The car.

This is the first day I’ve been alone since last week. The house is quiet, even my new baby, Charlie my usually loud Amazon parrot, is being quiet and just watching me.

More of the story has come to light as the days have gone by. I think I have settled on the last moments and why he chose what he did, but that’s another entry and I need to breathe a little.

My son drove his car back. An older, but fully loaded Buick with a big old v8 engine. It was originally my grandmothers and when she passed it went to my Dad.

My son, a brand new ASEP graduate that works in a Buick dealership is head over heels over that car, but I can’t give it to him. Long story, but our kids have to buy their own vehicles. I have three kiddos, I can’t give him this one just cause it’s got a beast of an engine in it.

Anyway, according to my life 360 app, my father made a few stops the day he did it and by the fresh damage done to the car, it looks like that was the car he took to town.

He hit the retaining wall around the house and damaged the driver side. He hit the right side of the garage pulling in. There was an overwhelming panic feeling looking at the damage. By what I saw in his bedroom, the panic came from pain. By what I saw in the living room, the pain and panic was what pulled the trigger.

I’m supposed to take the car out today, alone, in the car. I’m so weirdly struggling with this.

I just need to get in.

I just need to start it and take it where I’m supposed to go.

I just need to get in.

I just need to get in.

….

….

Breathe Chrissy, you got this….

Thank God for this space.

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Oh the roller coaster ride.

I got on the road Thursday morning after breakfast. It was weirdly sad to check out, the staff at the hotel nestled at the foot of the Appalachian mountains were kind and amazing.

Sister and I hugged tight and cried and parted ways. She was heading west, I was heading north.

But before I headed north, I went by the cemetery. With no one there to hear me, or cause me to hold it in, I went to say goodbye.

He’s buried right next to my grandparents, his parents.

I loved them with everything in me. They had so much pride in him. I wonder if he is with them now and how they feel.

I don’t know.

I knelt by his freshly closed grave and just asked why. Why? I don’t understand. It’s such a brutal way to go. Did you not think beyond the trigger?! Did you not know what you would leave behind? Did you not comprehend? Did you think I didn’t care about you?

Why not call me?? Ever?? It was always me to reach out to you. You never tried. I loved you so much.

Why didn’t you call??! Why didn’t you try?

I cleaned out his closet and clothes the day before to go to goodwill. He always wore a white tshirt under another shirt. I took a few. They smell of his cologne. When I got back in the car to leave, I reached for one and drove home with it on my lap.

I have no idea why.

I don’t think I’m as angry anymore. I don’t know what to do. I have no idea what to do.

I can’t sleep for nothing. Every time I close my eyes, I see the door swinging open. I can feel under my foot something I stepped on. I feel my throat closing. I wish I could pull back in the anger I felt at that moment though. The anger that fueled me through the day.

Because that anger was safe. That anger felt detached and it felt like glue that kept me together.

So without it, I’m falling apart. How do you deal with the self blame, the constant questions floating through thoughts? The triggers?

I saw a squirrel on the road today that sent me into a panic. Which is weird in itself, because I felt no panic on entering the house. Just anger.

It’s ok though, right? There’s no right or wrong way to feel, right?

I’m so lost.

I was so suicidal in the aftermath of the affair. I thank God I did not. I can’t imagine my children feeling the way I do right now. I feel forever changed.

Im a fucking mess.

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I am hanging in there.

I didn’t sleep Friday night. Maybe got 20 mins. I looked in the mirror at one point and didn’t even recognize myself. Eyes were swollen, red and bloodshot.

I needed to go, but had to wait for 9 am for the car rental place to open.

Husband asked me if I let my sister know. I said, no, I hadn’t and planned on telling her that morning. I waited till about 7:30am to call her.

I told her. I told her how.

I told her I would be there around 9pm and getting a room. She said she would be there. She told me there was no way I was going into that house alone.

On the way I called the coroner back. I asked some uncomfortable questions.

“When did you find him?” Friday afternoon, late.

“How did you know he was there?” Neighbors said it was unusual for them to not see him. So police did a well check and broke through front door.

“Is the door secure now? Can I get in?” Yes

“Where was he found?” In the living room in front of the TV on the floor.

“Is there blood?” Yes.

“What about the smell?” I long lost my smell, but the police said it was pungent.

He went on to tell me they had his keys and I would need to request at the police station for the return of the gun.

Um, no. They can destroy it. Or whatever they do.

So Sunday morning, we eat some continental breakfast, gather our courage and head to the house.

I already had a key, and it would turn the door knob lock, but the damage to the bolt lock from the police entering caused that not to turn.

I had to kick the door in.

I have to remember to thank my kick boxing instructor for what I did to that door. I’m pretty badass.

The door swung open and there it was. The smell knocked me back, the sight was a gut punch beyond comprehension.

I had to open windows. As I ran around house fighting with old windows to open, I was yelling and cussing and doing all the things that made no sense.

But I guess it’s what I had to do.

I pulled a comforter off of his bed and covered the horror.

I had words coming out of me that don’t even exist. My poor sister must’ve thought I had lost my mind. She didn’t look much better than I did though.

I was there for initial paperwork. I knew where it would be, and sat down to go through it.

He left a note. In the paperwork.

The note infuriated me. “I’m sorry this will be an inconvenience for you” was the first line.

As I read it, I looked up into the living room, glanced at the comforter, knew the horror underneath it and just belted out, “A fucking inconvenience?! Are you fucking kidding me?!” My sister smiled. Shook her head. Her and I don’t know each other at all, I left at 14, she was 9. But she’s about to get to know me, as I am her.

Because there is no bond created like two sisters that have to face and clean up parts of their father.

I found what I needed, called the funeral home and set up an appointment. She could meet us there in 10 minutes.

She tried to be gentle with us, telling us he could not be embalmed. No suit to be worn, they could not get it on him if they tried. She was extremely sorry for what we were about to face for clean up. She actually gave us some chemicals to break down the mess and some advice for smell and cleanup.

We did paperwork. We talked prices and insurances.

We left, ate lunch and went to Walmart for box fans for the windows and mops and bleach and whatever we could find to delay us from going back.

But we did. I was not going to let my little sister do the worst of it. She was in the back of the house and I started. I’ve never been so angry. Ever.

And ripped apart inside.

And sad.

But I yelled at what was left behind, letting him know how pissed I was. How angry. No daughter should ever have to do this.

She came out and helped, but I wouldn’t let her do much, she held bag. I had to run outside a couple times heaving.

But we did it.

Monday found us back at it. We removed everything that could hold the smell. Curtains, cushions, everything.

My husband and middle child arrived late Monday.

Tuesday, we are back at it and dividing what we want in the house. We spent 12 hours or more a day there, cleaning and talking and swearing and laughing and not doing good but leaning into what we are facing.

Wednesday, we buried him. We cried. A lot. Surprised we cried as we did and began to realize that the anger was fading and sadness and empathy for him was settling in.

I am not as angry. I’m sure the coming days will bring a roller coaster of emotions, but nothing like what I went through on Sunday.

I haven’t slept much, I close my eyes and immediately I’m back to the door swinging open from the kick.

I hope that lessens as time goes on.

My sister wanted to see him. It was heavily advised not to. If she did, she would have to sign a waiver. She was determined.

Since they could not deny her right, she signed off and so did I. I could not let her go in alone, even though I did not want to see him.

When we signed the waiver, the director looked at her with actual tears. He said, “I have seen a lot, and I’m asking you for your sake not to view him. Your last image of him should not be this.”

He went on with kind words and practically begging. But she signed. So did I.

As we drove off towards the coroners, she said she had no doubts at all until now. As we drove I stayed silent as she talked herself through what she wanted.

She told me to turn around, so I happily did. I would be there for her, but I think it would’ve almost destroyed me.

After a long day today, we came back to hotel and got in the pool. Took showers and crawled into bed. I leave soon. I’ve got to go home, Im burned out from this place, this town, this hotel, that house.

Im burned out from him.

It’s 3am as I write this. I have a long drive today and I still can’t sleep.

I think I needed to write some of this week out of my head.

Posted in Uncategorized | 11 Comments

What am I going to do?

I realize this is the only place in my life I can go.

This anonymous place.

Is it sad? That out of everywhere I could turn, it’s here that I crave when I feel myself falling apart. This is my safe place.

I got a call tonight while I was standing in line at a restaurant. I saw the area code.

I knew.

I swallowed. I felt my heart pound. I ordered my food.

I sat down with my son and said, “I got a call while we were in line from Kentucky.”

He said, “It’s probably spam.” I shook my head. No.

Somethings wrong.

Everything feels wrong. I picked up my phone and searched the number that called. It was a cell phone from my Dads town.

I loaded up my life 360 that I share with the kids and my Dad. He likes to see us and where we go. It’s weird, but it makes him happy.

It said his phone was off since Sunday.

I finished eating and headed out the door. I got to the truck, hit return call on the number.

A man answered. I said, “Hello, I’m just returning a call that was made from this number.”

He said,”Hi, is this my name” I said yes.

He said I regret to tell you…

I cut him off. “My dad?”

He said, “yes. I’m sorry to tell you he has passed.”

I choked. I didn’t think I would have the reaction that I did, but all that food I ate was choking me.

I think I said no a few times. My son took the phone from me and spoke to him.

I opened the door and just fell into the parking lot.

I understood somewhere in my head that this man told my son that he went down a list of numbers to call and reached my husband. He told my husband and my son let me know that he was on his way to the parking lot where I was.

He pulled up and held me. There was no way I could drive home, so my son drove me home and we followed my husband.

After I could calm down and breathe a little, my husband wanted to call the coroner back with questions. I’m 9 hours away, we have questions.

So I scribbled out what I thought I might need to know, and handed it to my husband. He was going to call for me. I was going back and forth between hysterical crying and calm. Also teeth chattering and nausea.

I left and went out with the chickens while he called. When I came back in, his energy was… well? Indescribable. It was not good and I don’t know if he was angry or freaked out, or what.

One of my questions was where when and how.

Coroner told him.

About 7 days ago at his house and it was self inflicted.

They have the gun he used.

………

Hang on….

…………

Ok….

……..

I’m leaving in the morning to go.

I’m staying at a hotel, I can’t stay there.

…..

But I have to go in. For paperwork.

It happened in the living room. I don’t even know what im doing.

…..

Im going alone. Husband can’t go until Tuesday. How do I do this?

..

I

Posted in Uncategorized | 12 Comments

Abuse.

Who am I to define it? No one. I am no one.

The word is big. Very heavy. Scary. The word all by itself is uncomfortable to even hear spoken aloud. Or read.

But what I’m starting to understand is that it can mean something different to each person.

My husband accuses me of it. Usually only after a fight about the affair and he never used the word to describe me that way before the affair.

I am making no excuses for myself. I have come to recognize that it has a different meaning to all. But it’s a hard label for me to carry. He labels me with it and I have fought against that label for 5 years now. Instead of listening to him, attempting to understand, I have fought against it.

For me? It describes the physical abuse by my mother. It describes the fact that I know I would not be sitting here today if I had not gotten away from her. She taught me that those that are supposed to protect you at your most vulnerable, will not.

The word describes the trucker and what he did to me. He taught me saying ‘No’ meant absolutely nothing, it was easier to just say yes because then it wouldn’t be taken from you.

The word describes actions by my husband. The control, the mental fuckery, the cheating, the trickle truth, the lack of empathy, the cheating.

The cheating. The fact he could look at me after leaving her bed. The fact that he so easily lied after leaving her bed and got into mine. Ours.

I consider that to be abusive behavior, yet I am not sure if it falls into the definition of abuse that I know.

But the word though. It’s big, isn’t it? Just hearing it makes you take a deep breath. It’s a big word to me.

It brings thoughts of pain. Tears. It makes me think of darkness and the constant feeling of uncertainty. The word itself makes me want to go into survival mode, where I do not know what tomorrow will bring, I only need to make it through today.

He says I abuse him. It stuns me when he says that. I can’t breathe when he says that. I ask him to explain and he just crosses his arms and says “I cannot find the words to tell you.”

But I cannot see that I’m abusive. Could my Mom? Could he?

Can we see the dark side of ourselves?

I know what’s in my heart and head when I’m angry. It’s a frustration that I can’t put into words. It’s an hot anger that is lit on fire inside of me, I want to be heard. I want to be understood.

The anger may come across different to him though. This is not an excuse, I just know that in the heat of battle, no one is heard. I can’t hear him, he can’t hear me. I want him to know the pain, so I have used words to cut him. Oh, have I used words like a knife and just sliced into him.

Is that abuse?

It is.

I need to own that. Because it is abuse, to him. That’s how he sees it. I am abusive.

To me, I am not. Because I’m not beating him, I’m not drawing blood, I’m not starving him, I’m not raping him, I’m not lying to him, I’m not deceiving him.

But to him, it is. Who am I to say how he should feel? He says it’s the reason he will not talk to me about the affair.

I can only put myself in check, do for myself what I constantly ask him to do. “Step outside of yourself and look at the situation as a whole, not one sided. Try to empathize.”

No one should feel abused. I feel like my heart is being ripped apart. I feel horrible.

I remember after a very very bad morning with my mother, I went to school bleeding and bruised. My teacher took one look at me and sent me right to the nurse.

I sat there in the nurses office on a orange vinyl bed. Across from me on an identical 1980’s orange bed was a boy. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. He was often there, on the bed across from me. We never really spoke to each other. But we saw each other in that room a lot.

On that day he had cigarette burns on his arms. Red, angry, horrible looking burns up his forearm. I knew without asking. He knew I knew by just sadly looking at me.

He was the definition of abuse. My bruises and bloody nose was nowhere near the burns up his arm. His eyes were much sadder than mine. Though I never knew what his life was like, I felt his life was much worse and I had no right to even be sitting in the same room as him with my silly bruises and busted nose.

It took me until a couple of years ago, sitting in a Therapist’s office, talking about that boy again to accept that abuse is abuse. Trauma is trauma. He was abused, but so was I. I was allowed to feel what I needed to feel. No ones trauma is worse, it’s how you feel. You cannot compare.

So if my husband feels that way about me and my anger, who am I to say any different?

He was not raised as I was. The word has different meaning to him. Who am I to define it for him?

I do get angry. Well, I did. I’m not much in the vocal category at all anymore.

But did my melt downs and arguments with him after dday cause his own trauma? Maybe.

He knows me. He knows me and sometimes I think he manipulated it to get to an end point that satisfied his justifications.

He knows I’m gasoline, ready to ignite, so all he would have to do is toss the lit match and the following explosion would justify any reaction from him.

It’s hard to swallow any ownership of that word though. I do need to own though the cut of my words and the fallout of my meltdowns.

So where did all this introspection come from?

I saw something he wrote.

I wrote a while ago that he wrote a song for her.

I found another one this morning.

This one is clearly written for me.

He wrote this one this past spring. It was digitally dated. Maybe it’s not a song, maybe he’s just writing.

A gentle monster cloaked in soft skin

Your pain is the reason for the rage that lies within.

Anger pulsing through your core, born broken, trauma endured.

Gentle monster cloaked in soft skin, you fight and you scream and you break everything.

You were born in darkness, trauma endured.

Your pain is the reason for the rage in your core.

Combative nature, you fight off everyone for the purpose of being alone. They can’t hurt you if you hurt them first.

You use the hurt as the cause for you to abuse.

I guess he’s right. I guess it’s not easy to look in the mirror.

I do not know how to not be gasoline. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to feel right now.

Posted in Uncategorized | 8 Comments

Just introverting around.

I want to step to the side of writing about infidelity. For this entry.

A comment on my last blog has me thinking and I will definitely address it and respond. I just need a minute.

But for now? I’m just sitting here in August, where it’s usually in the 90’s but instead it’s 66°, windows open and listening to the birds outside calling to each other.

It’s been such an interesting few days. It’s been almost overwhelming, but good.

Sunday, I went to a local venue that usually has live bands, a food truck and open bar.

The food truck was cake. Not even kidding, cake. Cupcakes, cookies, all the yum.

Boy did I indulge. It was worth it.

Cupcakes shouldn’t be that good.

On the way home, stopped and picked up a free standing heavy bag someone was going to toss out. I was ecstatic!

I had hanging one, but it got ruined in a flood. This one was much much better for what I do and easy to move out of the way if we flood again.

Plus, the swing back on the old one hanging made me nervous, free standing much better for me. So good. So so good. Already wrapped up and have beaten the hell out of it everyday since.

Monday, H walks by typing away on his phone. He looks up at me and says, “Do you want a blue fronted Amazon?”

I just blinked… huh? He asked me again. I said, “absolutely.”

I immediately jumped online and researched them. I’ve had birds my whole life, but they are all small cockatiel sized. I’m not afraid of the bigger birds at all, but I just needed to research.

Tuesday morning I called the woman giving him away and we scheduled to meet at 10:30. I actually had no idea I would be coming home with him at that time, but she was ready to let go. Approved of me and we loaded him and all his stuff up and he’s right next to me right now.

I’ve always wanted a parrot. I’ve had birds since I was 8. A big talking parrot? Oh yes please.

So I’m already in love. He doesn’t trust anyone yet, but he will in time. He asked me this morning, “how you doing?” And he will ask “where you going?” And it’s awesome!!

I can’t believe my H pretty much got him for me. We’ve had a bird since we were dating, but a big bird? He was never too keen on it.

After I got the bird and the ginormous cage in yesterday, I was just sitting quiet and letting Charlie (bird) take in the new surroundings and a heavy knock came on the door.

Like… heavy banging. Rude.

So I open door and there’s this man standing there.

Let me just be really bad for a second, because why the hell not, but he was um… hot. Like, holy crap hot. 😳

“Just looking for permission to metal detect the property.”

It’s either metal detectors or coyote hunters that are constantly coming by trying to get permission.

I usually say no to all.

But I decided to talk to him.

After a conversation with a friend last week, I decided to talk with this one for a second.

So this giant man, dressed in military style, with a military looking hat and haircut and sunglasses and build and demeanor, goes to his way over the top and stupidly lifted solid black Ford 4000 (I don’t know, lol, Chevy girl here but it was just an over the top little penis vibe truck) and pulls out his detector gear to show off.

I’m impressed. He asks what I use, I told him my loser little detector, he pulls out another one and offers for me to use that one.

I’m onto him. They all do that to try to get permission. “Here, use my extra and hunt with me!”

I declined joining him and we talked about the property a bit. It’s sounding like he absolutely does not want to do the grounds but actually wants to do the creek and banks and meadow across from me.

My loser detector does not do water so now I’m leaning more towards permitting him.

So I do. He tells me whatever he finds he will bring up and show me.

He’s out there for a few hours. I let my H know, so he doesn’t come home, see little D giant lifted black truck in the driveway and freak out.

He knocks (bangs, wtf) later and shows his finds. He found nothing. BUT!…

He handed me an arrowhead?! It’s been on my list!!

I have searched the creek, the farm, the fields, done a ton of research on this area, and have dreamed of finding one.

February, March, April finds me out in the woods shed hunting. When that comes to an end, I get a bit of depression. I need to be out there. So a couple years ago, I stumbled on some YouTube arrowhead hunters. So I decided after shed hunting, I would turn to arrowhead hunting.

But over time I decided there were none here. Just nothing.

Then this dude walks out into the creek and finds one in 5 minutes??! 🤦🏻‍♀️

He gave it to me, told me once you get your eyes trained to see them, you’ll find them everywhere.

I had my Dads wife confirm it was definitely something, she’s kind of an expert, she told me it was a scrapper. One side is worked.

So hot guy with little D energy says he probably won’t be back but appreciated the permission.

He refused to believe the troops camped on this side of the creek on their way to Gettysburg. I didn’t argue with him, but I know they did. So it’s fine he won’t be back.

Because now I know there are arrowheads out there!!!

Ahhh, the introvert in me is beyond excited. ☺️

So a new freestanding bag, a beautiful new bird, an adventure right outside my door?

It feels good. ☺️

I wasn’t going to really talk about my H… but here we go for a second…

I asked him if he wanted to arrowhead hunt with me. He said No. Because when little D told me where he found that, I needed to go immediately. But he shook his head no.

He always does. Doesn’t matter what I’m doing.. hiking, biking, shed hunting, kayaking, arrowhead hunting… anything I ask for him to join me, he says no.

And with each No, I’m getting more and more fine with it. I don’t think I want him there anyway. I don’t even really ask him anymore anyway.

Hope everyone is well and enjoying their summer 😁

(Sorry if I offend anyone that has a giant truck.)

Posted in adultery, extramarital affair, healing after the affair, infidelity | Tagged , , , | 7 Comments

Shattered

I read a blog post recently that was deep. Her style of writing is unique and so heartfelt you can feel it in your chest.

She wrote something a few weeks ago that just left me stunned for several minutes. I just sat there, clutching pearls I was not wearing, and couldn’t move as her words moved through me.

It’s been on my mind every single day since and it just put a different light on my own struggles through this new life.

I asked her if I could repost, but she hasn’t answered yet. If she gives permission, I will come back to this post and update.

Edit: Here’s the post Let it be someone else

Shattered. I know I’ve used the word many times to describe what it felt like to discover his affair. Just… shattered.

All these years I have struggled with him, his silence, his anger, his lack of empathy, his trickle truth, his lies, but yes… his lack of empathy and understanding of what his actions caused. It’s like he truly does not comprehend the damage he has caused. To me, to the kids and to himself.

Maybe he does know? I don’t know. But I don’t think so. Because I feel that if he did, even just a little, there would be a kindness from him, maybe a gentleness to show he knows the pain he’s caused. But there’s not. Never has been. Only anger, justifications and projection.

But after I read that blog, I had a very vivid vision of taking his hand and walking him into the kitchen. Pulling out plates, bowls, maybe a wine glass or two.

“This,” I would tell him, while holding a plate, “Represents me” I would continue on.

“This one is you.”

“This one represents all the holiday meals we ate on, the sheer amount of years we spent as a family around that table together”

“This glass we used on a romantic night together, there have been so many of those over the years”

“This one was given to me by your mom, representing the 30 years of your family and mine winding around and in our lives”

I would box them, still rattling off what each represented.

I would take the box and him by the hand and we would go outside.

Looking him dead in the eye, I would turn that box over and then watch as they all shattered around his feet.

“You made me do that. You clean it up and you fix it.”

Because that’s what it feels like. He has blamed me for the affair for 5 years. He has demanded I go to therapy and fix myself. He shattered all of our lives and has brushed off any ownership of dumping the box in the first place.

He thinks the only work he has done to heal anything at all between us? Is he picked me.

“I picked you. Be happy about that.”

Would that even get through to him? I don’t think so.

But God it feels good to just picture doing it.

Posted in adultery, cheating husband, D-day, DDay, extramarital affair, gaslighting, healing after the affair, infidelity, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

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.

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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

Posted in adultery, affair, cheating husband, healing after the affair, husband, infidelity, marriage, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

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.

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