Imagining because he won't tell the truth

Imagining her with him.

It's like lying in a field that's in the midst of a forest fire. It hurts like nothing in the world could hurt. It makes things that go through my mind hurt worse than the broken bones, natural child-labor and birth three times in a row, or watching my mother as she struggles through a heart attack.

I would rather sacrifice a finger, or two fingers, than agree to allow my mind to wander toward what their filthy behavior actually looked like, where it started, why it started, what he was thinking.... OMG, I would rather give up chocolate, orgasms for ten years, and/or my own life than hear what filth he had to say about me, lie about me, that made his affair worth it.

When I'm being politically correct on a web site, I am more willing to admit to my own imperfections. But frankly, I'm not on a shitty web-site. I am writing my blog, MY blog, so I get to say what I'm feeling, just like a diary except incognito.

I mean, in a diary you have concerns you don't want anyone to know you have, but if you hide the darn thing under your mattress and if you write that you liked the taste of Billy Smith's gum on his breath and lips while you made out with him, you better expect your mom to read that and have a load of questions. However, in this case, in THIS diary, this blog, which are all hidden in cyber space, I can use gross terminology and say what I think and for once in my life not worry about what other people will think of ME. Because my blog me is throwing her ass out there on the table for real. I get to say "Occasionally my heart is so broken I feel that I would be capable of packing up a few things, jumping a plane to Ethiopia or Africa or France. I could be capable of leaving the house, the kids the dog.... everything I know behind in order to forget what has broken me, and do something positive."

I often fantasize about running away.... there's this one stubborn problem I have. I'm in love with my husband. I really see where he may not be my best option, but I LOVE him. WTF, how unfair is it that he gets to fall for some skeezy nasty skank who has got to have less soul in her... well than a cannibalistic baby killer/eater, and bang the hell out of her while I'm clueless...... yet I'm sitting home wishing the man I know is in there will come out, be a decent guy and act like a real man and husband.

In other words, he had ready and willing sex, and I had the rest of the package; kids, house, bills, life, surgical intervention within my spine, to deal with.... and he had his face buried in some icky sticky (insert rhyming name of OW here)'s (Insert body part of your choice here).

God. If you ever wash your hands, scrub your arms and elbows up, & decide to cheat, realize wtf you are prepping for. Because there's damage you don't even comprehend is possible, just waiting at the end of every old FaceBook contact, familiar face at a bar, neighbor friend, and/or God Knows what else....

Is my anger still fizzling around here like pissed off static electricity? Sorry but I promised to lay it on the line. So there it is!!!

On Websites To Support the DESTROYED spouse

I visited the web sites in desperate search of understanding, but mostly for a fix. I wanted to FIX whatever had gone wrong in my life, that caused my marriage to become as faulty as the state of California. I wanted to fix whatever was wrong with me that made me so... cheatable on.

After reading what everyone out there said, or what they seemed to say... because I got tired of playing the acronym game... and after writing on several sites, I realized I need to write this crap out, where I can delete or compliment whatever odd balls comment on my stuff, would be far more healing to me, because I need to have a little control SOMEWHERE in my life.

Before that realization and even during it, I tried desperately to cling to anti-depressants and anti anxiety meds, in order to supress my pain and thoughts and fury and disillusionment and anger and fury... and pain. Get the point? But after managing memory loss, recall inability, a terrifying horrible incapability to really really get into reading anything, which frankly makes me who I am, I weaned myself from Lexapro. Please gentle broken-hearters who found this blog for a reason, please do not provide me with lectures on how that's something a doctor should do. Because I couldn't afford to pay my co-pays in full, I moved doc to doc like, oh shit like my husband's Other Woman moved man to man. God Bless pink cosmetics and married women who allow salespeople into their houses.

Oh Goodness, is my inner fury poking out? This isn't exactly why I started hitting keyboard buttons, so.....do you want me to tell you something really subversive? "Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk everything, you risk even more." --Erica Jong

At the same time... I'm tired of trying to figure out who is lying and who isn't. And I'm tired of my worst nightmare defining my life, and of pretending things are okay when they're not. I want a life that isn't disposable if I get dumped, lied to, and left behind.

I want to understand and forget, see it for what it is and pretend it never happened, cry endlessly and be stoic.

It can't be that hard to handle.....can it?

A Mission Concept

So. I fell in love with a man when I was 18 years old. Eventually I married him, after a 12 year engagement.

There's so so so much in between those two points that Harlequin & whoever wrote "The Mermaid Chair" could probably never fathom nor insert the intensity of those years into a substandard summer read.

At the end... or the beginning, merci pour le cliche concept, my husband ended up balls deep in a Mary Kay lady slash failed pharmacist whose morals and let us say her "failure to" ummm Oh gosh what was that movie... that's right "Launch" along with her inability to select single, unmarried men, brought him to the pinnacle of his mid-life-crisis despair and took me places in my own mind, soul and whatever this sack of skin I'm in, places where my capabilities didn't necessarily come along, places I wasn't capable of handling.

Sooooo, this blog is to be about the affair. The processes, the events, the anger & the general truthful spew that I desperately hold in while offering to volunteer at the middle-school-book fair and maintaining a normal appearance to the outside world.

The truth is, as soon as my husband hit his big MLC, aka mid-life-crisis, (and long before the baleful eye of the OW's "aka other woman's" snatch rose into view) I looked around for books and articles and web sites that discussed what I needed, or rather what I thought I needed to know about "mid-life crisis" and later I absorbed everything I could about "stopping the affair" & "after the affair."

While there are great regular people from around the world posting their thoughts, and one woman has even written a successful book about how her husband's affair was the greatest thing that ever happened to her, (talk about turning crap around and making it about Y O U) at the end of the damn day what a load of shit they all were. I mean, don't get me wrong, there were a lot of people out there with ideas, concepts, plans, etc. etc. on how to get someone back who is affairing, how to cope with the affair, how to behave, how not to behave, how to move on. There are acronyms, numbers and letters and little things they type that mean things like Wronged Spouse, WS, in other words; the person who DIDN'T get screwed, but got screwed that a broken hearted, torn up person needs to learn, in order to understand exactly what freakin' club they've been cut up and thrown into. But where is the WTF???

So why the hell am I out here, why am I addressing this, why do I still need to talk about it at all, after everything... after the fact that in my mind the results of walking in front of a semi-truck on a 55 mph state route where most people drive 80 mph sounds easier than living through what he's managed to turn our life into.....?

Well, to be honest, I made it. And nobody is ever going to know who wrote this blog. What sort of person she is outside of what she presents here, half of which will be written while she has a few glasses of wine or a few shots of the Cap'n in her because that's the only time she leaves the washer and dryer behind her and feels brave... That's the only time she's capable of telling it like it is.

Nobody will be told a load of bull for a change, because even though I sat in therapy, read the stupid books, and even though I listened to what he had to say and held down the fort while some homewrecking skank held my husband at her beck and call.... at the end of my own not-so-graceful tale, I want to tell the truth. I want anyone peeking in at this little world to know what an affair really means.

I want to show it like it is from the "tell the truth or die" spectrum, from my personal viewpoint which is all I have. At the end of the day, I want the truth to MEAN SOMETHING. Because in-real-life when we reconcile with our WS, "wayward spouse" we have to pretend we're ok, or the mortgage doesn't get paid. We have to manage the kids, put that blue window washing fluid in the mini, smile at our in-laws who knew the truth and lied the whole time, while we choke down dry birthday cake. We have to pretend we have a hold on something that's as slippery as a cheating spouse's hopefully STD free ass.

But here, here in MY blog, I don't have to be kind or thoughtful if I'm feeling angry and spiteful. I get to say it like it felt. Say it like it IS. Even if all of that thought is limited by my own experience and mind... because what the hell, I LIVED it, and I'm still having nightmares.