Kickboxing.

Body combat.

Tonight will be three days in a row. I’m about to head in.

I think this has saved my life in so many ways. Better than therapy, really. But, like always, I’m heading in angry. I’m heading in hurt.

I will picture him tonight on every hook, every uppercut, every jab, every roundhouse and every kick.

On my way here, I pass her road. Sometimes that alone ignites the anger and she’s the one in my head.

But tonight it’s him. Just him.

I realized as I pulled in and I’m sitting here waiting to go in, that it’s been four years.

Four years. I’m actually tired of being this angry. I’m exhausted being this angry.

I want a break.

I’m almost sure they are talking again. I could be wrong, but I wasn’t wrong last time.

I’m tired. But for right now, I’m going to go beat the shit out of him. In my head of course.

“I was about to knock his head off”

Husbands band was supposed to play this past weekend. There was a family emergency for one of the band members and they had to cancel. There were two bands that night, so the other band took the whole night.

It’s outdoors, and covid rules were in place. I love the venue this was at, its all ages, so I invited 16 to go.

We had a nice night, her and I. We laughed and pretty much ate food that wasn’t good for us and enjoyed the music.

Husband was off chatting with others and in time found us and sat next to me. The band broke for a break and a few minutes later I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I looked up and saw blue eyes over the mask. I recognized the eyes.

I recently had a FB friend request from him. His face, mainly those eyes, were familiar but I could not for the life of me place where I knew him so I didn’t accept the request. Honestly, it was making me nuts trying to figure out where I knew him. Our mutual friends didn’t make it any easier, it actually made it more confusing.

He backed up the required 6 feet and pulled his mask down and said, “You don’t remember me, do you?” He smiled.

I said the name that was on my FB request. He blinked, said “Oh, I didn’t expect you to know!”

I humbled myself a bit and apologetically asked him, “Where do I know you from? It’s driving me crazy!”

He told me. I had a second night time job when I was around 25. Grocery store cashier.

He worked the deli. I remember him being very nice and always smiling. He would offer me cheese bites a lot. I knew he was slightly flirting with me then, but there was no interest on my end. I was newly married and he knew I was.

Now, on some random night 24 years later, there he is. Standing in front of me sitting next to my husband and recalling some memories from our grocery store crew. He even mentioned the cheese he would keep to the side for me.

He was straight up slightly flirting with me! I could literally feel the tension coming off my husband in waves.

I reached for my husband and said, “This is ( my husband) He’s the guitar player from (the band) that was supposed to play tonight.”

He looked shocked and blinked a few times and said, “oh! You and I have been messaging to cover your time slot!” They talk for a minute and off he goes.

I was actually nervous sitting there afterwards. Like I did something wrong. My husband got up and left.

The next day he said, “When he came up to you like that I wanted to knock his head off.”

I didn’t say anything. I just kind of looked at him.

But good. Good, know that I won’t be some lonely old woman. Good.

Know that little spark of momentary anger and jealousy you felt for a nano second is nothing like what I’ve been going through for 4 years. But good.

Good.

Struggling a bit today.

After I wrote out that blog yesterday, I thought I would feel better.

But I had a long sleepless night and I can’t seem to let go of the anger.

My heart has been pounding in my chest and I can’t seem to calm down. I’m angry.

I have not said a thing to him. It won’t matter anyway if I did. I’m not sure what to do with this level of anger.

I have a kickboxing class tonight and maybe it will release during the class. I hope it does.

Later…

Home. I am exhausted, but still can’t close my eyes. I’m going on two hours of sleep from last night. I can’t keep going like this.

I put every ounce of energy into the gym tonight. I wanted to leave there hurting and tired.

I’m so angry with him.

I know I will roll out of this. This roller coaster ride from hell will eventually take a turn and I will move on.

I’m so angry. I feel used. He used me.

Did not have my consent.

I was scrolling through My twitter feed a few weeks ago.

I can’t find the tweet now, as I wanted her permission to repost it here, I also wanted to retweet it, but I don’t follow her and twitters algorithm is annoying. I can’t find her or the tweet.

But it went something like this:

If you cheat on someone, the sexual relationship you have with them is now nonconsensual because the terms of consent you had with them are now broken.

I’m going off memory, but you get the point.

One of my biggest issues through this whole thing was how he bed jumped.

He has lied through his teeth from the start. At first he said he would see her maybe twice a month. But a couple of months ago I broke down and straight up told him that I went through his work calendar where he records times and locations.

Here’s where I did that craziness: Digging

He saw her daily. He was with me daily.

He lied to her. He lied to me.

Let me just talk about his lies to her. You may be surprised to hear this, but there a moments I feel something along the lines of empathy for her.

He told her his marriage was over. (Hold on, most of this is coming straight from the Cheaters Handbook we aren’t supposed to talk about because it offends cheaters. “We don’t have a handbook! That’s just stupid! Hurt people hurt people!”)

Anyway, he told her his marriage was over. (Lie) he told her he slept in a different room (lie, we don’t have another goddamn room) he told her I wouldn’t have sex with him any longer, (lie, before the affair it was 3 times a week, then during the affair that I didnt know about, we were together 5/6 or more times a week.) he told her I was raging nagging bitch (ok… maybe sometimes, but not really. That’s just not me.) He told her I was abusive and bipolar and narcissistic and evidently I’m also Schizophrenic. (My husband evidently went to med school since he can diagnose me so well.) He told her I was fat, he wasn’t attracted to me and we haven’t had sex in years. (Lie, he probably got it that morning from me before he went to her) he told her I was a bad mother, our kids were basically being mentally abused by me. (Lie. I can’t even go on with that one and that one pisses me off more than anything really.). SHE said he told her our sons were not his. That his daughter was his, but his sons were not. HE says she’s lying about that. That he never said that.

I believe her. I mean, seriously, if you’re playing Super Victim to your Whore, what better way to get the “Oh my gawd, you poor man, raising babies that aren’t yours! Your wife is a fat evil slut and a evidently very fertile simp! Come here and have sex with me and I’ll make your life all better.”

So we all know the bottom line here, he had to play his much loved and over-used victim card. It justified his actions. It justified it to her, himself and those around him that knew he was being a cheating cheaterson.

“Aww, look at him! He’s got the worst fat wife on the planet, horrible life, kids that aren’t his, no sex, gets no appreciation and is abused! He definitely should put his dick in another woman for 8 months! That should make it all better for him! Poor guy!”

Whew.. I’m going off the rails in my head a little… anyway, let me get myself together…

So, I coffeed up and took a moment…

So. He lied to her. I sometimes give her that. Just that. Well, a little more too. I give her that a guy she knew since she was 10, came to her out of nowhere with his sob story. That she had lost her (third) husband that same year. That she was about to face holidays without him. That this man came into her office with an interest in her, a huge lying sad story of his life, and I’ll give her that she felt sympathy for him. How would she know he was lying? I think she fell hard and fast without thinking there was an entire other side of the story.

That other side being his wife.

So to back up a little, I wonder if he had told her “yes, I’m still sleeping with my wife… daily” if that would have changed her sexual terms. Would it also have been non consensual in her book?

He would often go see her before work. After he left our bed. I wonder if he would have told her “Mornin’ my little 6 foot side piece! I’m here! I just left my wife’s body, now I’m here for yours!” (Ok.. clearly I’m still off the rails a little… because I’m actually laughing and getting a kick out of myself)

Would that have changed her mind? Did she give her sexual consent to him because of the lies he told her? If she knew the truth would it be different?

Because it would’ve been a deal breaker for me.

If he had told me then that he was in a full blown sexual relationship with a 6 foot amazon, I would have packed his shit and dumped it on her driveway. It may or may not have been on fire. We will never know.

All he had to do was leave. But no, he lied to me. “I’m not seeing her. I’m not talking to her.”

He was out the door!! Twice! He left TWICE!!!

The difference between now and back then is now he won’t leave. Now he’s planted himself in tight and won’t go.

(Probably because he doesn’t have anywhere to go)

So thinking now about that tweet…. it put a light on his actions that I didn’t really see before. It gives almost a definition to possibly why this has been so hard to heal from. His bed jumping….

It was non consensual. He broke my terms of consent.

From the start, I have needed ‘definitions’. Words. Defined reasons. I have needed them because I think knowing there is a definition for an action helps me realize I’m not alone.

For some reason it helps. “Oh there’s a word for that. It will help make some sense out of the madness”

“Why did I want to f*~k his brains out after finding out?!” Oh honey, that’s called ‘Hysterical Bonding’ have fun!

“How could he actually live this double life?!” Well, that would be Cognitive Dissonance.

“How could he have sex with both of us? Why can’t I just accept that’s what he did and that’s the definition of an affair?!”

Because it was non consensual. You never agreed to give your body to a man who was also sleeping with someone else. He broke the sexual terms of consent.

I understand more now why the trucker came back into my life and affected me the way it did. The trucker was the last time in my life I did not give consent.

I’m getting more coffee.

I’m suddenly quite exhausted.

EMDR a year later.

I’m in a couple of EMDR groups on Facebook. Recent topics there got me thinking of where I am today with it.

I’m pretty amazed at what EMDR did for me. I’m glad I did it, I’m proud of myself for facing all that I did.

I’m sad I lost my therapist to a move so early after starting, but am forever grateful I had her for hard ones.

I am definitely different today. I learned boundaries. I learned self care. I learned self worth. I learned tools to put in place if I was sliding backwards.

I am no longer suicidal. Those thoughts are gone. Cutting does cross my mind at times and I did slip back around Christmas time. But not since then and when I think of it, I grab those tools she gave me and hang on tight.

I do not want to do that to myself again. I understand now why I went back to what was a coping mechanism for me for so long in my life and I can see now why I reach for it again. So to me, the power of that knowledge stops me from reaching for something sharp. I don’t need it.

I find there is no shame when thoughts of the trucker pass through my mind. Until emdr, I know somewhere inside me that I blamed myself. I think I always carried the blame.

After all, I was the one that wore that silly shirt and my own mother didn’t even believe me.

Now? I think back and shake my head. Of course it wasn’t my fault. I was 13. Of course I wore silly shirts.

My mother? There is something very wrong with someone when their daughter tells their mother that her nasty boyfriend raped her and she blames her daughter and then hands her daughter a letter written by the guy.

I don’t care how much therapy and emdr I have… her handing me that note from him is so messed up. But it no longer causes a physical reaction in me other than a head shake and a wtf look on my face. No heart racing, no shakes, no quick breathing.

I didn’t write about it when I did it, but this last September I asked my husband and to take me to Florida to see my mother.

A few years ago, she had a massive stroke. She doesn’t talk well now. Perfect time to see her. I also felt that it would bring the circle closed. Face her, close the circle, walk away.

Not that I intended to bring up the trucker or any of the abuse she put me through, I just wanted my own closure with her.

So down we went. She lives in a tiny mobile home. Very poor. Very run down. The place was strangely in order, but smelled very bad. She was small. Grey. Not able to speak much.

However, first thing she did say to me as, “I thought you would be fatter.” That actually took a while to get out and there was a lot of hand motions and me guessing at what she was attempting to say.

Figures. That’s her.

But as we sat and attempted an awkward conversation, I looked at her. I had not seen her in two decades by this point and I had just wrapped up some intense therapy that centered around her.

I smiled. I was kind. I looked at her hands and remembered them punching me. She’s not punching anyone anytime soon now.

I really looked at her. She’s alone now. Someone comes to help a few times a week. She has a dog. But she’s alone.

I wasn’t sad when I left, I was quiet. She lives near Naples and we decided it would be fun to just keep going and see the Keys. So I spent an hour there with her and we went on our way. There was a long drive ahead of me to just think.

I realized I did everything I could in my life to not be like her. She had her own rough childhood, dealt with her own abuse by those that raised her. She knew nothing else and didn’t do anything to change her cycle. She went full circle in her life. Raised in abuse, abused her own kids, became an alcoholic and is alone.

I recognized I needed help. I did all I could to break the cycle.

I have most definitely broken the cycle.

So here I am, a year since my last EMDR session. My marriage is probably ending. My life will not be as I imagined, pictured, hoped for. It’s a rough road ahead.

….And I’m ok. I’m really ok. For the days that I don’t or won’t feel ok? I know in time that I will be just fine.

I don’t even know what to title this.

A quote I saw caused a pretty fierce face palm this past weekend. A jaw drop, a wide eyed gasp and a face palm that was a bit harder than it should’ve been.

I did. I read it again. Then I read it again.

This. So much this.

Friday I wandered down to the barn where he was working on something. I was chatty and could tell I was getting on his nerves a bit. He seemed to be heavily involved in what he was doing. (Plexiglass guards for several local businesses so they can be all covid proof when opening up)

I noticed he had his Bluetooth earbuds in. I asked what he was listening to. He told me, and it’s no surprise. I won’t get into politics here, but my husband is very deep into all the podcasts and news, talk shows and blah blah blah that he listens to everyday. If it’s not one of the 14 podcasts he listens to daily, the tv is blasting out the same stuff.

I personally find it too much. It’s not that I don’t know what’s going on, I do, it’s more that I cannot listen to it 16 hours a day like he does.

It’s draining on me. I become ignited in a cause or crying or pissed or sitting there with a what the fuck look on my face that I believe is causing way too many wrinkles. So I don’t immerse into the politics the way he does, my mental health can’t handle it. My face can’t handle it.

Over the years, I have sent him many vlogs from Affair Recovery. I feel like Samuels vlogs are incredibly helpful and that’s that. But I have not gotten my husband to watch any. He refuses.

This annoys me.

He says he has no time. But I stood there and got a bit pissed. He has 16 hours a day he listens to the same damn thing, he can maybe take a minute for our marriage.

I told him this. He threw back at me ” But do YOU listen to blah blah blah?!” Like I need to listen to that guy and that guys political podcast in order to work on my marriage. I said, “yes, actually I do” and then rattled off at least a dozen times I’ve had to listen to him in the last two weeks. Because that’s what my husband is playing constantly. In the truck, in the kitchen, in bed. It’s enough.

So he says “send me what you would like me to listen to.”

So I sent him two.

I thought these were good to start with.

Days go by and nothing.

Last night, I was folding laundry. He was in his office so I popped in. I never seem to want to rock the boat. But I’m feeling selfish. I know summer is usually fine. Sorta. No affair happened during the summer. But September is right around the corner. It will start again. Birthdays. Christmas. New Years. Valentine’s Day. Easter….

Trigger time.

So balancing a large stack of towels I just folded, I popped into his office and asked “Did you get a chance to watch?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think?”

“It makes me nervous. Because he talks about past trauma.”

He’s referring to me. So I point out that I’ve been doing great this past year, emdr and those intense sessions have been a godsend.

So he crosses his arms, looks to my left so he doesn’t have to look directly at me, and says nothing.

That quote passes through my thoughts. It’s not my job to rebuild this bond. He broke it and has done nothing since.

He thinks the only thing he had to do was pick me.

Which he didn’t do. That’s another story.

It really hits me. The end of Samuels “inconvenienced by the betrayeds pain” simply states where I am now.

“You’re losing me and I’m almost done. I’m sending up my final flare, time is running out.”

https://youtu.be/9VxWHiC0pmo

I don’t have respect. I don’t respect this man I have loved for so long. He’s killed how I view him now. It took 4 years of me trying, but you can’t succeed with just one person trying.

I didn’t break the bond. Why am I doing so much work? Alone?

It hits me… a click happened. A switch. Something that may have been there all along, clicked into place.

When this all started, literally two days after I found out he was talking to her, which would be 12 days into their relationship, we were sitting in the same room where I was now standing with my stack of laundry asking him once again to work with me on this. To try.

He told me on that long ago night that he was done. “I am done. This marriage has been long over and I am done.”

It hits me that from that night to last night, that he really is done. Not once in all that time has he attempted to show remorse, to try. He’s been angry with me instead.

He has fought against me this entire time. Not for me, not for us, not for our family. Against.

I told him all of this. He put his head down in his hands. I waited. Time ticked by.

I said, “Am I wrong though? You sat in that same chair over four years ago and told me you were done. I think you really have been done since you declared it then.”

Silence. Head down. I’m quiet. Nothing I have said to him at all has been aggressive or angry.

Me, “Am I right?” It came out in a whisper.

He nodded.

I turned and took my towels upstairs and put them a way. I went out and locked the chickens up for the night and came in and crawled into bed.

Ran errands all day today and am looking forward to an outdoor yoga class this evening.

Life goes on. I’m ok. I’m ok. One step ahead at a time.

He nodded.

He does not know me.

Sometimes I can see forward a little clearer when I take a minute to look back.

30 years. Actually it’s more. Like 31 or 32 years.

I met my husband when I was 15? Maybe 16. At the time, I was dating a guy I had been with for a while, off and on high school sweetheart type of thing.

By my sophomore year, my high school sweetheart and I were together.

Let me just talk about him real quick. He asked me out in 8th grade. He was popular in our town, everyone liked him. His parents owned a local Harley shop, everyone knew him and his family.

We broke up every other day, until my sophomore year. We stayed pretty solid from there. His parents took me in and for the first time in my life, I saw what a family was supposed to look like.

His mom really wrapped her arms around me. At this time I was living with my foster family and she just knew I was a mess. There was nothing but pure kindness a love in this woman. To this day, I find that I often think of her and what a role model she was in my my life. I parent and wife much like her, she was the most amazing mom and wife I had ever seen.

His Dad? He was a gruff, gritty scary looking man. Handlebar mustache, tattoos on every inch of skin, deep scary voice that not a single person would try to go up against. He was biker through and through. He always wore black Harley tshirts that I swear he ripped the sleeves off with his teeth…. and oh, he was so kind. He would make me laugh till it hurt, and I loved watching the relationship he had with his son. He was in love with his wife and so gentle with her.

I had never seen a family that actually functioned as a family until I met them.

I do believe looking back, I stayed with S as long as I did because I loved his parents.

So anyway, S and I hung out in a small little town (which I now live in) with a big crowd that would gather in mall parking lots. It’s what you did in the 80’s.

S was in a band, and one night he told me he met a guy from the next town over who also played guitar and he was stopping by the lot to let him hear a demo tape. He was auditioning, I guess, to join S’s band.

This blue Chevy van pulls up and this guy gets out. Holy shit. I fancied myself to be madly in love with S and planned on marrying him. But my heart sped up and I couldn’t take my eyes off this guy.

His eyes. His hair. His smile. His hands. The tape he put in to let S listen to was amazing. He told S he wrote it recently after a break up. It was a heart wrenching ballad that pulled at the heart. He made that guitar solo sound like it was crying.

They talked for a while, I watched for a while.

From that point on, whenever we went to the lot, I looked for him. It was always a good night when he was around. Sometimes he would join us and ride with us. S had a single row ford pickup so that would put hair guy right next to me.

The first time that happened my leg had to rest against his and it was electric. There’s no other way to describe it. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t pull away, I couldn’t understand what was happening.

He didn’t pay much attention to me. I didn’t try to get him to do so. But the next couple of years, the friendship between S and hair guy grew. They ended up in a band together, they partied together, they became good friends.

During band practice or gigs or working on cars on the garage, there I was. Sitting there like the good girlfriend being supportive.

But whenever hair guy was around, I quietly watched him. I loved how his hands moved across the strings of his guitar. He would often take lead singer in some of the songs, and I would internally melt when I would hear that voice. He didn’t smile often, but when he did it would light up his eyes and I’m pretty sure my internal organs are still damaged to this day from witnessing those rare smiles of his.

I remember looking at him one night during a long practice, and thinking, “I’m going to marry him.” Then laughing and shaking my head, because clearly I’m meant to be with S.

During those years of hanging out in the band room, the mall parking lot, the garage and the local arcade, I watched hair guy date several of the mall lot girls. Never seemed to get serious with any, but he seemed to be having fun. He often told S of his current girl and S would relay back to me the adventures of hair guy. I think S was envious.

I graduated high school at 18 and had a great summer. Trip to Florida with friends, mall lot with the gang, long nights at the local carnivals, partying and being young. Hair guy was still around but there was a girl in his town that kept him away from ours. I didn’t see him much that summer.

But end of July rolled around and S broke up with me. Now, as an adult and looking back, S was definitely feeling his age, didn’t want to be tied down and my devastation of this break up most certainly was because I was going to lose his parents. I took it very hard.

I was also working at their Harley shop at the time. So I was going to lose his parents, him and my job. Asshole.

S then moved out and moved into a friends house. A married couple with a kid. S had an affair with the wife, that family broke up, S married the woman and they had a daughter together. S got heavily into drugs and that life created a world of crime and mayhem and he ended up in jail for several years.

So there’s that.

But that summer after S broke it off, I was lost. I just worked and lived my life. I was sad, I missed him and mostly his parents. I missed life at the lot.

I lost contact with most of the lot gang and I often wondered about hair guy.

Then one day, I was working at a convenient store, I saw his blue van pull in. My heart slammed. It was November, but he had on a tshirt. His hair was long, he was so sexy. I heard the bells at the door jingle but I acted like I didn’t see him. He walks to the counter and smiled at me. That smile.

“Can I get your number? I would like to take you out.”

I was shocked. But I pulled a length of receipt paper from the register and wrote down my number.

“What time do you get off work?” I squeaked out the time from my closing throat.

“I’ll call you around 5 then. Talk to you later.” And he leaves.

He did call. We did go out. I found out he asked S if it was alright. S evidently gave him his blessing and told him it would be a favor to him and good luck to him. “She’s crazy” he told him. Did I feel guilty going out with S’s best friend? Maybe. Sort of. It was the talk of our little town. I was evidently a crazy whore trying to break up a friendship. How dare I go out with S’s friend?

This November will be 30 years since that day he walked in and asked for my number. We have grown up together. Created a life, a family, a business. Each day that passes we create a past, a history. I have been with him more than half my life.

I still look at him the same. I love when he smiles, I still feel my heart race when that incredible smile reaches his eyes. I often reach for those hands that have held me for so long. Those hands that still fly up and down a guitar, that have held our babies, that can create deals that brings food to our table.

I know every member of his family, I know every friend he values. I know what expressions he has that indicate whatever thoughts go through his mind.

I know what to do to bring that rare smile to his eyes.

I know when he’s overwhelmed, I know when he’s bored. I can tune in to the energy that surrounds him.

But I do not know him. This man I have loved for so long. I do not know him.

I do not know him.

This man who would cheat. Who would leave his family during the holidays to be with another woman. This man who would call me vile names. Who would lie. This man who would leave my bed and go to hers. This man who would leave her bed and come home and look me in the eyes.

He lies. He blame shifts.

He lies. He lies. He lies.

I don’t know him.

I would rather spend the remainder of my days alone. At this time in my life, I’m actually craving that.

After all this time and all that I do know…I do not know him.

…and he does not know me.

Sadly, it seems he does not want to know me.

The other woman and her first husband were part of that parking lot crew. I knew her only through who became her husband. CB radios were big in that day and he was a very known personality on the radio. I even remember his handle. She never talked on it. She was just this quiet, extremely tall, weird looking girl that sat by his side. I never gave her a single thought. Who knew she would end up having a hand in wrecking my marriage 25 years later.

On another note, when my daughter was two, I had her in a shopping cart and we were walking through a Lowe’s. I was shopping for faucets for the bathroom. I turned a corner and looked at a couple heading towards me. We all froze for a moment and I broke instantly into tears.

S’s parents.

I put my hands over my face and tried to stop the tears and get ahold of myself. I felt his mom putting her arms around me. I hugged back. I looked at his dad and he was smiling so big.

We all started talking at once and laughed. Dad was still a big scary looking biker guy, more tattoos than before and the mustache now silver. Still no sleeves on his Harley shirt. This big gritty looking dude reached for my daughters foot and wiggled it and made a silly noise so she would giggle.

We chatted a bit and never brought up S at all. I knew from rumors around town he was in jail. No need to talk about him.

They will never know the influence they have had in my life. I admired them, loved them and will always be grateful for what I learned being a part of that family for a few years.

A week

About a week has passed since I lost my shit over the random thoughts of them.

After I wrote the entry, I shot off a text to him.

After a while, hours actually, he answered yes.

Yes, they communicated daily.

I said thank you for answering. He replied with this:

Ok. He has to turn it. He can’t not.

Later I picked up my daughter from work and when we got home, I called him. He answered and I just asked.

When would you talk?

Him: “I don’t think we should talk about this.”

Me: “I think we should”

We talked on his ride home. He would call her on the way to work, if he wasn’t stopping by to see her and on the way home. They would text throughout the day and talk at lunch.

The burner phone had a monthly plan of unlimited calls texts and data.

The conversation grew. He pulled into the driveway and parked next to me but we stayed on the phone. It seemed to feel safe that way and we just kept at it.

We talked about if they said I love you to each other, he swore they didn’t. I told him I did not believe that, he told me he was sorry I didn’t believe him.

We talked about the end of their relationship and for the first time I was able to tell him, without him interrupting me, that I’m searching for the truth of that day. He said that he has told me about that day 1000 times.

I told him that he told me a thousand different versions of that day and because of that I can’t wrap my head around it. He’s lying.

We talked for about an hour, sitting there next to each other in our vehicles.

I’m glad he talked. I’m exhausted. Still, a week later, I’m exhausted. But I feel like we actually listened to each other. Maybe for the first time? I don’t know.

Do you know I bought and downloaded “Leave a Cheater, Gain a Life: The Chump Lady’s Survival Guide” a couple of years ago. I honestly couldn’t get past the first few pages. I didn’t want to be a chump.

But I started it again a week ago. I’ve gotten way past the first few pages.

I’m a chump. That man did me wrong.

I don’t deserve it.

Thoughts out of nowhere.

I’m ranting and raving here. Kind of going off the rails in my head. Oh, not really kinda. My train is completely off the rails.

Hang on.

I’m laying in bed last night, watching some dumb show about singers pairing up with each other and going to Vegas in tour buses. There are four couples left and honestly, none of them look like they are connecting at all and I swear they are just in this stupidity not to find love, but to get their voices out in the world.

But I’m watching. They are all new “relationships” so it’s interesting to watch the beginning stages of a relationship form.

Out of NOWHERE, a stupid thought rolls into my head.

Did they talk every day? Did he make some effort to make sure they communicated in some way every day?

Did he make time in his life to communicate with that trashy whore every day? He does not do that with me.

Why would this cross my mind at the freaking four year mark?

I know he bought the burner phone three days after I found out they were talking. Then Mr. Dumbass that was paying for minutes for that whore phone actually got somewhat intelligent and realized he could create a fake Facebook, which he also did on day 3, and use messenger to talk and send dirty little pictures to each other… which would not cost him the talk minutes on the burner.

Did I think he didn’t talk to her everyday? Why now? Did I think there were some days in there that they didn’t communicate? See each other?

It’s making me skim past every single 240 plus days of his goddamn affair with her.

Why does it even make a difference now? Does it? Should it?

It makes me wonder. Did he send her some sexy little texts while he was sitting upstairs on our bed on my birthday that year? Were they up there just sexting away while I sat downstairs watching TV? Because I actually remember him up there for a while and then I got this random text to “get my ass upstairs” and then he goes on to tell me exactly what he wants to do to me.

Yeah. I’m dumb, but not that dumb. That’s freaking exactly what happened.

Did he run off to all quiet corners of the house to chat with her? Any moment he could grab?

As key moments like that one flash through my head, my heart is pounding and I’m struggling. I’m not sure why this is getting to me.

I’m boiling inside, there’s no where to release this anymore during this quarantine. I need a good heavy bag, I swear.

I have one, but it got damaged in a flood, I hit it anyway but it kinda hurts… anyway…

I’m ridiculously fucking pissed! I want to create a Facebook with the dumbass picture he chose for his fake one, the dumbass name he chose and I want to friend request HIM AND HER and fill it with screen shots of their texts and texts between him and I at that time and texts between her and I.

I want to fill it with all kinds of whore memes. “Did it hurt when you fell out of the Whore tree and banged everyone on the way down?” ”

I want to punch her straight in her donkey face! I would need a ladder though to get up there to reach it.

I want to scream. I want those 8 months to stop flying through my head and making me crazy.

I could ask him. But he will flop around on the floor like a fish out of water crying that I will just never get over this and stop asking him extremely hard questions and can I go make him a sandwich please? Because he’s hungry and now I’ve made him stressed out. That will make him feel better since I’ve now caused him stress with my questions THAT NEVER GET ANSWERED ANYWAY SO WHY DO I TRY?

WHY DO I STAY?

There’s too many people in this house but if I don’t get out in 5 seconds and scream this out I’m going to have a goddamn heart attack. Or stroke. Whatever.

I think, I think… I think I know….

He can’t even look up from his phone when I talk. He thinks I should be so fucking grateful he ‘picked me’. He doesn’t think he should do any work whatsoever. I can’t let go that he gave her his time, his attention, his body, his money, his secrets.

I do not get that.

Fuck him.

My heart is pounding. This is going to kill me, I swear.

There is no leaving. I can’t.

Is it odd, bad, crazy, whatever, that more days than not, I wish he had ‘picked’ her.

Would that have been easier? I don’t know. I’m sorry if anyone reads this that is on that side and not what you wanted to happen.

I’m sorry, I’m losing it and not thinking straight at all.

…..UH!!! I just want to punch her in her stupid donkey face!!!

I won’t make the Facebook… it’s a nice thought though to play it all out. But I won’t.

What I would do if I ran into her:

Weight.

In high school, I weighed 115. I was 5’8.

Sometimes, depending on the day of the month, my weight would sky rocket to 120.🙄.

I met my husband at that weight. When we married, 5 years later, I think I was around 130.

I actually felt healthier at that weight. 115/120 was too low for me and I was always sick and bruised easy and looked like I was hungry.

My first weigh in with the first kid I was 127.

My first weigh in with then second kiddo, I was 155.

My first weigh in with the third, I was 170.

My last weigh in with her, right before I had her, 237.

Highest I’ve ever been.

My husbands weight also went up and down, he seemed to follow along with weight I gained during pregnancy.

Honestly? I never looked at him different. He was who he was. Did he look at me and hoped that baby weight would come off?

I struggled with weight loss after my last was born. I had all three of them in 4 years, I never really got much time to lose much between each of them, and afterwards, I just really liked food.

Honestly. Food. Sweets, mainly. Sugar addiction is real. Emotional eating.

The lowest I seemed to get was 170. I fluctuated the next 14 years after having her between 170 and 200.

I have had My Fitness Pal for a long time. My first weigh in was in January of 2013. 189.6

Yesterday, I thought it would be fun times to check my Facebook memories. There was a picture of me. Honestly? There’s not many of me. Maybe because I was always behind the lens, maybe because I didn’t really want to see myself. I don’t know, but there I was in May 2015. I couldn’t believe it.

I thought no way is that what I looked like. I went to MFP and there was a weight entry for that month. 198.

I was a little shook looking at that picture. Who was she? It’s me, definitely me, but I am strangely weirded out today that I don’t recognize her any longer.

Little did I know that 3 months after that picture was taken that my husband would seek out another woman. I’m sitting next to a woman I considered my best friend in the world and that person is no longer in my life today. I’m smiling, the smile looks real. It touches my eyes. I thought life was good. I was happy with where I was and with the people around me.

My throat feels kind of tight looking at it. I have to swallow around what feels like a lump. I’m really sad to look at myself on what feels like just moments before my world would be forever changed. I’m not even sad really, looking at the weight I carried. More sad looking at a woman who has no idea that her world is about to go off the rails.

Looking at MFP, I can see I weighed in on the day I found out he was talking to her, September 2015. 187.7. Looks like I lost a little that summer before finding out my husband wasn’t who I thought he was.

By the end of December 2015, I was 167.4

When I found out the truth that he’s absolutely not who I thought he was, April 2016, I’m weighing in at 165.

From Dday on, looks like I put the weight back on, I was steadily climbing back up. Disastrous blow to the marriage had me turning back to food for comfort.

January of 2018, I walked into a gym. 175.8

May 2020, I am 5’7 (why do we shrink?) and 145.

Hard work and so much sweat and so many ups and downs with the weight. Learning how to eat, learning how to work my body, learning how to be OK with some ice cream now and then.

I just want to add here, I did not walk into the gym that day to change anything about me for him. The only thing my fitness journey has to do with him is it’s a place to release aggression and that keeps him safe. 😈. I did it for me. I still do it everyday, for me.

Learning how to take care of me. A very good therapist and amazing fitness trainers at the same time did some wonders for the body and mind.

Self care has been the biggest reward since dday. Some days it feels selfish, some days I don’t care of it does.

But I look at that picture. I look at the date. No matter how much I’ve worked on myself, physically and mentally, I have this little voice in my head going off about my weight. Did he seek her out because he was no longer attracted? That 120 pound girl he met long ago no longer existed.

It’s not an excuse, no matter what I weighed. But honestly, physical attraction is a thing.

I’m letting these small little thoughts out here, I’m getting them out and will never allow them back into my head again. Never again will I allow “oh my god… look at me… no wonder he went to a skinny bitch that never had any kids” into my head again.

But if I could go back, or step inside that picture, I would maybe whisper in my ear “Hang on girl, it’s about to get real rough. Stand strong, hang on, the storm will pass I promise. You’ll actually like who you are going to become after it passes. You’re stronger, you like yourself, you stand up for yourself, you have removed toxic people and for the first time in your life, you can say No.”

As I am writing this out and attempting to squish those self doubts… I look at him.

I really look at him.

He’s no longer that tan, heavily muscled guy I met either. The first thing I noticed about him then was his eyes, then his hair. Long, thick rock & roll hair. When he was shirtless his abs were ripped into the sexiest six pack ever. His forearms were huge, his biceps and chest were rock solid and he was everything my teenage and twenties dreams could possibly be made of.

But the last decade? He his losing his hair. The muscles are no longer there as they were, he has gained at least 40 pounds, sometimes more, and those abs and chest muscles are a thing of the past.

Here’s the difference though…

I never cared. I loved growing older with him. It’s what happens. I loved the grey, the laugh lines around his eyes, the silver coming into his beard, the way his newly needed reading glasses sat upon his nose.

Maybe he didn’t care either. But I know he did, sort of did, because he would sometimes mention my weight. Oh, who am I kidding. He cared. He even told her I was fat. She told me he did, he even admitted he did.

But do I think he stepped out because of it? No.

But insecure me still let it cross my mind. But I have to shut her up, because I’ve come a long way and I’m proud of who I have become, inside AND out. I’ve worked really hard on both

But I’m still a little shook looking at that picture. I have often said since Dday that I miss the old me. But I think I may like the new me too.

Maybe a little more.

🙂

Hope everyone is well. Stay safe and sane. ✌️