Look at me living and sh*t 😁

So long before shut downs and COVID, I would’ve described myself as a functioning introvert. I don’t even know if that’s a thing, but that’s what I’m going with.

I am fine in public with people existing around me but find I can’t take it for very long. I need to be back at home and that’s where I feel like I can recharge and that’s where I am the best.

Alone.

But recently I’ve been accepting invites. Which I don’t normally do. A month or so ago I hung out with a couple friends and spent the evening drinking wine and just enjoying the evening.

But for about a year, one of my instructors and I have been lingering longer and longer after class chit chatting. She often posts pictures of her home and gardens and I’m truly smitten by her pictures.

Her home and gardens look like something straight out of a Pinterest dream. I’ve admitted to her I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to gardening and flowers outside, but creeping hard on her FB pictures has me already copying her and some of her ideas.

I told her I was doing that and she laughed and just invited me over. “Come over! We will walk the gardens, drink some wine, get some spool time and I’ll feed you.”

Spool: spa pool. Very very cool.

I was a little taken aback and immediately wanted to decline, but I took a deep breath and accepted. We set up a time for the next day and I found myself a little nervous on my way there.

But oh I had such a good time. The spool was a dream, her pictures of her home and gardens did not do justice to reality. I felt like I walked into a slice of heaven.

I took some pictures of what I definitely want to do in my own yard, I took in some decor ideas for the porches I’ve been desperately trying decorate and best of all, we just talked late into the night.

We spooled, we talked, we laughed, we wined and I had a nice time. She is a year older than me and our kids are the same age, we are both experiencing the whole peri-menopause disaster and it was just nice to connect.

I think it’s trust with me. A year ago a 15 year friendship took a dive, during a time in my life where I was discovering who I was and still dealing with the devastating blow of my cheating ass husband.

I re-read that and it sounds selfish. Like, “how dare you do that to me when I am going through hell in my life” but it wasn’t like that at all, no matter what I was doing or going through, I was the listener in that friendship. If I had something going on, she always did too and it was always bigger and badder than mine. It was what it was. I had no desire to compete with who had more trauma, so I would just shut down and listen to hers.

For me, I was completely blindsided by that ending and how it ended. It was brutal and can only be described as nasty as hell.

So it was very nice to sort of open myself up and allow myself to accept even the invitation to hang out.

I even talked on THE PHONE with someone the other night for like 30 minutes! Weird, no one talks on the phone anymore. If you read this, I really enjoyed taking with you. I don’t think I’ve said that many words to anyone in years 🤣

Maybe I’m tired of being so leery of everyone.

Makes me look over my life and how it’s changed so much, how much I just don’t trust anyone anymore.

So maybe I will keep doing this. Step by small step continue to open up a little.

Not all the way, just typing that made my heart pound a little.

But maybe a little.

I think we are supposed to live life interacting with other humans and not live in constant fear of being hurt. I don’t know.

What a mind fuck this new life of mine is. When does it begin to relax?

I think that’s my issue with dream house friend. Is that I can see her and I would have a blast as friends but I can’t seem to go there.

Fantasy.

I’ve never done this. It’s never crossed my mind. Not once in 30 years together.

I was working on my chicken coop yesterday, it was just me, the chickens and some woodland critters. No headphones in, no music, just me and about 2 1/2 hours of nothing but work and my thoughts.

It was a fantasy, his affair. We all know that, it’s not real. If they had ended up together, life would’ve gotten real, (bills, sickness, life) but they didn’t. All those sneaky texts and calls and visits to her hoarder house was nothing but a fantasy.

What was it she had that drew him back time and time again? Was she his match?

I’ve heard people say things like, “He checked off everything on my list, he’s perfect” and vise versa. Did she check off some list he has in his head for the perfect partner?

Because I don’t think I’ve ever thought of it. He has been in my life since I was 18. I feel like the “list” was never there. I didn’t interview him and put little check marks down next to requirements I desired to have in a mate.

But now…. now… would I now do that?

It feels strange to even think about. Because that is not a desire I have at all really, to have some kind of list of what I would want in a partner.

But it crossed my mind while I was working yesterday. As each day goes by the threads of our life together seem to be fraying, breaking. My mind wandered and I feel like I should feel guilty about it, but I don’t.

It’s not like I will act on it, I’m just in thought..

~He will~

Be kind.

Laugh and smile.

Will hike with me. Will spend some time in the woods with me, knowing that’s where I feel at home. Doesn’t have to do it all the time, but at least once would be nice.

Will kayak with me. To know that if I’m not in the woods somewhere that being on the water is a very close second.

Reach for my hand.

Will wake up and have no problem getting into the car and going 3 states away with me because there’s a waterfall there I want to see. Plans don’t always have to be made.

Will just jump right the hell out of a plane with me.

Will know that I will probably die touching something I shouldn’t, but will not ridicule me for it.

Will be OK listening to me rattle on for a few minutes about the best book I’ve ever read. Which seems to be almost every one I read.

Will camp with me.

Will know that primitive camping is the only way. Will happily help find new and amazing places to go to set up a tent, watch the sun set and the moon rise.

Kick off his shoes and just relax.

Will tell me about his day and what he’s going through.

He will have blue eyes. Or hazel. Or green. The first thing I notice on someone is their eyes. Blue/hazel are foreign to me and so fascinating.

He will be taller than 5’7.

He will cook every now and then.

Or help me cook.

He will watch the sunset with me.

Ride bikes together.

He can’t be a smoker.

Will show me what he’s interested in and let me experience what he likes to do.

Will not lie or cheat on me.

He will be a safe place for me and allow me to be a safe place for him.

He will not allow me to hide behind my walls and will let me love him.

He will be safe.

He will not let me leave this earth without knowing what love feels like.

Well… I didn’t know where that was going to go, but I guess that’s my list.

It is what it is I guess.

Practical Magic

Warmer weather, COVID and becoming more of an introvert.

A month has passed since recovering from covid. Recovering may be a strong word, as it still lingers on a bit.

Fatigue mainly. I suddenly cannot keep my eyes open at times and have to sit or lay down. The headache will come back out of nowhere and heart flutters.

But I still keep on getting on. Warmer weather has me outside. I have created new flower beds all over the yard and having my hands in the dirt makes me happy.

Where I live has brought the brood X 17 year cicadas, and honestly? I love them.

They are big silly things that don’t seem to fly well and fill the woods surrounding me with a loud call for love.

I love that I got to see them again.

My chickens also love them. They are fat and happy eating them.

The past two days the hum of them has gone down and I know their short time here is coming to an end.

I still go to the gym. My energy isn’t all the way back yet, but I give it my best.

That’s my only interaction with people.

More and more as days go by, I retreat more into myself. My life, my day to day.

And I crave solitude.

I take care of the house, the kids, and myself, but I dream of just heading into the woods somewhere, camping, hiking and just being in my own space and my own head.

I try to think back and remember if there was a time I craved people.

It was before the affair. But that’s not me any longer. I don’t even trust friendships. There is no opening up and letting anyone in any longer.

Last weekend I went to a friends house. It’s a new friendship between two women I work out with.

It’s been developing between the three of us for about a year now. But I find I’m the listener of the group. I listen. I give tiny bits of advice, but I do not put myself out there.

We sat long into the evening that night, the three of us. We drank wine and laughed and talked of our kids and bits of our lives, ate some grapes and cheese and went home.

I find I’m good with or without that. Because I know no matter what, I cannot let another person into my life or heart. I can drink wine with you and laugh, but I can’t love you or invest in you. A friend, a partner, doesn’t matter. Nothing. No one.

I’m not even bitter or angry that I’m no longer able to do that, it just is what it is.

So I spend as much time outside as I possibly can. I have 8 new chickens I’m raising and 3 silly cats. I bird watch, I kayak, I photograph, I hike, I try to keep myself grounded and busy.

I’m looking forward to summer getting here.

Facebook memories

I look at them. For me, I had to stop the memories for a while, but I’ve turned them back on. I face them head on now and own the fact that I pretty much post for the memories.

It’s a timeline for our family. I’m not going to stop them. I get to see the daily life of my family, my kids, my life over the past 11 years.

But oh… sometimes they hit a bit different. Sometimes they hit in such a weird way.

Today in my memories, I posted a very happy memory I had when I saw a poster of a baseball player I loved back in the 90’s. I mentioned it was a great day and how happy I was to see that player.

I glanced at the date. It was 3 months before his affair started.

It’s like my mind splits. It’s such a strange feeling. This woman that I was then. She’s so clueless that in 3 months her life will be shattered. She will never be the same.

It’s almost like the woman I am today does not even recognize that woman that popped up in the memories.

She was carefree. Naive. Wrapped up the lives of her kids. She could sleep at night and every night brought dreams. Silly, weird, sometimes scary. But she dreamt.

I have no dreams now. If I do, they fade fast.

She smiled a lot then. She had a group of friends. She had family. She had kids and a marriage and they all felt secure.

I actually feel a wave of anxiety looking at the posts leading up to when his affair started.

It reminds me of an EMDR session. It was a really tough one. I knew what was about to happen to me, so I dragged the memory. In the memory I was at a table in a truck stop diner. Before the trauma was to happen, I had lunch that day.

In the EMDR session I dragged it. I could not get past the paper placemats on the table, how the wood chair felt, the wood grains in the table looked. I locked onto the salt and pepper, the menus in a holder, even what the diner smelled like. It was as real in the memory as it was that day.

I couldn’t get up from the table.

It took a while for my therapist to help me get up. To follow the memory along to face what needed to be faced.

This feels exactly like that. This goddamn Facebook crap. That I don’t want to let go of.

I see the date, I remember where I was when I saw the poster. I remember the teacher that was standing to the left and grinning at my reaction to seeing the player.

I want to somehow drag time for her. That naive silly woman who has no idea how hard her life is about to be rocked in such a short time.

I just want to tell her so bad to smile more. Hug her kids more. Maybe ask her husband on a date. Make time.

Because her world is about to change in a short amount of time.

Doesn’t happen every time I load the memories, but it happens enough. I don’t want to hide from them though. It was my life.

Even though it feels separate. The me then and the me now feel so different I don’t even know how to grasp it.

Quiet.

I feel like I’ve stepped back in my life. That probably doesn’t make sense… how do I describe it… more like I’ve stepped backwards, or to the side and am just observing.

I got some satisfying revenge on the OW recently and even though it was straight up hilarious, it didn’t help much. She’s still on my mind here and there and I have come to realize I just really would like to talk to her.

I never brought up the song I found to him. But the words he wrote sunk in and I find myself replaying his actions after his affair ended. Not just right after, but for years now.

Five years now since it ended. As the years have passed, the fog lifts more and more and I see much clearer. I’m also much calmer.

I do lose it at times, but not around him.

After the affair ended, he still wanted to be near her. He still wanted to be friends with her. He accused me of sabotaging them. He would take me to towns she frequently went. His neck would break scanning parking lots as we would drive through them.

I didn’t see it right away, it took some time to see what he was doing.

When we would pass her road, he would turn and stare down it. Looking. He was still texting her. He tried at one point to get me to move out, telling me he found me a house. He refused to talk to me about any of it. There was so much he was doing, that sometimes he still does, that I find myself just done.

After I found the song, he and I got into a huge fight. I never said anything to him, but I think it was just building inside me.

He said things during that fight that I won’t repeat here. It was a bad one. When I later brought up the things he said, he said he didn’t say any of that.

Gaslighting 101.

So I actually shut down at that point. I can see what he’s doing. I’m not dumb, I can see.

My problem has been that I’ve always allowed it.

So I moved into our dining room.

I went and bought a bed, moved the table and chairs out, took all the dining room deco down and moved into the room.

I didn’t say a word. He hasn’t said a word. I’m just out of our room and I can breathe.

I can see. I can see more clear every day.

I guess it’s an in-house separation? I can’t talk to him about anything, he is not willing to do so anyway. He’s not safe to talk to. He has reactive abuse perfected and I won’t play his games any longer.

So it’s quiet. I’m quiet. My room is adorable. I have plants, my cats, a really comfortable bed and quiet. I large pile of books to read and long nights to read them.

This was my first step. I guess.

I don’t know what direction it will go, but it’s my first step.

I fought. I really did. I fought and hung in there for 5 years. He has not. I did a lot of work, on myself and for our marriage. He has not.

I’m not sure why it took me so long to make that first step.

I’m really tired. Exhausted. I feel like I could crawl into bed and sleep for days and days. I’m tired of the mask I wear. The smile that doesn’t really reach my eyes. The “everything is OK” mask.

Tired.

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.