Trickle Truth HELL

I’m currently in hell.  There is no other way to describe this.  I’m losing it.

I came back up to the top to give you an F-Bomb warning.  There’s a lot.  Sorry.. sort of.

Last night, after yet another discovery hits me out of nowhere, I think I had a breakdown.  I couldn’t breathe, I threw up, my hands feet were cold and tingling… I couldn’t control my breathing, my thoughts, my body was shaking, I couldn’t stop crying.  It’s been a while since one of these attacks have hit me.  Panic?  Anxiety?  I’m not sure what it is called, but its AWFUL.  I can’t function, and I can’t think properly.

The crazy thing is I almost reverted back to techniques I used when I was younger and when I first found out about him and dumpster.  Cutting.

I haven’t talked about that here at all, (shame maybe?), but it’s there.  It’s a been a part of my life a long time.  As a teenager, I would cut.  It took away the pain, and I had control.  It was the only thing I had control of.  By doing that, I took the emotional pain and turned it into physical.  That actually felt better and again, I had control.

When people take away your choices, the desire for control is consuming.

As an adult, it came back when I found out about them.  It was a bad fight, and I guess I had what he loves to call a mental break down.  I was in the driveway.  I saw a rock that had a sharp edge.  I picked it up and went after a tattoo I have on my wrist that represents him and I.  I have no fucking idea why.  I didn’t think, I just did.

Immediate calm.  I hate that it brings immediate emotional relief.  But it does.  I didn’t do much damage to myself, but over time, the next year actually, I kept going back to destroying that tattoo.    I told a counselor about a year ago, and talking about it to another adult human seemed to help. I haven’t since then.

Even though he did look at me like I was nuts.  But this is also the one that also told me to have a revenge affair.  I don’t see him anymore.

This is all so fucked up.  I didn’t physically harm myself last night, but God I wanted to.  I hate this.  I hate him, I hate her, I hate myself. I hate this so much.  I’m fucking losing it.

I don’t know how to keep doing this.  Trickle truth is evil.   It will never end.  Things will be going great, the future looks stable, and BAM.  Out of NO WHERE.  Another big hit. 2 YEARS LATER!!!  How long does this go on???

As long as I let it, I guess.  I’m allowing this to keep happening by staying with him.

Bottom line.  I’ve asked about what I got hit with in the past. Several times I’ve asked. He lied.  I believed.  So when it comes out later that he lied, it’s so much worse.  I’m not sure why I’m shocked.  He’s not fucking protecting me, he’s a coward and protecting himself.  Fuck him.

I’m not sure how to get out of this hell.  I keep telling myself I’ll be on the other side of this one soon, but I don’t know how.  I know I’ll get there… I know I’ll get there… don’t pick up a fucking rock.  He’s not worth it.

It’s just going to keep happening.  If he grows the fuck up and actually sheds that coward skin, we may have a chance.

But I don’t see that happening.  I don’t see him growing up, and I don’t see me allowing this any longer.

How can I get away from him?  He will not leave.  I want him to LEAVE.  I love the house I’m in, and I can afford it on my own.  HE WILL NOT LEAVE.  I want HIM OUT.

I hate him.  I want him to leave.  I’m done.  I want off this ride, this roller coaster sucks.  I want off.  Fuck putting the puzzle together, it’s killing me. It’s gone on too long.

Sorry.  This was a hot mess post… I don’t know if I’ll hit publish.   I’m not doing good.  It’s continuing through to today, and I’m losing it fast.

 

 

Truth really does set you free.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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He wants forgiveness

I’ve heard it for over two years. “You will never forgive me.”

It usually ends the conversation.

He will also state, with a stern heavy voice, “I know with 100% certainty that you will never ever forgive me.”

Again, it will stop me from talking.

I now carry guilt for not forgiving.

But what exactly am I supposed to forgive? What does he want?

But time goes on. The fog has cleared. I’m looking back at the time frame of the affair with different eyes. I don’t know why I’m looking back, but maybe that’s just part of all of this. To look at it again when you aren’t in crippling pain.

I threw an affair question at him last night. Something that has been bugging me for a few weeks. I didn’t set up the conversation with safe boundaries and timers and all that bullshit, I just tossed it at him. It took him by surprise, but he answered.

We talked for a bit. The talk was good. Good in the sense that he didn’t throw up defensive walls immediately. However, when it got a little tough, his body language changed. He tensed up. His arms crossed and he looked away. “You will just never forgive me.”

Even though the conversation was going well, the minute he had to face his part of the situation we were talking about, he shut down and turned it onto me. It’s a deflection.

If he believes I just won’t ever forgive him, then the failure of the marriage falls on my shoulders. He takes whatever guilt he’s feeling and puts it on me.

I’ve been waiting for this. There has been some chatter on twitter about the word forgiveness. What it means. It’s made me really think about how it’s constantly said to me.

So I said, “You have been telling me that for years now. What I need from you is a definition. What does being forgiven mean to you?”

He looked confused. His body language relaxed a bit. He looked down, to the left, stared at the floor. The question was definitely going through his head.

I repeated. He still looked confused. So I went on.

“Tell me what it is you need from me that will help you feel as though you have been forgiven.”

Nothing. I can hear a clock ticking in the other room. I wait a while. Still nothing.

“You keep seeking forgiveness from me, but I’m not sure what that means to you. What does it mean?”

Nothing.

“Can I tell you what I think it means to you? I encourage you to tell me if I’m not on the right track.”

“Yes.”

“I think forgiveness, to you, means we never look back. That I never speak of the affair again. That we forget it happened and just go forward. Forgiveness to you means forgetting.”

He nodded. He said, “That’s exactly what I want.”

I smiled at him. “That’s not how this works. The affair is like dragging an elephant around with us. It’s always there. I want nothing more than to cut the ropes and be free. Or at least not feel the sheer weight of it all the time. You are helping to drag it along too, we both have to work at cutting the ropes.”

I went on, “You keep putting the word forgiveness on me, but for me, I feel like I have forgiven you. I’m here. I’m next to you. I am still fighting. I didn’t go. We just have to deal with the remaining effects of it. For me? I’m still putting my pieces back together. This isn’t an instant heal.”

“I’m not here to punish you, if you feel that way, it’s inside of you. I’m here to heal the only way I know how, and sometimes it’s going to fall on you to hand me a knife to cut another rope from that elephant. For me, healing has always come from truth. You have to open up, or this will never work. I will become exhausted and done with dragging around that big old elephant.”

I’m a visual person, what can I say.

I’ve never asked him to “heal” me. I knew from the start that my healing was my responsibility. He can’t stick his head in the sand though, and just ignore what he has put us through, us as a couple and us as a family. He has to work to do too.

I know he didn’t walk out the door and into her life to hurt me. I know this was not about me, or even her. It was never a malicious attack on me. It was always him and whatever he was going through.

I can’t heal him, either. He has his own path he needs to take.

But something tells me he will no longer throw the heavy weight of “forgiveness” on me again.

For that, I thank you Sean.

Thank you Cad Confessional . You don’t really know how much you get me thinking outside of the box I’m comfortable in. Your recent tweets on forgiveness really got me thinking. I don’t even know how to put into words how much your own journey has helped mine. 🙏

The beginning. Who did you tell?

When I found out dumpster girl existed, I told a lot of people.

I’m not sure why.

Not to shame him. Not for sympathy. For no reason I think other than, I was fucked up and explaining why to people made sense. I actually didn’t give it much thought. I just told.

I carried no shame in his choices and actions.

I wish I did give it thought though.

Day 1. Coworker. “What is wrong with you?” “Husband has a girlfriend.” After discussing it a bit, she asks, “How long?” I didn’t know. So I text him. “A week.”

I tell her. “Oh, that’s nothing. You found out in time to fix this.”

I told my friend a day later. Same thing, “you got it in time, they haven’t started anything real, haven’t slept together, you can fix this.”

I told my Dad in December. “You need to leave him now.” “But it was only a week Dad, and he swears they aren’t talking anymore and nothing physical happened in that week back in September.”

“Leave him.”

I told his Mom. His brother. He left us 5 days before Christmas. 2 days after Christmas I packed the truck full of kids and some food and went to Daytona. They messaged me, “what is going on?!”

I told others. I just didn’t care. It was my life, if you sensed something was a mess with me, and asked? I told.

A friend at work had gone through this the year before. I told her, knowing she would understand. We would talk almost daily until the end of that school year (and we still do) about it. I remember that first day of telling her.

“I hate her. I don’t think they are together, I believe him when he says they aren’t, but if my marriage doesn’t make it, I don’t want him to end up with her.” We high fived on that.

I told another good friend sometime in November. She texted me “what’s up with you?” So I told her.

She replied in seconds, “Can you call me where no one can hear you?” So I do.

“It happened to me.” She goes on to tell me her story. Its a heart breaking story, and not mine to tell, but she became my hero through my own hell.

She handled it much better than I did. Her daughter never knew what was going on, they were able to keep that away from her. She followed a program. She paid for the program. She gave me tips and advice from it.

I bought the book. Mort Fertel. Marriage fitness. I could not afford the paid program.

Basically, Morts program wants you to remember that you loved your spouse at one time, go back to that. That you shouldn’t go to marriage counseling and you shouldn’t ask questions about the affair. That is in the past.

Oh.. and if your spouse is still having the affair, you need to treat them sweetly and kindly. Sleep with them if you want them.

Some of the things he advised made no sense to me. I was mad!! I was hurt!!

Some did. I remember reading a part early in October, going down to his office, dropping to my knees in front of him, putting my hands on his thighs, looking him in the eye “Divorce is not an option for me. I will never again ask you about that week with her, it’s in the past. I believe you, and we will move forward. We will look at the reasons why you started talking to her, and I will listen to you. I love you, divorce is not an option, I will not accept that.”

I remember he nodded.

I invested some time reading Morts book, getting advice from the friend that did his program, receiving his e-mails (free to get those) and really feeling like it was all good. Not talking about their week, not shoving it down his throat, figuring out why the marriage was breaking down, what he needed, what I needed… all of that seemed to be a good idea.

I was team Mort all the way (except for the paid program. I couldn’t afford it) for the entire 8 months he decided it would be fun to lie to me, lie to dumpster ho, and have himself a full blown affair.

Needless to say, I dropped Mort when I found out the truth that April. Instead, I found Samual at https://www.affairrecovery.com/our-blog. And a whole lot of people in the same boat as me on Twitter.

But I do think of Mort sometimes. One thing in an e-mail, that really stuck with me, is if your spouse wants to end the affair, work it out with you, and changes to do so? And you leave them?

The chances of you being cheated on again with someone new are high. If your unfaithful spouse figures out what went wrong and you leave, they now know how to treat the new person in their life like a queen.

Here’s the article:

https://marriagemax.com/cheater/

So, in ending, I told a lot of people. Some have stuck with me through this ride. It’s sad though, all of those people didn’t think he was still with her. Including me. None thought he slept with her, and that I did find out in time to stop that next step in their “relationship”.

My Dad is still mad. Mistake in telling him.

My work friend went through it again, the same time I did, and without her support I would’ve gone insane. We bounce off each other, and hate the other women in our stories. Her story took a different road than mine did, but we still text and talk and trash the OW’s. It’s cathartic, what can I say.

Mort may work for some. I definitely didn’t go into this blog thinking I was going to bring up Mort… but I guess he was a big part of that beginning stage.

Don’t talk about it.

Don’t accept divorce.

Don’t go to marriage counseling.

You loved this person before, you can do it again.

If you’re interested in Mort: (it did work for my friend). He’s easy to find, and the emails were helpful.

http://infidelityhealing.com/interview-mort-fertel-marriage-fitness/

Writing this, looking back, I guess I do feel some shame. And anger.

But not at him. Or even dumpster.

But at myself because I didn’t see what was going on right in front of my face. I was a fool.

No point in this blog, really… just thinking about all those that I told.

All of those still on the stupid ride with me.

Who did you tell?

What am I doing?

What am I doing? I don’t know.

I work with children diagnosed with Autism.

I work with children on the severe end of the spectrum. Almost all are non-verbal.

(Though that does not mean incapable 😊)

January, after Christmas break, my husband sat me down and said, “I can cover your paycheck. If you want, please know that you can stay home for a bit. See what you want, take some time for yourself.”

At this time, I was coming home everyday bruised, bitten and bleeding. One student in particular.

This bothered my husband to see me like this. It actually made him angry. He doesn’t understand, and never would unless he was in that world.

But I understood his worry. He also didn’t understand when I would tell him about the day, but always end it with, “But I just love this girl so much. I don’t care what she does to me.”

He would shake his head.

Then one day, before break, she bit me pretty good and hit me in the eye so hard my vision blacked out in that eye for about 15 seconds. When it came back, there was like a half circle of black at the bottom of my vision for almost an hour. Turns out she knocked the crap out of my retina.

This did shake me a bit.

Put that on top of driving to work everyday on the same road that he would travel to visit the ho bag, who worked 2 miles from my school. Put that on top of intense counseling that was going on, and trying to muddle through infidelity and the kids needs, and my mental state of mind?

I took him up on his offer. My whole being was craving peace. Rest. Healing.

Not many get this opportunity, to take some time, but he gave me that.

I was going to return back to school for the summer session. But as it approaches, I don’t think it’s my path any longer.

At least not public school.

A new school has opened up near me, geared completely for autism, and I have my eye on that. Private seems to be more appealing to me at this time.

IEP’s, Public school politics, teachers and parents that don’t understand? I don’t think that’s my path any longer.

I’ve enjoyed my time off, I’ve come a long way since January.

He hasn’t… but I have.

He told me this morning he doesn’t want me to go back to work. I get a weird feeling he knows that by me staying home, I’m dependent on him. That I can’t leave.

And he is right, I can’t right now.

But maybe I’m looking at it wrong, maybe he sees that I am better. That the house is clean. Food is being served. I have time to grocery shop and run kids again. That I have time to be a mom and wife.

Or maybe he sees that once I establish a good paycheck, that I’m out the door.

I’m working hard on my resume. He’s not taking this choice from me.

He’s already taken too many.

His Dad would not allow his mother to work. I never saw my husband like that. He’s always stood behind anything I’ve ever wanted to do.

But it crossed my mind when he told me not to go back.

Lovers Lane.

I live right on the MD/PA line. I am closer to shop in PA than Maryland, so I’m there a lot.

There is this one road, and on this road is 11 restaurants, a huge movie theater, Walmart, Target, Home Depot, Lowe’s (of course, they are always next to each other -weird really) Hobby Lobby, a mall, Petco…oh, and a Sams Club.

You have absolutely everything you need in two miles.

I’ve shopped there for years.

Years.

This is where they would go to eat dinner.

They hit most of the restaurants there. What the hell he was thinking? I don’t know. Even though it’s in another state, it’s very close to our community, and I’ve run into people I know or work with almost every time I’m there.

I asked him once, a while back, “Did you ever worry you would be seen?” He said, “I was a nervous wreck the entire time.”

I’ve nicknamed the road “lovers lane.”

He told me where they ate, and it was literally a line of restaurants down the road.

Some days, it’s trigger hell. Others? I’m absolutely fine. I refuse to stop going there, because they are not ruining that for me.

Our daughter went to the movies on Sunday. We dropped her off together. We came to a halt and back-up right by the steak restaurant they went to.

I felt it coming on. My heart starts slamming against my ribs, my fingers tingle, breathing becomes shallow. Damn it. I need to fight this off. Breathe. In. Out. This is stupid, you’ve been here 100 times since dday, why now? Do the 5 things technique…quick.. it’s taking over…

Look around:

5 things you can see: ok ok ok… the red camaro symbol above the gear shift, my bracelet, the personalized license plate in front of us… clearly they are a dogrumer… his hand on hers when she orders a steak, he’s so happy she eats meat, his loser wife is a vegetarian, nope nope nope, get outta my head, look, there’s the fucking Perkins right across the street, a family restaurant you took your whore to…

This isn’t working. I can usually grab onto the 5 things and make it through pretty quick..but not today.

Let’s move on to 4.

4 things you can touch: I touch the dash, my watch, I panic, I can’t find something that will pull me out of this, I look at his hand. Reaching for him, touching him, will often ground me… not today, that hand touched her. Fuck that hand.

Can’t even focus now. What was the third thing to do? 3 things you can hear.

Nothing. I can’t pull anything in other than the sound of them laughing together and still talking about what I loser I am because I don’t eat meat.

I’m done. I can’t even go on. I also know in the back of my traumatized thoughts that they did not talk about me at all and I’m being ridiculous.

If I’m not trapped in a car sitting next to him, I can usually accomplish the flood control with a walk.

The light finally changes. We move. We literally go by two more of their restaurants to get to the movies. My daughter is in the seat behind me, earbuds in and humming to her music. She has no idea what I’m going through. That’s good.

We drop her off and go eat. Not at one of theirs. I hope. He says, “What’s going on?”

I was honest. “Sometimes, it’s not easy to be here. Some days, it’s no big deal at all.” He nods. He knows I will randomly struggle coming here. He knows I call it Lovers Lane. He looks at me and says, “you didn’t need to come, I can drop her off and pick her up without you.”

I said, “Nope. I know she shops up here, I was coming with you.”

He gets pissed off. “You didn’t need to say that. Just because you have a thought doesn’t mean it needs to come out of your mouth.”

In other words: he’s uncomfortable now, and it’s my fault.

I say nothing. Tension is thick now. How can I make him see this is just not about him at all?

That realization hits me for the very first time since all of this has happened:

It’s not about him at all, it’s about me.

He should not be getting pissed at me because I struggled through a trigger. Him getting angry is a reflection of his own feelings about himself, he’s the one that brought this on. He’s the reason we are going through this, and he’s not faced it. So it’s easier for him to get mad at me than face what he’s done. I have no time for all that while I’m in the panic of a trigger, or after I’ve pulled through. That’s on him.

On the way back through to pick her up, I said, “Shut up and listen to me. Don’t say a word, don’t cut me off because you’re uncomfortable, just listen: I do all I can do to control the flood when a trigger hits. What you need to understand is it’s not about you. You always make all of this about YOU. This is what I AM feeling, this is me. I’m not mad at you, I’m not mad at her, this is just what I am going through. I’m not punishing you or taking digs at you! This. Is. Not. About. You. 99% of the time, you don’t even know that I’m experiencing it when it happens.”

“I’m not asking you for anything. I’m not asking anything of you. I’m going through it, and that’s on me.”

I point at the steak place we are in front of, again, and say, “I see that place, and I think you loved taking her there. Because she eats meat. I feel like she’s a better partner for you, you were happier with your meat eater. I will never be enough for you and I am not the type of person you would like to be with. All these stupid thoughts slam through my brain, and I can’t stop them.”

He said, “That is absolutely ridiculous. You really think that?”

I say “Yes. But when I get myself to the other side? I see that it’s ridiculous. I’m not going through this to make YOU feel punished or ashamed, or whatever. This is just about me.”

I hate triggers. This is also the first time I’ve talked to him about what the thought process is when they happen. How jumbled and insane it feels and how hard some them are to pull out of.

What I need to do is stop calling it lovers lane. I need to take them off this street and make it about me and my favorite place to shop. I need to change the way I view it.

It’s not about him, it’s about me.

This does work for me most of the time….

BBQ, ghosts, flowers and muscle cars.

I love this time of year. The winter was long, it’s nice to feel the sun and warm days and the end of a long hibernation.

Do you believe in ghosts? I live in a 170+ year old farm house. There are records going back almost 200 years, but I believe the house I’m in now is the second house on this property. So it’s a little newer than records show. It sits on 56 acres, 5 of those acres are open, the rest are now wooded. There are old logging trails that wind through the woods that are perfect for walks.

There is something about the springtime here that kicks up the paranormal activity. I can imagine it was a very busy time for them, working fields, repairing any winter damage, gardens, the animals. Even though it’s no longer a working farm, there is an energy that kicks up that you can feel.

I hear music, old music, 40’s maybe? The scratchy sound of the needle on an old record. Not long segments of the music, but enough to sort of place the age. I’ve heard a male voice saying “wake them up” Door knobs will jiggle and turn, laughter can be heard between two voices that you can’t figure out what’s so funny and what’s being said.

There’s even been arguments and what sounds like a scuffle… but we can’t place it. If you’re upstairs, it sounds like it’s downstairs, if you’re down, it sounds like it’s up.

The barn is even more active. Voices, noises, conversations, my hair has been touched. The barn will even glow. A very weird, low yellow glow.

We were here two years watching that barn glow every now and then when we found out the original barn burned in ’74, it was re-built right on the original foundation. I have a record of the original barn being built in 1853. Strange, huh? Now I know what the glow is.

My barn. Doing a little HDR photography on a foggy night. That’s a light in there, not the glow.

Its incredibly rich in history, too. Both confederate and union soldiers camped right in the backyard on their way to Gettysburg. (Not on the same night though!)

I love this place. I love the old house, the property, the ghosts. I feel like the house approves of us. We spent a year bringing it back to life, and we all love living here, ghosts and all.

For the first time since I’ve been here, I’ve turned my attention to the outside. I’ve put in a few new flower beds, the start of a garden, cleaned and organized. It feels amazing to have my hands in dirt, sun on my back. There’s nothing more healing for the soul than to connect with nature. Put your hands in dirt, earth, connect with that energy. Plant something and watch it grow.

I’m doing so much better. I’m doing me.

Husband and I have been doing OK. We just got back from a weekend at the ocean. Classic car show. Cruisin week has become our thing. We do it twice a year now, and oh… I love those old muscle cars. The sound of those engines…

Right before we left, I deep cleaned our bedroom. It’s an old house, the rooms are small. We have a California King shoved in there. I moved the bed as much as I could to get dust bunnies and other crap out from under it. From his side a few receipts and other stuff came out with the broom I was shoving under there. I looked at them, he saves all receipts. I didn’t want to throw away any that he may need for records.

It was a BBQ restaurant. Clearly a dinner for two. I looked at date. 9/16/15. My heart slammed against my ribs. This is actually a date I remember well.

They started on 9/10. He went to her house on 9/15.

However, on 9/16, my daughter and I went for a hike. We got lost. I had to pick my son up at his job at 8. Panicked I wouldn’t find my way out of the woods in time to get him. My husband had told me that he had a job to look at that night. He told me that if he finished in time, he would get our son. He said he would text me. But if he didn’t, that I needed to get him.

I never got a text, so I made it out of woods and hauled ass into town to get him. I pulled up to his job, and right behind me was my husband. He pulls up beside me and glares at me. We end up in a little argument over who was to get him, what was said about texting… so on.

This night runs through my head as I look at the date on the receipt. I look at the time. 6:30pm. She gets off at 6, probably met him there for dinner.

I look through our texts from that day. (Yeah, I don’t delete texts) we chatted throughout the day. He even sent a “Love you” text. He talked about the job he had to look at. He lied. The job was her. The jobs he looked at the next 8 months after this were always her.

I make a weird noise and walk out the door. Breathe. Walk. Don’t punch him. It’s not a big deal. I know he was a big fat liar face. I know he cheated. I know others have had to deal with much more than a dinner receipt.

I walk down to barn. Catch my breath. As I walk back up, he is walking down. He asks me what is wrong.

I use this moment. Blackacre left a comment on my last blog post… the puzzle.

I turned and swept my hand towards the barn. I said, “It’s like a 1000 piece puzzle of our barn. But look, the puzzle is missing the silo, your truck, that tree. Only you know what the complete picture looks like. You can tell me the silo is concrete, the truck is a ford, the tree is green. But how tall is the silo? What color is the ford? What kind of tree? You expect me to finish the picture on my own, but I can’t without more information.”

I went on a little more, but a look came over him. Did he get it? Even a little?

He hugged me. We walked back to house. I told him that I found a receipt. He asked me to show it to him. He said, “Let me give you a piece of the puzzle.”

Interesting turn.

It’s behind me. I’m feeling a little silly about the receipt… yet I own the feeling. It’s what it is. These step backs will happen. I just have to keep moving forward no matter what.

Well… I needed to ramble, so I did. If you stuck with me this far, thanks for doing so 😊

Go outside today. Take your shoes off… connect with nature.

We have a disclosure talk that ends with screaming and things being thrown. Pt. 1

So it took me two months, but I finally sat down and told him I needed to talk. He groaned.

I talked about my needing to know their start and their end with my counselor. All three I have tried agreed it was a ‘normal’ thing to want know. All the hows and when’s and why’s of the start, and the end, because their finality of the relationship really does have to be over for us to try and move forward.

So I set a timer- per our previous counselor.

He agreed, very reluctantly.

I told him, “I’m struggling through a couple of things.” I go on to tell him that as time has gone by, emotions have cleared and settled a bit. I tell him I know he’s not a talker and that talking about these things makes him upset.

I don’t put in there how upset I am.

I tell him I need some clarification. I tell him that I know we have talked about these things before, but now that fog has cleared a bit with time, I would like to talk again.

He nods.

I explain, quickly, because I know I will lose him if I ramble on. “The reason I think I’m stuck on these couple of points is because when I’ve asked before, you’ve answered. But since some of what you said does not make sense, I’ve asked again. Every time the answer is different. Toni has even addressed both of these points without me asking her at all, and it’s different than your version. So let’s get this out, tell the truth, help me through. It’s you I will believe.”

He nods.

I throw one more pre-talk sentence in there, I truly do have to get this all in there before we talk, and fast. “After this talk, I will have no choice but to take you at your word and that’s that. I either believe and process, or I don’t.”

I can hear some of you yelling at me that I’m catering to him and babying him… believe me, I’m playing the game as best as I can. I know what I need and I am doing what I think will work.

I tell him it’s their start… and their finish.

(I think it’s when he did her Floors)

Me: When did you do her floors? You have records from your first job in 1995. But I can’t find their folder at all.

“I trashed it.” Why? “I didn’t want you to find it and get upset.” That makes no sense to me. It’s a job record. “It’s what I did.”

You told me she contacted you on Facebook about the floors. But after her husband passed in January, I saw a message from her thanking you for going to funeral. But there were no previous messages about the floor job. Why erase and delete the floor messages?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

(I breathe deep here. Ok. Ok. I can see by his expression he is somewhat confused by what I’m saying to him, so I go on)

I found pictures of her back deck on your iPad from October 2014. You said you were planning some kind of an addition with her husband.

“Yes. I walked around with him and took those pictures after the floors were done. So it was 10/2014 that I did their floors.”

(Her husband passed away 1/2015, just two months after the floor job. My husband and Toni hooked up 9/2015)

You told me that you went to her in September because you knew she liked you. How did you know that? Did something happen during the floor installation?

“No. I’ve known her since we were 10. I knew she had a crush on me a long time ago.”

So nothing happened during floors. “No.”

(I don’t know yet if I believe, but I have to take his word and stop making up my own scenario of their affair)

So almost exactly a year later, you show up unannounced out of nowhere at her job, take her to lunch.

“Yes.”

Why? Why her? What made you show up like that?

“I became interested in her from following her on Facebook. I knew her from when we were younger, I knew her first husband. I was just interested. I knew she liked me.”

(I sit with this a bit. We talk a bit more about their start. The 15 minute timer goes off. We both look at it, and I ask if we can go on a bit more. We are doing good, emotions are all in check on both sides. He nods. Says, “5 more minutes.”)

What hurts is that you pursued her. You went out of your way to go to her.

He nods. Says, “I get that.”

I go into the second part… their end.

We go past the extra 5 minutes by about 20 minutes. Emotions start to go high, I start to lose it, I say something that sets him off and he starts throwing shit. He throws his iPad to the right of him. Picks up his phone, throws that against the left wall. Then picks up a water bottle and throws that.

Not at me… but still. He’s so hypocritical. I’ve done my fair share of throwing stuff in the past and his reaction is to not talk to me for a day or two. But yet he can do it.

I got in my car and left.

I broke my own rules.. the timer. If I had stuck to the timer rule, we may have been able to go again another night.

But we never talk, it just sits inside of me festering. There’s no other word for it. It’s poison. No matter what I do, how hard I work out, how much I journal or meditate… it’s still there. So we were doing good when the original timer went off… I didn’t want to stop.

I’ve been trying to write about their “end” for almost two years. I’ll try to do pt. 2 tomorrow.

This was Sunday night. It’s Thursday now. Monday morning after that fight, he was all apologetic and loving.

The only time that ever happens after a fight is when he knows he was wrong. 28 years together… I know him.

I want SO BAD to ask him what it was about her Facebook that got him so interested that he almost threw his family away. But not sure how to ask. Because right now? We are good. But yes… I do want to know.

..I think…

Yes. Yes I do.

God… we are doing none of this right. I hate this roller coaster ride.

My friend will ask me, “what difference does it make now? It’s two years later, why worry about their start or their end now?”

I don’t know. But it does matter. It matters to me. It’s not been my choice that this disclosure crap has gone on this long. It’s been his choice to stick his head up his ass and spend all this time deflecting and turning everything on to me.

What am I fighting for? I don’t know right now. Maybe I will tomorrow.

Conversation overheard

Gym.

You pick a locker, shove your crap in, put a lock on it, go about your workout.

The classes I took, 2 hours worth of high intensity. The last was combat. Combat leaves me drenched, exhausted and smiling.

I head to locker room ready to get out of there. It’s chilly outside, I’m looking forward to that cool air on my face… get me out of here.

Great. Two females, one blonde, one dark haired, are right by my locker. Dark hair has her locker open, and it’s blocking mine. She’s also half undressed and now it’s awkward.

I have no idea what to do. To make it even more awkward, you can feel the tension around both of them. Dark hair is pissed at blondie. You can almost see the tension.

Dark hair: you made this choice, you know you are fucking things up.

Blondie: I don’t care and this has nothing to do with you.

Dark hair: But your actions are affecting all of us.

Me: oh for the love of God… just get your workout clothes on so I can come up on you, excuse myself, and get my stuff.

They lower their voices a bit and dark hair hisses a few more insults at her. Blondie’s body language is defensive and she’s had about enough.

I’m thinking dark hair is kind of a bitch. She’s really going at blondie.

Me: yes! They are dressed! I’m going in.

“Excuse me, I’m just going to grab my stuff out of this locker.” Smile smile smile.

Dark hair sweetly says “oh, sure! I’m sorry!”

I get my stuff, take it out of their way to another bench to pack up.

As I’m packing, the conversation picks up, gets loud out of nowhere, and dark hair really lays into blondie.

Dark hair really hisses: “You are fucking a married man and you know what you are doing is wrong!”

Me: well, this just took a left turn.

I look over at them after this was said. Blondie has a water bottle. Her leg is kind of bouncing, but she takes a drink. Caps her bottle.

Blondie: “I don’t really care. He is the one cheating, not me. If his wife took care of him, he wouldn’t be with me.”

Are. you. freaking. kidding. me?

Are you kidding me?! I feel my mouth opening to reply. I close it. I’m speechless. I don’t know these people. But I feel a wave of rage washing over me. I hear dark hair reply, but it’s not registering in my head, it’s just all I can do to process what she said.

That, and I’m talking myself down… self, I said, please don’t swing your purse at her head. Don’t use your newly learned combat moves on her fucking throat.

So I walked out. Shaking my head.

Dark hair is no longer a bitch to me. I want to high five her.

Blondies self righteous comment went through my mind all day yesterday, and even this morning. I’ve read that excuse on blogs, but to hear it? Damn.

I sort of regret not saying anything.

I hate these women. I hate these cheating men.

Just …. here.

I haven’t written in a while.

I’m trying to figure out the two year Dday coming up. It’s the 24th.

I’m trying to figure out if I even care.

Last year, I was a mess. Last year, I ran into her on that date. Gas station. She didn’t know I was there. I didn’t do all the things I had imagined doing.

She pumped her gas, I just sat there listening to the sound of my heart slamming in my chest. I couldn’t move. I looked at her hands. They touched my husband.

She had flip flops on, her feet were big. Really long ugly toes. She stands 6 ft tall. She has a flannel shirt on over a tank top, a pooch of a belly and stupid hair. Her face is longish, kinda like Sara Jessica Parker. God, she’s tall.

He’s 5’6. They must’ve looked ridiculous together.

He and I are the same height. 28 years together. The first week we were dating, he straight up told me, “don’t wear heels, can’t have you taller than me.” She’s the complete opposite of me. From height to morals.

I want to smash her face into the gas pump. I want to just get out of my car, walk over, and grab her by her stupid unicorn hair and plant her face into the concrete. I feel the adrenaline hitting my system as I picture confronting her.

But I don’t move. Not only is the full scene of the confrontation playing in my head, the aftermath is too. She will have me arrested. She will have a restraining order on me before I can blink. My job, my kids, H’s reaction… that is more important than her. She’s not worth me having a record for.

I don’t move. She leaves. I didn’t even get my gas.

I breathe. I don’t think I did the whole time she was pumping gas into that stupid ass car.

I was already having a triggered filled, flooding, fucked up day, and the universe decided it would be fun to drop her right in front of me. What the hell?

This year, I’m struggling in a different way. This year, at this time, I’m checking in with myself. I’m figuring out who I am now.

I’ve recently joined a gym. There are classes that I’m becoming addicted to. I started out with a yoga class in January. I’ve always love yoga, it was a no brainer for me to grab my mat and go. That class led to going to another.. Les Mills Body Flow. A yoga/Pilates mix. I needed something more, so I started going to the LM Body combat class. Oh did that feel good. The instructor would yell, “Give me all that you can, picture those fists flying into something that releases your strength!” Some days, it’s his face. Some days it’s hers. I come out of this class drenched, smiling and feeling amazing.

These two classes have led to yet another. LM Pump. This is a weight training class. They average about 200 lunges and 800+ reps with weights. I’m on my third class now, and I’m already seeing muscles appearing in my arms and legs.

I’m bettering myself. I’m making my body strong, hoping my mind and heart follow. I feel like it is already.

I’m taking care of me.

I’m journaling. In a real paper filled journal. I’m also noticing I don’t write about the affair as much as I did when I started. I bought and started the Dragon Tree rituals book. 108 Day Journey.

A week or so ago, my friend texted me and asked me if I wanted to go to DC and see the cherry blossoms. Yes!

A year ago? I was afraid to leave the house. Afraid the minute I stepped out, he would run to her. Not that he has given me any reason to think he would… but since he did, and did it so well, the trust is just no longer there.

I’m also hiking again. Sometimes alone, sometimes with the kids. My mind and soul feel better in the woods. I’ve also picked up my camera again. I shot a model last week for a black and white shoot. I don’t normally do b&w, so I did a test run with my daughter. That was good for her and I to spend that time together.

Oh, to have my camera back in my hands, a model posing in front of my lens… I’m finding myself again.

So I’m working out like crazy. I’m getting back in touch with my photography, my hobbies, and me.

It’s good. It’s different than last year, that’s for sure.

But it’s not all zen and pure thoughts. I have my moments.

He had band practice last night. I found myself doing something I haven’t done in a while. I grabbed his work van keys and took a look in the van. I found a business card of hers. On the back of the card was hand written “Love”. I picture her writing it and tucking it into his window or under the windshield wiper for him to find. I picture her doing this after some moment they have had together. It’s tucked away in some receipts that date from that time, so I don’t think it’s new.

But here’s what is new….I don’t care. I think I don’t even care if it’s new.

I don’t even think I care if I leave for a day trip and he runs to her. I can’t live in fear of it anymore.

If he does? Or she’s recently left him a calling card? What can I do?

Leave him. Kick him out. Dare I say… sometimes I wish I could catch him still talking or going to her. Because that would be the last straw. Decision done. Out you go, jackass, sign and date right here on the line.

It’s been a long journey, and for the most part, I’ve been doing it alone. I think I’m tired. So I’m taking care of me.

I still take jabs at her on social media. She’s still taking them at me. I wonder if her and I will ever become bored of it. I actually hope so. As I move along this long road, I’m noticing I don’t think of her as often. She’s not at the front of my thoughts and filling me with rage. She does pop in there once in a while though, so she gets a jab.

I do what I need to to get through this, and yes, taking jabs at her does help.

I still struggle with their ending. I struggle with their start. Funny that the middle stuff is fading… but those two parts of the affair are stuck. I’m really stuck. I can’t process through either point, so maybe that’s why it’s still there.

Last weekend, he was working in the barn. We have some pigeons that have adopted the barn as their new home. H is fighting them. They poop everywhere. So H is down there putting up chicken wire over the old windows and holes in the sides. Hoping to keep them out. So I figure I’ll go down and talk to him there, out of the house, out of the kids earshot.

But when I got down there, I found my throat closing and felt nauseous. I couldn’t bring it up. I don’t know why.. but probably because he reacts incredibly childish and then I have to hear the usual “Look forward, not backwards. You will never be happy. You keep throwing this in my face.”

Even though I don’t think talking about something that should’ve been talked about two years ago is throwing it in his face.

I’m extremely careful with my words now, I carefully word it so that it doesn’t come across as ‘punishing’ him. I even hand him the victim card to play so he can feel whatever it is he needs to feel to not be the villain. This has worked before, many times, it just this time I don’t know how to even start.

So I don’t. So it’s still stuck.

I can see why I’m pulling away. I’m tired of trying to figure out how to play the game.

I don’t even want to play the fucking game. I just want him to finally sit down, say “This is what happened and this is where I am now.” And just hand it all to me.

Screw all this role playing crap. Just let us both say what we are feeling, say what happened, yell at each other, cry, whatever. I’m tired.

So. Two years since my world crashed in on me…

I’m standing, I’m ok. Now, it seems to be about me. Not him. Not her. Not us.

Me.

I’ve never done that. And I don’t feel selfish about it. 😊

The other side

I bitch about him a lot here. I’ve made him a monster as I work through all of this.

I usually come here when I can’t see something clear, when he’s pissed me off, when the other woman has pissed me off.. I come here to figure shit out and vent.

But there is another side.

We went out last night to hear a band. This singer always makes me smile, he’s very good, plays all covers and a ton of Bob Marley. I’m a huge Marley fan.

It was a nice night. At one point, a somewhat intoxicated woman pulled me onto the dance floor during Greg’s rendition of Margaritaville, I did not want to dance, but did it anyway, laughing the whole time. I looked over at him at one point and he had a genuine smile watching me dance. When she left she hugged me and told me I made her happy, her uncle had passed that morning and she tried to pull so many people onto the floor to dance, and I was the only one who went. She said, “I just needed to smile.”

You just never know what someone is going through. Maybe I needed that silly dance myself.

On the way home, I was quiet. I just wanted to leave thoughts of the affair alone for one night, but they were rolling through my head. It’s been a rough 2 years.

But he’s holding strong through this storm. He hasn’t left. I wonder if reversed, if I would have by now. He’s not giving up and I have not been easy to live with.

The ride home is quiet. He reaches for my hand in the dark. When he needs to shift, he puts my hand on the gear shift, puts his hand over mine, shifts, and then goes back to holding my hand. He never lets go.

He opens my doors. He brings me little things. Recently, I made a post on FB about liking a banana candy… he just randomly walked up the other day, said hold out your hand. I did and he put a handful of the candy in my hand, kissed me on the forehead and went on his way.

He holds my hand constantly. No matter where we are going, or what we are going through, he has my hand.

We never really held hands before the affair. Not like now. It’s like he doesn’t want to let me go. I have to see this. He doesn’t say much, but he does things like that. Maybe I should stop wanting to hear words so much and open my eyes instead.

He sings to me every morning when he comes into the kitchen for coffee. A silly little song that has a version of my name in it that only my grandparents and him call me. He uses that version in a sweet, endearing way, it makes me smile. If he’s up before me, he will wrap me in a hug as I come into the kitchen.

He doesn’t really say anything, I need to start seeing, instead of listening for the words I want to hear. He’s never been a talker. Why do I expect him to be different now?

He works so hard for us. Long hours, sometimes 7 days a week. His job is hard on him, hard on the body, stressful. But he never complains. He just does.

I have not been easy to live with these past two years. I feel bipolar most of the time. He never knows what version of me he’s going to get, he knows I have one foot in leaving, one foot in staying. He knows. That can’t be easy on him either.

I’m not excusing anything he’s done. But there are days the fog clears, and I see him. I see he doesn’t know how to deal with me. I see his shame, his own hurt. Oh, the shame weighs heavy on him.

Is he handling all of this “correctly”? No. He’s still stuck in trickle truth shame. He would rather stick his head in the sand, instead of facing this head on.

But I see his hand on mine in the dash lights, I see he hasn’t let go of me.

I’m holding his hand too… I haven’t let go either.