted a picture of her living room. This was around March the picture was taken. First off… she’s a horrible housekeeper.. slob. I remember seeing a vase of dead dried flowers sitting there in disgusting water.

Those must’ve been his token of love to her that Valentine’s Day. Wonder what he got in return?

So.. I’m fuming. I’m sitting there fuming and heart pounding and pissed off and then I see another purchase. Clearly a meal and drinks for two.

So I call him.

I’m calm.

We chit chat about nothing for a while. I take a deep breath, “remember the other night on the couch when I said truth is best?” “Yes”

“Did you take her to Said Restaurant that Valentine’s Day weekend?” I tell him the date and price paid.

“No. But I did meet D (his best friend) and it was my turn to buy.”

I am completely honest with him. I tell him I went through the statements from that time and saw the purchase for the flowers.

He starts getting pissed.

I tell him if he was just upfront and honest from the beginning that I wouldn’t go digging.

He doesn’t say anything. We hang up.

But now I want to go through texts from that time and match up that he was with D like he said.

He was. I’m starting to breathe easier. Maybe digging was needed to be done to validate his story.

I’m still pissed about the whore flowers, but what can I do about that now? Nothing.

Then I see the texts with him and D right after setting up that night for beers…

They are planning D’s birthday. This is the one that I walked into not knowing it was a party that left me laying in an alley like a doofus.

Here’s that night. Trigger Hell

So there are no texts between them that evening of the party…. but my Husband of twenty years, father of my kids, provider for our family texts his scummy ass friend the next morning:

My dickwad husband is in green, scumball scrotum face D is who he’s talking to.

I don’t know if I’m hurt or if I’m pissed, I don’t know if I’m suicidal or if I can breathe my way through this one.

I don’t know.

So I text dickwad asshole a screenshot of their texts.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. But for once, for him to straight up see how he was and answer for it? That would be nice.

But I will just never forgive him, so he’s off the hook.

Am I badgering him at this point? I don’t know. Am I making him feel punished? I don’t freaking know.

But how dare he talk like that about me to his scum ball worthless fat ass smelly ball sack friend?

Don’t worry.. I feel the same about my husband right now.

Oh, and for ball sack to wonder which one he got laid from? Oh the wonders he must’ve told him about their incredible sex life!

I swear to God I’m spitting nails pissed right now.

It’s days like these that makes all the progress we have actually made just disappear.

I shouldn’t have gone digging.

I don’t think he would talk about me like that now. We have come a long way.

But right now… I’m fuming and just getting it out here.

What a flaming asshole dick face shit hole he is.

Was.

Could be again? I don’t know… he has not shown a moment of remorse since dday.

Ok, maybe once. But I’m not seeing that right now.

It’s no wonder I look back at that time and feel used. He used me. He was probably getting laid -as he puts it- every fucking day between the two of us.

Does that mean she was used too?

I have to get out of here. I’m not sure why this one is hitting me so hard.

It’s not like I didn’t know about the flowers or ball sacks birthday party.

What is wrong with me? I’m losing my mind.