He wrote a song for her.

I needed to find something in his studio.

There was a stack of notebooks I was looking for and one in particular I needed.

I wasn’t affair digging, I also don’t know why I feel guilty and feel the need to explain why I was in his studio.

Because I’m allowed anywhere I want to go. I’m in his studio all the time.

Now, saying that, maybe the guilt is coming from what I wanted the notebook for.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but I take a combat/kickboxing class. Our marriage counselor showed up one day to take the class too. It kind of shook me up a little.

Some days we are in the same class, I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine. We do not acknowledge each other at all, but I will catch her looking at me in the mirrors.

I know from my emdr counselor that most therapists, if they see you out in public, may not approach you at all. She told me, “If we see each other out in public, you may say hi or approach me of that is what you want. But I will not approach you. Our sessions are here and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable while outside of this office.”

That made sense. So marriage counselor may be not acknowledging my existence for the same reasons.

That and he and I completely failed with her, though she was absolutely amazing and I wish we had tried.

Anyway, some days when she’s there, I’m fine. Some days it mentally puts me back on her couch and I struggle.

Some days that struggle will carry over into the rest of my day or even for a few days after.

I see she’s on the schedule for the next few classes and that brings her to mind. A bit of anxiety and a bit of curiosity on my part why I’m reacting this way around her.

This woman I’m working out with knows more about me than anyone else on earth. Well, the emdr counselor also knows, but I’m not working out with her.

She’s not eyeballing me in the damn mirrors.

So that made me go into the studio to look for a notebook. Because my husband, my weird ass husband took notes.

During our counseling sessions, he took notes. This dude brought in a notebook, took notes and would sit there clicking his pen in nervousness. Click click click…

She called him out on it a few times, like, why are you doing that? But he would just shrug and click away.

It was annoying as hell.

Anyway, I went to find the notes. Though it was annoying then, I was curious now.

What did she say then that would make him write it down? To this day he will bring her up stating to me that during sessions she said he should not answer questions and my questions were too much to ask.

I do not remember that. At all. She would say I could ask what I needed and that it should be done with her in a safe place.

So I went to find the notebook.

I saw a stack and began to flip through. Right under the first one, basically on top, was a piece of paper with some lyrics.

I glanced the first line and knew it was about Toni. My stomach was instantly wrecked.

He wrote her a song.

He had the lyrics written there. I know how he does his music, so with the lyrics all done the music was done first.

So somewhere in his music files the whole thing is done and probably recorded for sure.

Do I go look for that? I don’t know. I don’t know if I can handle hearing his voice singing anything I saw written.

Let me just add here that we have been together 30 years now. He has never written me a song. I’ve never asked for one.

Did she? Or did he just do it?

It looks like it was written during the affair. Or was it? Why was it so close to the top of his music stuff?

I have asked so many times if they said “I love you.” He has told me over and over they never said the words.

I would ask him “did you love her?” He is adamant that it was not love he felt.

I would follow that with, “I understand you may look back on the affair now and realize it may not have been love. But when you were in it, did you think you may have?”

I need to add here that my asking and my tone with him when I do ask about love, is always gentle. It’s low key, its soft. Because in my heart, it would make more sense if he felt he loved her. All of it. All of it would make a bit more sense.

He firmly repeats that he did not love her. It wasn’t love.

But this song he wrote sure sounds like he did.

It’s going to hurt like a mother effer to write this out. Maybe it will help though.

I look forward to the roller coaster ride it’s going to take me on. Right now? Crushed. Hurt. Can’t breathe. Sick.

Soon though? Anger. Then I will make fun of it. (In my head, maybe here, but nowhere else in my life) the sarcasm and poking fun of it will be my favorite part of the ride.

I’m not there yet though.

So here’s his song. What do you think? Love? Full on delusional limerence?

Ive been searching, searching for the words to tell you how I feel

You make me feel, lord, like nothing I’ve felt before

Deep inside me – hits my soul when you show your love to me.

Breaks my heart -yeah- to see you smile

To see you laugh with me.

Ive been nothing – a wasted life – until you came to me.

I was nothing, I was wasted, you brought life to me.

So. Yeah.

Do you know that it kinda makes me sad? Not even just because he wrote that for her. But because I hate that he felt like his life was wasted.

I can’t help but feel, now, that it comes across as pretty intense, his feelings for her. She brought him life? He’s never felt that way before?

He actually said those words to me. Then. The day I threw the clock. (The clocks) He told me that morning that he wanted to be with her. He put his hands on his belly and said “I feel like my gut is being ripped out. I want to be with her. I’ve never felt this way before.”

But then he finished that with “We are not even talking, she’s not in my life, it’s just how I feel.”

I can’t breathe right now.

I don’t know if I can separate this song he wrote then to now, in the present. Like, that’s what he was feeling during the height of their affair? Why did he keep it? Did he record it? Did he write it then? Did he write it last week?

All I know is that I can’t see past the words right now. I can’t say anything to him right now. I don’t know if I will.

I can’t see past the words right now.

Because when I think he wrote that, he and I were tearing our marriage down to the bones, fighting hard and making love hard.

How can we have sex and then he go down to his studio and write that pile of shit for her?

He used me.

Who am I to stand in the way of a love like that? A love that that brings him life? A love that just breaks his heart when she smiles at him?

It’s the dishonesty for me. I could probably get past and move on if there was honesty from him.

It’s actually not even what he did. It’s what he didn’t do after and what he still doesn’t do to this day.

Be honest.

Also, I hate that fucking stupid song.

Ahhh… there’s the anger… hello old friend….

Smoky mountains and the OW.

I went to see my Dad.

I have not seen him in 2 1/2 years. I love being home, but I struggle being near him and in all honesty, I may share DNA with him, but he and I do not have a relationship.

He’s a child. He is 74, but acts like a needy child that has to be cared for. He’s self centered and comes across as spoiled and entitled.

I’m not sure if we truly share dna. I don’t know how I’m related. Maybe because they divorced when I was 8, and I’ve had to raise myself? Don’t know. He and I are so different.

He smokes too. A lot. Windows and doors shut tight and I absolutely can’t stand it. He thinks because he has a “smokeless ashtray” that it should not affect non-smokers around him. He also thinks second hand smoke is perfectly fine and nothing but a government conspiracy.

Waking up the other morning and sitting with a cup of coffee, he lit 6 cigarettes in a half an hour and I almost died.

I couldn’t stop coughing and he rolled his eyes and asked me “is it really that bad? Come on now.”

I crawled into the bathroom coughing and muttered “yes, dad, it’s really that bad. As a non smoker… it’s really that bad.”

He got mad and said he will go into the kitchen. He said it shouldn’t be that bad because of the smokeless ashtray. I told him the dumbass ashtray did not stop the smoke he was blowing out of his lungs and into the air around me.

My son that went with me has asthma. He stayed in the guest room the whole time.

We left his house earlier than planned. Neither of us could take it.

But it was good being back in the mountains. He and I hiked a bit, and it was good to be where life moves slow.

We spent an evening in Pigeon Forge and caught a dinner theatre show and had a blast. It was good spending time with him. Long drive and much time to chat and get to know each other.

There’s a difference when it’s just two of you and the rest of the world isn’t around. He’s a good kid.

Back at home:

As soon as we got back home I had to fall back into life the minute we pulled in the driveway.

I had to take my daughter to work so off we went. There was some heavy traffic going on due to some road work. Traffic at one point was stopped both ways.

I was stopped right next to her. Toni. The trash ho.

Opposite directions… but right next to her. I was in our truck, she was in her stupid looking car.

When I realized it was her I proceeded to suck all of the air out of the truck and that had my daughter asking me what was wrong. She couldn’t see her and she wouldn’t know it was her anyway.

As I was learning to breathe again and taking in what I was looking at, (the car is ugly as fuck, wow her face is long and horse like, what the hell did he see in her…)

That’s when it happened. A bit of karma. A nice moment handed to me from the universe..

…She picked her nose.

She just went right up there and hung out for a bit.

It was awesome. I burst out laughing and right about then the traffic moved and I drove on.

She’s been on my mind though. I used to fight it, get pissed off, angry. Sometimes I still do get angry and revengeful thoughts can be cathartic though, but I don’t fight it. I don’t fight the thoughts of her that come along.

It almost feels like when you try to fight off depression. I think it just needs to come, be recognized,assessed, dealt with.

I would hear all the same “don’t let her have free rent in your head” “she’s not worth the thoughts” And my favorite “you should forgive her”

I heard all that and I would try to push her away. But I’ve come to realize that it’s not my reality.

My reality is I’m still in the dark with their affair. I still have a thousand questions. I’m still angry, I’m still hurt and confused.

My reality is that I almost feel as betrayed by her as I do my husband.

Different… definitely different, but betrayed nonetheless.

If I have to heal and process through his betrayal, I almost feel like I have to do the same with her. Different levels, I guess, I don’t know. It all sucks. No matter what level.

She was part of the story. Part of the betrayal. Part of the lie. Part of the truth.

She had her part.

So, she’s been on my mind. The other day I went shopping for her. I found a website that would send her a dead rotting fish. I almost hit ‘buy’.

But I’m not spending money on her though, ever. But then I pictured her opening up the dead smelly fish and it made me smile.

Then I wander into thoughts of her lying to me. I straight up asked this Whore several times if she was seeing my husband.

No no no, she would say. So now I’m thinking of her…. why would she lie? If she loved him, wanted him, why not tell me the truth? Why protect him? She could not have been that stupid. Could she?

Then I fall into thoughts of where she was in her life at the time. Her THIRD husband had passed away. She was about to face the holidays without him.

…and here comes my husband. Love bombing her and making her feel alive again?

It’s such a war in my head. She’s a worthless pile of human skin, but he really did pull a number on her.

“Oooh. Let me shower attention upon you. Don’t mind the fact that I’m completely married, haven’t left my wife, even though that’s what I’ll tell you for the next 8 months. By the way, I have three kids and I will go to my home every single night to be with my family. Oh, and I can only talk to you on a secret burner phone while sitting on the toilet. Hope that’s alright! Oh, yeah, sorry about your husband passing away, but I’m here to make you feel better.”

My weird conundrum is that at times, I feel bad for what he put her through.

Not often though, because all she had to do was send his dumb ass on his way…

But often enough that I do stop myself from mailing her a dead smelly fish.

Random thoughts.

I think I’ve given up on the notebook. The whole thing pisses me off. I have no respect for him any longer. I could have… I truly think I could have had he been honest and open from the start.

I have thoughts of the affair daily. But, depending on the day of the month, most times I can push them away.

Sometimes I can’t. When the ones come along that I can’t seem to push away, I just let them come and don’t fight them.

Last night, he came to bed. I watched him get ready. He stripped down to underwear and climbed in. Pulled the covers up and began the settling in for the night.

It hits me. A memory. Why do these things pop up out of nowhere?

During the months the affair was going on, he wore a tshirt to bed. 25 years (at that time) we had slept next to each other and he never wore a shirt.

I remember asking him then. Confused. “Why are you wearing a shirt to bed?” “I’m cold”. I just accepted the weirdness. Didn’t think too much of it. It is an old house.. maybe he’s cold.

But now, almost five years later, it comes out of absolute nowhere.

He wasn’t cold, was he.

Nope. That shirt he wore to bed for almost 8 months was probably hiding marks she left on him?

We were also together during those 8 months. A LOT.

He wore a shirt then too.

Why does this happen? This will brew around in my head for a while. I can feel it. I want to just ask him, but I know it will lead to him running to the victim corner and turning it around on me.

I already know. Don’t need to ask.

But do you know… do you know that if I were to ask that MFer, and he said “I had to. She liked to bite… or she scratched me, or she left hickies on me”….

I COULD ACTUALLY RESPECT that. Because I already know.

So I won’t ask. I’ll just stew for a few days.

Other random thoughts:

I leave this weekend for Kentucky. Going to see my Dad and my middle kiddo is coming with me. He wants to meet his grandfather. He has met him, but was young and doesn’t remember. I have gone alone for over a decade now.

I can’t wait to go home. There is something about the Smokys that pulls at my soul. I plan on doing some hiking, getting the fear of a bear or two out of me and putting my feet on a trail that will be new to me.

I also plan on a Gatlinburg visit. I have been going to Gatlinburg for most of my life. I was going before it was what it is now. I still love it, touristy and all. I just can’t wait. I want to go home.

More other random thoughts:

I’m embracing being more and more introverted. I remember telling my therapist that I’m more comfortable alone. That I crave it.

She looked worried for me. Saw it as depression. She tried to talk to me about options to get me out of the complete desire to be alone.

But I didn’t see it as depression. Maybe it is. Who knows.

I saw it as self preservation. People suck. People just really suck.

A person I considered a very good friend of 15 years completely dicked me over. That’s done.

And of course, can’t forget the husband and his choices.

I’m good. I find this my favorite time of year. I’m in the woods. I’m in the woods.

When I’m not in my woods, I’m searching out other trails to hike and explore. When I’m not doing that, I go to the gym.

I find the interaction there is about all the ‘People Time’ I can handle. I do go daily, I do kickboxing almost daily now along with yoga. Every other day I do some lifting.

There are some friendships being built from there. Surface. Nothing meaningful. I just think people suck. I have a small group I get together with about once a month, we drink wine and dutifully complain about our husbands and chat about our kids. That’s nice, it really is, but I find I don’t talk much. I mostly smile and listen.

I take care of my home. I do all the taxi runs for our youngest. I cook, clean and take care of the animals.

But I prefer to be alone. I can completely recharge then. I can breathe. I don’t know if it’s depression. I don’t even think I care.

Still some more rando thoughts…

I ride a crazy rollercoaster when it comes to the other woman. Toni. Trash Ho. For the most part, she is not in my head as much as she was. I find she comes back when thoughts like “my husband and had to wear a tshirt to bed and had to wear a tshirt when he and I had sex because he was hiding something she did”

So she’s back in my head right now. Which means I’ll hit harder today in class. I’ll cry on the way home. I’ll picture running into her. I’ll picture them together. I’ll cry some more. I hate when she comes back into my head.

I’ll also make a cup of tea or coffee, settle into the couch all comfy, and pull up poopsenders.com and smile as I wonder what poop I will be sending her. Gorilla? Elephant?

She’s not worth the money though. But it does make me feel better.

The questions

The notebook sets of so many different emotions in me.

1. I hate it.

Reason: because it’s not my way of handling things. I like to ask my questions and have them answered. The long drawn out years of lies, half truths and complete manipulation of me has me wanting to check myself into a mental institution a thousand times.

The way he manipulates me: I ask, he gets angry. That gets me angry. Next thing you know, he’s calm, arms crossed and watching me completely melt down. He has taken what should’ve been done after dday, stretched it out over 4 1/2 years, and created a safe space for himself. How can he have a conversation with me when I’m yelling and melting down? He can’t. So he’s off the hook and I look like a nut job.

Now, I do not think my husband is a full blown narcissist? Not at all. But when it comes to this, he has reactive abuse down pat because it benefits him and he doesn’t have to face what his choices did.

Reactive abuse:

I’m on to him.

So that’s how the notebook came to be.

Now he wants it. If I slip up and dare to speak of the affair, he will calmly ask for the notebook.

2. Yeah, I still hate it.

I find it to be nothing but a pacifier and I find that it infuriates me because he is telling the truth now.

I could’ve been through this years ago and I feel like the last 4 1/2 years are wasted and I’m pissed at the amount of lies.

But, let me also take this space and moment to say that he DOES NOT KNOW I’m as angry as I am. If I want the answers I seek, I cannot show emotion at any level at this time.

I use Twitter and this space to get out the anger and the glorious visions of just punching him in the throat. I need that outlet in my own space, which is here and amongst the “tribe”

I’m struggling with the years of “I don’t remember”… because this man most certainly remembers. 🤬

3. I kinda love it.

Reason: I can ask when and what I’m feeling the need to ask. I then give myself 24 hours to see if I really need to know what I’m asking. If I still need to know at the end of the day, I give myself another 24. If by then I realize I don’t even remember what I wrote to ask him, then I tear out that page. Maybe I don’t really need to know what I thought was life changing moments two days ago.

If I still need to know, I give him the book.

At that point, I allow myself to go for it when I want. Sometimes I run for it. Sometimes I wait. Sometimes I hand it directly to him and sit down next to him and wait for him to write out whatever his answer is.

Sometimes I literally sit and shake knowing the answers are written and I don’t know what to do.

That’s me right now. I’m a mess. I asked some hard ones last night. Some sex questions. Some hard truths, if he chooses to be truthful.

When he came home last night I heard him go down to his studio, and he was there for quite some time. I know he answered.

When he came to bed he was soft. Quiet. He reached for me and could feel waves of sadness coming from him.

I did feel sad for him. As much as this SUCKS, as much as his choices he made with her SUCK, I did reach for his hand and there were no words spoken as we fell asleep. I know it’s not easy for him.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t stop until I get what I need from this.

I don’t even know what that is yet.

I’ve always heard, “wait. Wait until you’ve had some time, some counseling, don’t make any decisions right away, get the story, take time…”

Maybe he knew that all along. Maybe he feared I would leave once I had what I needed. Maybe I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

But here we go.. the hardest questions I’ve asked so far are sitting down on his studio desk… just sitting there… burning a hole through the floor.

I’m heading down…

All over the place.

Yeah, my head is all over the place.

I hate Valentine’s Day. Hate it even more now.

One of the questions I asked him recently, only in the book, was about Valentine’s Day.

I’ve asked many times. He admitted at the two year mark that he gave her flowers and stopped by her house after work that day.

I also got flowers. Please… I’m the furthest thing from materialistic. Not even kidding. My life is simple, I save money everywhere I can and gifts honestly make me awkward.

So, that being said, I’m having a moment.

My flowers for Valentine’s Day that year was an orchid. I actually loved it. Orchids are gorgeous. I’m not a ‘I must have Roses’ kind of girl. I think they are pretty, but it’s not my thing.

On the bottom of the orchid was a price tag and name of store. It’s our local grocery store. 5.99 for my cute orchid.

Whatever, that was fine. So when he told me he ran her some flowers too, I figured he also got hers at the grocery store.

First time I ever asked, he said to me “It’s none of your fucking business”.

Maybe it wasn’t? I don’t know, I felt like it was my business. I told a friend what he said and she said, “oh no girl, it’s your business. He would be out on his ass if that was said to me.”

I asked many times. He just straight up refused to answer, or he would answer, but it would be a completely different answer than before. Basically? I never got the same answer.

Leaving me in the insanity loop. Seriously, this isn’t a hard question! If I’m supposed to start trusting you, opening up about where you got her goddamn flowers shouldn’t be the hard part.

This has actually been an issue. Fucking Valentine’s Day. Let me out of the loop!

One year I reached out to her and just asked her. She lied. Check this out:

So he does not know to this day that I texted her and asked about the flowers.

But that’s what she told me. Friendship. It was just a friendship between them. So she lies too. Shocking! Sidechicks lying!

So now I have the book.

He likes the book. Book makes him feel safe.

So if it’s truth I seek, I will play by the rules and boundaries I myself have set.

But the wildchild in me wants to scream. It’s too much. I just want it all at once. I want off this dumbass ride. Fuck that book!

But I smile instead. Comfort him so he continues.

I can’t move forward with or without him without disclosure. I wish though that I don’t need it.

So I asked again about Valentine’s Day in the book.

He answered.

“I went to the local florist and had them delivered to her. There was a card included. She was very happy to get them, so our ‘no gifts to each other’ rule didn’t seem to apply to Valentine’s Day.”

When I read that I wanted to puke. She didn’t get grocery store flowers.

You know I googled the flower place and got an idea for prices. Looks like it was close to 100. Yay.

So I wrote back “delivered to work or home?”

We all know that work delivery is a flex. A brag. ‘Look at what I got!!’

He circled “work”

Her work is in another town almost 45 minutes away. It was an extra charge for him to get them there for her brag moment.

Maybe the book is a good idea. Because the flash of anger that went through me could’ve resulted in us fighting. So there’s that.

I have to admit, I had hoped it was a home delivery. Work bothered me.

I was only going to spend like 2 lines talking about this. But looks like I needed a bit more, I’m still so angry at him.

She lied too! Why? Is honesty just not a thing for anyone? Why would she still be protecting him? After the fact? Makes no sense to me. I guess she’s more protecting herself.

I don’t care about her. She’s an idiot.

So in the end, he spent much of Valentine’s Day with her at her house and she got a pre-vday brag delivery.

How special she must’ve felt.

I hate Valentine’s Day.

I actually went onto poop senders today and considered sending her some poop. But unlike my husband, I will not be spending any money on her. It’s a waste.

Funny. But a waste.

What’s weird with this disclosure is how it picks me up and puts me right back at Dday.

What’s different is that now I can recognize that I’m hurt. There is no longer fog and blurry days and weeks and months.

It hurts, but it’s clear.

What my main struggle with now is that I asked. I asked I asked I asked. He lied he lied he lied.

Now I’m getting truth and I find I’m more angry about the years of lies than what he actually did. I’m angry that if he had answered 4 1/2 years ago, I would not be still going through this today. I feel like it would’ve been processed, dealt with, done and moved on.

But I’m quiet about that too. When I ask my last question and get my last answer, I will then figure what the future will be.

I did ask him if they had sex that day. He said No.

So I’m supposed to believe he goes to her house for hours and no sex. On Valentine’s Day. With her being all giddy over her brag flowers.

I asked him because I know he and I had sex that night.

So great. I still want to puke.

One day, years ago and not long after I sent that text to her, I went on her friend of hers page.

Sometimes you gotta stalk through the friends to get to your target.

The friend was in her living room in March of that year. He took a picture of her dog. Her house is extremely unkempt. Crap everywhere.

On an end table was a vase of dead ass flowers in an inch of discolored gross water.

I knew when I creeped that he had brought her flowers, so I knew what I was looking at.

She’s nasty.

Someone tell me though that me being knocked back by this and thoughts of comparison are somewhat normal? I’ll snap out of it right? Stand back up again? She’s nothing. No one.

I just feel like he belongs with her and I’m in the way.

I also feel like maybe I should just send her the poop.

I need this space to vent

I’ve been here on WP yapping away for years at this point, I know the power of peace it gives me to get it out and just have myself a safe space.

My heart is pounding tonight. Stress high and I’m waiting on the teapot to heat up so I can calm down a bit with a cup of tea.

It’s that notebook.

It’s weirdly working but it still comes with a heaping dose of anxiety and a wrecked stomach.

I sat for 8 days with his answers. Picking it back up tonight brought that mind movie and anxiety rushing in.

So I finally sat down, picked up a pen, and ripped into him with a reply that was quite stinging. Pissed about the lies.

Tore those pages out and threw them into the woodstove.

Started another page and inquired as lightly and as sweetly as I could “WHY THE FUCK DID YOU LIE ASSHOLE.”

Ok. Angrily tore those out too and they also burned away.

…tea is ready…

So I took a deep breath, then took another one. Picked up the pen.

I thanked him for answering. I answered the silly, but cute, questions he asked me. I then expressed I was confused by his answer and asked again for a bit more detail.

Then told him I knew this wasn’t easy for him and I appreciate that he is trying.

Then I screamed and took a walk to check on the chickens.

It’s freezing here and honestly, you can’t hug a chicken and not feel some peace. It helped a bit, but the tea should finish up the ‘bring the anxiety down a notch’ feeling.

This isn’t my way. It’s just not. Maybe it’s the Sagittarius in me. I would just rather take the full on burn all at once and be done with it.

But he is not that way. He never has been. He’s calm. Cool. Collected. Annoyingly so.

I’m a raging bitch on fire. It’s hot and dangerous to be near.

So I took the notebook down and put it on his office chair.

I can’t scare him off. I actually needed what he told me. It somewhat put to rest what I knew he was lying about, i need a bit more clarity and then I don’t think I’ll ever feel it tumbling around in my head again.

On to the next…

What do you do when you finally have the disclosing information you seek? I don’t even know. It’s a strange choking feeling.

The notebook.

I went and looked for it in his office 2 days ago. I couldn’t find it. I wondered how I would ask him for it. I don’t think I was ready to look, I think I just wanted to see if it moved from where I put it.

But then I went into my office and I saw it on my desk. It’s a bit crowded in there this time of year, it seems to be the catch all room while the tree and decorations are up.

I decided to ignore it.

Yesterday it crossed my mind. I checked in with myself, nope. Still not ready.

Today I thought of it, I pictured picking it up, opening it, seeing if he wrote anything at all. Nope. Not ready.

I pictured myself seeing nothing. Nothing at all. I think at that moment that was the reason I didn’t want to even open it for fear of nothing.

Then tonight, I was vacuuming, cleaning, making sure the new year was brought in in a clean house.

I could hear him in his studio playing guitar. I just put down the vacuum and picked up the notebook.

Without my reading glasses, I couldn’t make out words, but a quick flip through the first few pages showed he had indeed answered and had written quite a bit.

Was I ready? Nope.

But I went up to our room and closed the door, grabbed my glasses and had myself a read.

He said more in those few pages than ever before. Not only did he answer the two questions, he gave an explanation and a bit of his state of mind at the time.

Then went into an apology unlike any he has done before.

On the last page, he wrote questions for me. Silly and cute. Like, where did I learn to cook so good? There were some other questions that made me smile a little. Just a little.

He then thanked me for taking care of our home, our kids and him.

Now. All that being said, I’m crushed.

He has done what I’ve asked and if I wish to continue it this way, I must also follow the notebook rules.

But goddamn. It’s like being back to the day I found out.

Maybe not as bad… but not good either.

For one, question number one I asked him? I’ve asked a thousand times. Each time was a different answer. Each time I knew he was lying and the different answers each time left me just not able to process through it.

But this time? I know it’s true. Because it sucks. More and more I think because he knew it would hurt, and because he knew it was wrong and because he was protecting himself, that his lies were just that.

Protecting himself and maybe a little of not wanting to hurt me.

He could never get through his fucking head that he was not protecting me by lying.

So now it’s on me. I decided to look at this on New Years eve. Like a dumbass.

But now I get to do what I’ve been saying I’ll do, and that’s process, think about it, cry about it, punch some shit at the gym, breathe through it and stand back up. There’s nothing else to do.

But I do know it will no longer bounce around in my head.

This way of communication is weird. It’s not my way. I’m a “let’s talk, let’s scream, let’s fight it out, let’s cry, then let’s go make love”

But I have seen more remorse in those words he wrote than anything he’s ever spoken.

But I’m still pissed. I can’t throw those lies back at him. I can’t, I won’t. I won’t.

Breathe… breathe….

What is said in the notebook stays in the notebook.

It’s 8:22 here. Time to breathe, smile, pour a glass of wine and begin watching the ball drop festivities.

🎆Happy New Year 🎆

I wish a happy and healthy 2021 for all.

Tattoos and a notebook

He told me 3 weeks ago he was getting a tattoo.

I was shocked. This man is not a fan of ink and has not ever really acknowledged that I have tattoos.

Honestly, I don’t think he likes mine. I got them when he was away for scout camp 7 years ago. I got three birds on my right wrist, to represent my three children.

I did tell him. He wasn’t that happy with my decision to get them, but I didnt care. My body.

Plus, I love ink. I think it’s so artistic and so beautiful that someone puts a permanent piece of art on themselves for life.

I didn’t tell him about what I was getting on my left wrist that day. We are bird watchers, we feed them, watch them, learn about them. So on my left wrist I got two birds sitting on a branch, to represent him and I.

He didn’t seem to care about that either.

I have written of this before so I won’t go deep into it again, but that’s that the tattoo I would attack during breakdowns.

There’s some damage to it for sure. Each time I went at it, the bandages would have black ink on them and it’s faded now and a scar or two can be seen.

So he tells me he’s getting a tattoo.

I’m shocked. What? Also a little intrigued, a man with some ink is kinda hot to me… anyway…

“What are you getting?”

He walks over to me and pulls my watch off. Taps the two birds and wraps me in a hug.

What?

His appointment was two weeks from that day he told me. I spent the next two weeks telling him he shouldn’t. He can get what he wants, but maybe not get something that represents us.

I said, “If we don’t make it, you’ll have something permanent.”

He said, “I’ll just have it redone to you flying away.”

That kind of made me laugh.

Anyway, he did it. It’s gorgeous. I mean, it’s an amazing tattoo! Beautiful colors, good lines, good saturation.

The birds are adorable.

But I wonder… what the hell is he doing? My guess is he feels the detachment. Maybe he thinks he just tattooed a ‘get out of jail free’ card on his arm. Maybe he really wanted to do this.

I don’t know. Doesn’t change anything for me. I’m a little weirded out by it.

On another side of it though, it’s sexy as hell and I’m wanting new ink of my own now.

We had a nice, quiet Christmas. The kids had a great day and even stayed here the entire time. 21 had his girlfriend come to us and I enjoyed playing hostess and feeding everyone till they couldn’t move.

The weekend before found us in the living room dragging out a horrible trigger day. He still didn’t answer anything. He makes me crazy.

I said, “What about a journal? A notebook. Letters.”

Basically, we keep it to the notebook. We have a set of rules, boundaries, I ask my question or my questions. I leave him the notebook. When I’m ready, I read his answers.

But we keep it in the journal. No verbal communication about the affair, just the letters in the notebook. We give this a try, see how it goes.

He told me several times last week he feels like I’m throwing in his face all the things he’s done wrong.

I explained to him that I am not. I may have done that on the beginning, but we are 4 1/2 years now past dday. I explained all the reasons I need disclosure and it’s not to make him feel guilty, that feeling is inside of him. That’s his shame and I’m not here to shame him, I’m here to heal and move forward with my life no matter what that means.

He agreed to the notebook. He actually agreed and said that this sounds promising.

So a moment hit me this weekend. I started the notebook. First page was rules. Second page was rules he may want. Third page was two questions.

Its been days now and I haven’t picked it up to see his answers. I find that knowing he may have answered hits me in a way I didn’t expect. I will go and check when I’m ready and maybe that will be a while.

Maybe that will be tonight. Or tomorrow. Or next week.

I think I like that I can wait till I’m ready.

Maybe asking him anything during a full blown panic trigger attack was a reason he never answered.

Maybe I’m an idiot that I never saw that. Maybe he saw I was breaking down and didn’t want to add to it?

Maybe I’ll never know anything about why he doesn’t and hasn’t disclosed because he and I can’t master communication at all.

Well, affair communication. Other parts of life we can talk about just fine.

He’s not forgiven. I still don’t see him in my future, bird tattoos or not… but I feel this peace knowing that notebook is sitting in his office with something written in it.

By him.

Even if I have no idea what it is.

Christmas.

Trigger season is upon me. Yay. It actually pisses me off. I’m done with this.

So today is the date he walked out and left us. Just scooted on by with his laundry baskets filled and left me on the driveway.

What’s weird about this year is, it hasn’t dropped me. I haven’t fallen. But I’ve had some moments where I’ve tripped. This time last year was the last time I cut. I feel like that is under control. Fuck him, he’s not worth it.

This year my moments seem to be bringing some clarity. I still seek answers. For whatever reason. Whether I am with him or not, I still want to know.

I play the two weeks he rolled out on repeat. But this year, I’m putting the pieces together a bit.

When he left that morning, I had no idea it was coming. I was making him breakfast when he got out of the shower and went into our room. He was in there for a while.

Hash browns finished up and I could hear him coming down the stairs. I turned and he had two laundry baskets full. Pillows on top. He put them down and looked at me.

He looked good. His face was bright. Eyes were bright. He was dressed nice.

I thought, “that’s weird. Why does he have his pillows going down to the laundry room? I don’t know if the washer can handle the pillows. That’s weird.”

I was still in my nightgown. I just stood there. He looked at me and picked up the baskets and went to the front door.

It hit me. It hit me hard. I screamed and grabbed for the baskets. He yelled for our son and had our son block me while he got out the door.

I fell. I just went down. I remember something popped in my wrist when I went down.

He came back in and got more things. I got around our son and grabbed some stupid things back from him, like a coffee cup. A shirt.

I was able to get out the door after him. He called again for our son but I got ahold of a pillow.

He won’t leave if I have his pillow right?

Wrong. He left. I was barefoot and in a nightgown and standing on gravel. I tried to chase his van down the driveway. What is he doing? Where is he going?

What the fuck is happening?

I just laid down. It was around 20 degrees that morning. I just laid down. I still had the pillow. Fuck it all. I can’t move.

I did though. I got up, my son said it was freezing and to please get up. He said something about my daughter and to please please get up.

Now. I look at that spot where I laid down and I can remember that morning like it was yesterday. I can look over at the doorway where I just collapsed and sprained my wrist. I can see me there screaming, bawling and begging.

Begging.

Please don’t leave me.

Please don’t go.

Out of everything in my life, that day, and that moment, those 5 minutes it took him to walk away are the worst in my life. I’ve never felt anything like that.

…and today? I’m mad at myself. When I look over and can see me begging like that? I’m pissed.

When I pass the driveway where I collapsed? No. Just no. Dammit.

I’m so angry at that version of me. I’m angry at how I just simply shattered that day.

When it hit me last night that today was the big trigger day, I tried to brush it off. Tried to steer my thoughts another way. Tried to breathe. Thought about making a cup of tea. Tried to think about anything other than the stupidness I felt begging him.

Pathetic. I’m so mad at myself.

I tried to bring myself into the present and let it go. But then I thought of something.

Something that hadn’t crossed my mind at all.

It had to have been planned. What? Wait. What?!

You don’t just wake up on a Sunday morning, leave to pick up something for your daughters Christmas present, come home take a shower, get yourself looking amazing, pack your laundry baskets and leave...AND HAVE A PLACE TO GO, ALL READY FOR YOU TO MOVE IN.

I never thought of this.

How long did this fucker plan this?

Sit down Chris. Do NOT go down into his studio and ask him. Don’t.

I went down.

Me, “How long did you have it planned to leave us 5 days before Christmas? You just happened to have a place all ready?”

Him: I don’t recall.

Me: how long?

Him: I don’t know. I just knew it was there to go to.

Me: was she happy you had gotten away?

Him: I can’t answer for how another human feels.

Me: when did you make the decision to move out?

Him: that morning.

Me: and you just happened to have a place to go and move right into.

Him: I knew it was available.

Why didn’t I ever think of this before? But he’s lying. He had to have planned it.

Questions flew for an hour or so.

I got the same answers to everything.

I don’t know

I don’t recall

I can’t remember

But even though it hit me and attempted to drag me under, I was calm. At one point there were some raised voices, but nothing crazy. I was more sad than anything. Because this is like talking to a wall. I wild probably get a better response from the wall though.

I asked him why did he chose to go when he did.

He said he wanted peace. That we were fighting too much.

I asked him if it had anything to do with her. He repeated that it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with wanting peace.

It’s those two weeks. Those two weeks that started the morning he walked out that still haunt me. Things went down in those two weeks that I can’t comprehend at all.

What kind of person walks out on their wife and kids 5 days before Christmas?

I should also just note that though I’m a bit lost and trying to push off the weight of memories….I’m OK.

I’m on to him. I may ask questions till I’m blue in the face and I know now I’ll never get an answer.

I’m on to him. I can see his tactics. I can see there is no future with a man who still lies to me.

One day I’ll stop trying I guess. Don’t know why I do.

Don’t they say something about insanity is doing the same things over and over and hoping for a different outcome, but it never is? Something like that.

Why didn’t this cross my mind years ago? Why now?

Abandonment issues are just so much fun. I pray for a day I’m just comfortable and on my own. I’m pretty sure I can’t leave myself.

Abuse

Have I written that he accuses me of being abusive? He says I am an abusive spouse. He tells me I abuse him.

I know I’ve tried to write it, but not sure if I hit publish. There’s a lot of nonsense just sitting in the drafts.

So, I was accused again last night.

Am I? I don’t know.

Do he and I have different definitions of the word Abuse?

We might. But just as I will no longer allow him to tell me how I feel about anything, I cannot tell him that I do not feel he is abused.

If that’s how he feels? Then he must take his own actions and do what must be done to protect himself.

If that makes sense.

I have asked him many times to give me an example of how I am abusing him, so that I may be aware of what he is defining and feeling as abusive.

This accusation against me has been happening for about 2 years now. 2 years out of 30 together.

The first time he said it, always and only during attempts to face the affair, I shut down immediately.

I was stunned. Shocked.

I can’t help but be mortified that that definition would be placed on me. How? How, I asked. He never answered.

I was crushed for days. Replaying everything said in the conversation.

Am I my mother? I don’t know. Because that is my definition of the word.

I was abused by my mother. So my definition comes from that. Bleeding, screaming, neglect, punching, name calling, bruises, humiliation.

So my definition and understanding of this word may be different than his.

Or is it?

So last night I attempted to lay down some boundaries and talk.

It’s a hard time coming up. Christmas is shit. Our 25th wedding anniversary coming up is a pile of shit. It’s a trigger filled time coming that I’m doing my best to change this year.

So I told him almost word for word what was in my last blog. The I just don’t care and I just need to talk this out with you.

I went on, “We schedule all kinds of things in our lives, but we don’t with each other. I have classes and schedule time with friends. You schedule band nights and recording sessions. We can do this.

How would you like if we scheduled a night and we set a time and we set a time limit and go in with boundaries set by both of us.”

He said, “Let me think about it. I’ll let you know.”

I said, “When can you let me know.”

He said, “When do you want me to let you know.”

I said, “I would like to know by tonight if this is something we can do.”

So later, I asked if he had thought about it.

He said, “Maybe it’s something we can look in to.”

I felt a flash of hope.

That’s when I found it in me to tell him where I was now. That I don’t want to talk about their intimacy. I know that makes him uncomfortable and I’m trying to let him know what it is I need and I just want to heal.

He stared at me.

I asked him if he still wanted a third party involved. A therapist.

He has told me he won’t talk to me at all if there is not a therapist involved. I’m good without one at this point. 4 therapists and I’m kinda done with that. But if that’s what he wants, then who am I to tell him no.

But he told me this with Covid restrictions in place and tells me to wait until they start seeing patients in person because he doesn’t want to do it on a computer.

But I’m impatient. I don’t understand at all why we can’t just sit down and talk. I don’t understand why it has to be so dramatic and complicated.

You should see it. It’s kind of nuts.

I’m baffled by his responses. For 4 1/2 years now.

Me: affair.

Him: crosses arms, stares right at me or the floor, won’t talk, or when he does it’s to point out I’m abusing him, tells me he’s an abused spouse, says I berate him and am coming at him with vitriol.

He uses these words and I’m so fucking confused.

I say: can you give one to me, just one thing I’ve said that can fit any of the descriptions you’re accusing me of.

Him: stares. Says nothing.

I don’t get it.

Why does he want to drag this out this long? Why do I?

There is no lack of emotional reaction when it comes to talking about the affair. I do get emotional.

That being said, we do not talk about the goddamn affair. We talk and then argue about possibly talking about the affair.

But never have we even talked about it. This is what happens every single time.

We argue and get all emotional about maybe talking about it.

What the hell universe am I in?

So. In a nutshell. It seems that I’m abusive because I wish to discuss some aspects of his affair that still have me stuck.

If he would actually talk? And answer? And I punched him in the goddamn throat? Or called him names? Or tore his life apart? Took his money, turned his kids against him, trash talked him to everyone and anyone that would listen?

Maybe then I could see the abuse word being thrown at me.

Wait. He did give me one reason I’m abusive. About a year ago, when he accused me again.

I wasn’t alright that first year. I wasn’t alright that second. I wasn’t alright. It was bad. Mostly in my head, but one thing I thought of constantly was suicide. I had it down, I planned it. I wanted the pain to just stop. Fight or flight was no way to live, I was struggling to not go through with the plan. Thoughts of my kids stopped me every time.

He said it was abusive. That I was abusive with telling him I wanted to die.

That made me sad. I told him, “I only told you because I wanted to be stopped. I wanted help. I didn’t manipulate you in any way. Threatening you if you left I would do that. Nothing like that. I was in a very dark place and wanted help.”

He never helped. It was a few times. I really wanted help but had no idea how to bring myself to just drive to a hospital. To ask someone other than him. I needed help but had no idea what to do.

So, in time, I helped myself. I found I was not healthy and wanted to be. So I put myself in therapy and faced my demons and stood back up.

Is it abusive though? I don’t know. Maybe I just have a different definition. But god it hurts when he throws that at me.

Because I don’t want to be.

But I think I’m at the end of my rope.

It kinda sucks. I realized, through therapy, that I didn’t really allow anyone to love me. I didn’t really allow myself to love.

That awareness has brought me to my knees. Because I’m with someone who I cannot trust and I’m pretty sure is the actually the abusive one out of the two of us.

I’ve stepped back and really watched him.

He is perfect in every way when I don’t want to talk about Toni.

He’s funny, giving, loving. He says all the right things, does all the right things. Then?…

Me: Having a bad night, triggers are drowning me.

Him: you’re abusive. I’m going to glare at you until you shut up and realize that we are fine until you need to talk about my affair.

So I see. I see.

But there it is. This accusation of abuse. Sitting in my gut. I think he saw that first reaction from me when he said that. I cried. I crumbled. I self reflected. I was appalled. I was shocked.

I shut up.

So now he uses it every time. With still no explanation of how. But he saw what the power of that word did to me.

So I see. I see…. do I? Am I crazy?

Am I justifying away my own reactions?

If he were to write his own blog, would his be very different? There’s two sides to a story.

Maybe to him, I really am an abusive spouse.

I don’t know. 😔.