– Still in hell.
Another year has come and gone.
Still, here I sit.
I have begun to understand some things, here in my prison. I see now what my adopted family did to me. I see my faults. I see how and when I was crushed to the point where I needed a helping hand that did not come so instead of brushing myself off and moving onward, like every time before, I sat, filthy, exhausted. Why get up if you keep getting knocked down? it is the only thing I can depend on, other then the moon and the sun.
I can barely speak to anyone anymore. I can barely stand in a queue waiting to pay for items or enter a place. I have trouble ordering a beverage at a counter. Communicating has become so difficult. I feel physical ailments. It’s been over a year since I felt an emotion. I still speak the same, my expressions are the same, and when they spill out of my mouth like a poor habit it gives my brain pause “You don’t really mean that”. Little things, telling someone you are happy for them, is a lie. I’m not happy for them, or anyone. I don’t remember what happy is actually, just that I don’t feel it. Not sympathy, not fear, not love. I do not feel. I know wrong and right. I remember, based on previous convictions what I would do and why. I feel like a robot. I am programed to react now based on past reactions. Or not, as I’m not coded. Sometimes I try something different, say something off the wall. Still, nothing changes how I feel, or don’t feel. I don’t change. I am watching myself decay.
I had an escape plan. It didn’t get to even begin. He hasn’t worked. He lives off me, while torturing me. I told him today I am so sick of being his hostage. It was after he parked the car in the middle of the street, though there were places to park proper, he just took out the ignition key, said “I’ll be back” and got out, dashed off into the house. A car was driving up behind as he did it and I began to protest “Just park!”. He doesn’t care about consequences, why would he do that when he can leave me sitting in the passengers seat, in the middle of the street, and without a key.
I hate thinking suicide is my only way to escape this. I refuse to kill myself.
Speaking of, just recently I was thinking if I did, people would easily pacify themselves with the belief that it was inevitable. If he did it, they would blame me. I shared this with him and he said that is because the people that know him don’t really know him at all. Which was my point exactly.
Asking for help, when you really need it, has this myth about it that it will be there. This isn’t Hollywood. No one swoops in the last moment. If you are disabled, especially socially, and being abused, chances are it’s tough cookies. You are on your own. Wither and get by or die to escape the suffering. That’s it.
I keep hearing my mind play “Some guys have all the luck” on repeat. Yes they do. Must be nice.
I’ve been experiencing a metamorphosis. A very positive one that really does make me feel a sudden enlightenment.
Things were stagnant for so long and a little over a year ago my world as I knew it, collapsed. I spiraled into a dark and frightening descent, feeling broken, damaged beyond anything I ever experienced before. Like everything was pointless, cruel, cold. Eventually I stopped being aware of my own emotions, became severely detached, my view was seen through hurt and suffering eyes.
I thought it would never cease. That I was bound to be left trapped in the new darkness. I was wrong.
Now I feel like I have been lifted up and out, beyond where I ever was before. I see the entire world and life itself, differently. I see light. I see how small things are interconnected and how valuable simplicity is.
How deep in the layers of this existence we should strive to connect and seek happiness over destruction.
There is no wrong. It’s all learning. There is so much more to this, to what we see, this place as we know it is a school, and peace and love is the way.
It’s bizarre, it must appear to be, yet I swear to you I had an epiphany and I shall not be the same as I was before. I can look back but I cannot remove what I now know and believe to be the truth.
This is only the beginning.
Everything is so much bigger. This reality is only a sliver of a far bigger picture.
I used to say, long ago in my life, that we are here to learn. Maybe I never fully grasped it or perhaps I got lost along the way and became consumed by the show, but it’s true. This is a beautiful illusion that we have chosen to participate in. A raw learning experience, and it is what you make it. It is also practically impossible to see that while you roll around in the grittiness of it. Step back, farther, be lifted higher, then suddenly you see the land sprawled out before you.
Earlier tonight I was awakened. Let’s see if I fall back to sleep. I hope this is a new chapter.
Today is, for me, yet another one of those days where getting up and moving about is a tremendous struggle. I think I’m hungry but feeding myself seems to require too much effort. As does dressing, washing, and brushing my tangled hair.
He’s gone off to work, hours ago actually, and it usually takes me several hours to shake off the negative residue. Then he’ll return shortly before midnight and it starts building up all over again. I spent twenty minutes this afternoon insisting again he has to leave me alone, he cannot keep hurting me, it’s wrong, cruel, loveless, and I absolutely do not deserve it. I cannot live with him and be even slightly content. He makes sure of it.
But he loves me, he says. He will be better, he pleads.
No. No he won’t. He chooses not to, that’s only for strangers who he so desperately wants to capture.
Valentines’ day is approaching. I never thought anything of it until last year, when it happened to be the day I retrieved him from the hospital. I expected him to be different, being locked away the 10 previous days and medicated. It was just before that I communicated with her and found out the truth, not his twisted version of it that he fed me the month before. She forwarded me his emails to her. She couldn’t believe he was lying, he was so sincere, she said. She never knew anyone to lie so much.
Neither have I.
I never told her the things he said to me about her. The first lies that she was his friends girlfriend, that they offered him a place to stay, that he had a nervous breakdown at work and went for a walk in the woods where he got lost for 2 days. That later he said she crawled on him while he was half asleep, exhausted, and had sex with him. That she was psychotic and followed him at work afterwards. That she bought a bracelet like his to appear as if they were a couple. After the truth came out it was far worse. He constantly called her a whore and said she was easy. He said she was stupid and would believe anything. He liked controlling her. He thought she was beneath him and worthless.
I didn’t buy any of it at first. He’s lied too much before. I knew he was fooling around but I didn’t know the truth, just my own soon to be revealed as correct, suspicions. The latter I still find deeply disturbing.
Reading those emails… I don’t know. I remember feeling detached. Shocked. Destroyed. He seemed obsessed. Sometimes he’d write every hour. I could remember what we were doing together at the time, where we were, and the lies on the nights he had to go into work as I’d later read his messages asking if he could see her. How he missed her. How he loved her. How lucky he was to have someone like her. He was the luckiest man alive.
It wasn’t past the third message that he was telling outrageous lies. He was from another country and travelled the world. He always made everything out to be more grand. If I went to the post office to mail my friend a package he’d tell her he was sending things to his long distance friends. If we stayed in and watched a movie, he travelled to another friends place, the nearest big city, to hang out. In reality he has no friends. Not one. He dumped them when he attached himself to me. He used to tell me how they used him. I never saw how, I’d inquire how but he would never explain. All his ex’s did too, and they all cheated, of course.
Pity plays. He loves them. In the beginning I didn’t know. I didn’t understand. I didn’t comfort him. I didn’t buy it. I remember thinking how odd it all sounded. I would just listen and wonder how it was possible. Yet we were so happy, so in love, it drifted from my thoughts. I didn’t see the red flag waving boldly in my face. I was blinded.
He would write to her that I was jealous. He would write how my family hated me and liked him, that we attended a Christmas party and what a joke it was how I tried to get him drunk and get back together with him. A family party, in reality, that he begged me to attend, where I’m absolutely not hated nor do either of us drink. With her though, he drank and smoked.
They went to bars, dined out at almost every meal. He painted me as his deranged ex that he was trapped with. He slept on the couch, he said (for 15 years?) and the kids weren’t even his. He was just here to protect them from me, being a lunatic and all.
The lies started out enormous and grew bigger all the time. He had it all covered, why she couldn’t come over or call his phone. He painted himself a saint and me a demon.
Near the end he was telling her he was looking for an apartment for them. I sent her a text message one day from my phone. That’s what sparked it.
I thanked her for helping care for my husband and I shared how I was grateful he stayed with such good people. I asked her to have her boyfriend call him, and let her know he had been fired.
Of course she already knew he was fired days before, he told her so. In reality he got fired from his job for taking off all those nights when he’d fake going in and was with her.
I checked our phone records and saw him using massive amounts of data “while at work”. That was the closest thing to proof I could get. She messaged his phone directly only twice, and by doing so gave me the number.
When I sent her my little fishing text she asked where I got the number. From my phone bill of course. She was amused he was married, you know men, she said. I knew then she didn’t know the truth about me and his story was about to shatter. I found out later she started saying he needed to tell me about her or she would. That’s when he concocted the lie about her attacking him as he slept and stalking him at work. He wanted to forget about all of it he said. It was a mistake. He said he felt trapped after she let him stay there. He was confused because of his nervous breakdown and she took advantage of him because she was lonely and psychotic.
I was absolutely upset. I tried to keep calm at first but once my mind started racing I lost control. I raged for an hour. After I found sense and he begged to stay with me I insisted he tell her it was over.
He handed me his phone and we sent her a text, my second text to her, saying “I told her. I choose my wife. We’re over. I’m sorry.” Just so she couldn’t misread anything.
She replied he just told her yesterday he loved her. That she was pregnant, and thanks for being a friend, with a sad face. We didn’t respond.
I tried to address the pregnancy. He said she was lying. I asked why she said he told her he loved her, he said it wasn’t true, he told her clearly they were friends and she was deranged.
In secret he sent her an email later saying he didn’t mean it, he loved her. He was going to get away from me and find a place. Every day he would write for the next month and make up seeing apartments. It had to end on his terms of course. He couldn’t stand to feel like he was no longer in control. Why she bought it was beyond my understanding. I wouldn’t accept him or anyone, telling me they faked breaking up with me for his wife to be content.
He didn’t actually look for a place to live or really care. He was just afraid of the possible pregnancy. She was a bad mother, according to the lying, cheating, hypocrite. She had a son already that she didn’t care for, who lived with his father, her separated husband.
I read her emails, one saying “that wasn’t my period last night” and the same date a month later of her “miscarriage”. He wasn’t the only one playing games. She wrote how she called her doctor and he said since she had an appointment later in the week he’d check her miscarriage then. Right. In what country? She would have been told to go straight to the ER. He may not have figured it out but I knew she was lying.
Not that it mattered, as she was pregnant two weeks after. So much for true love. She had another baby boy this fall.
I learned eventually that the week before I sent her my first message, he had been going so far as to go in work and clock in, and leave. Not play sick but simply walk straight out. Later he’d complain he was working and there had to be something wrong with their computer when another paycheck was “wrong”. He went back and got them to pay him for working when he wasn’t even there, he convinced them he had clocked in on time and it was their faulty time clock. Anything so that he had proof for me that yes, he worked and how dare I accuse him of anything.
Mind you he had new clothes and jewelry, overdressed for “work”, showered excessively, money was disappearing, gas in the car was magically vanishing too, and his previous paychecks were mysteriously “incorrect”. I even noticed him using new phrases in his normal vocabulary as if he was spending a lot of time with one particular person.
I’d point it all out and eventually started asking him about his “secret girlfriend”. He had an excuse for everything. I had no proof. He laughed in my face, sometimes he screamed, but I knew he was lying.
In the end the truth came out and he was gone again. I instigated it, I knew then I needed her to tell me what really happened and I hated that he ignored her possible pregnancy. I messaged her for the third time, this time secretly from his phone, and at first she replied “we don’t communicate this way” and gave me his secret email address. I logged in with his normal password and read a dozen recent exchanges. In the meantime she sent a message saying she was sick of the games and the crap his ex was pulling, which she said caused her to miscarry. I responded how amusing she was fed up with sleeping with my husband and let her know we were never apart. That’s when she didn’t hesitate to tell me everything once she found out I was not his ex.
I learned how long it went on, where they went, awful lies he said, she shared as much as she could recollect and forwarded every email. He deleted all but the recent ones.
I learned she even saw me with him out shopping and it was “awkward”. She didn’t want to start a problem and he said he wished she said hello. Later he admitted he was terrified then but at the same time he wanted it to be over.
It was an agonizing night. I screamed. I cried. I threw things. I slapped him. I was out of my mind in pain.
It took me 2 or 3 days to even think. Eventually I said he had to get out or I was calling the police to remove him that’s when he went downstairs and ate several bottles worth of pills. After I had him vomit I took him to the ER where eventually they gave him an ambulance ride 100 miles to a mental health hospital.
I was left writhing in pain and confusion, having gone through an existential breakdown of my own, not eating or sleeping the 10 days he ran off with her, believing he had an accident or was injured during some terrible crime. Then a month later to find out the truth. The affair, the love letters, the lies. It was a thousand times worse than every bad thing I ever endured before.
It’s almost a year since I learned it all. I’m still trying to escape it. I’m only just starting to find myself again.
Now, with not feeling emotions, I’m so lost. Some days I think I’m some sort of doll. Comfortably numb.
I don’t experience joy or sorrow. Not much of anything. No excitement, not fear. It’s like I’m already dead.
The thing is, I don’t want to be.
It’s quite rich how a consistent liar gets irritable when you don’t believe them. At times, I really have to hold back laughter while watching a tantrum that is just short of them stomping their feet, as they exclaim “No matter what I say it won’t change anything!”.
Well that, my darling, is your own damn fault.
How can anyone choose to believe you or trust you when your words are empty? You say one thing and do the opposite. That, I can rely on, as you’ve proved hundreds of times that’s how you work.
You proclaim you love me then walk in the door and ignore me, neglect me, leave me last on your list every single day. Strangers, who you so desperately need to approve of you/ like you/find you attractive, they come first. For them, who you say “mean nothing”, you go out of your way to talk to, spend time with, show affection to. It’s madness, but oh, we’re not allowed to see it that way because “you’re suffering”.
News flash: You being miserable on the inside does not give you the green light to piss all over the rest of us. In no universe does it work that way, even the one in your mind which you are the center of. (Beautiful myth, that center of the universe notion.)
You are destructive and by continuing to live in such a manner you will find yourself rejected, alone, and despised.
Try the truth. Even when it’s ugly, it’s glorious. Lies are not power, that’s an illusion. Lies are your downfall, your enemy.
I feel for you (I really do) but not enough to let you mash me into a pulp. Been there, done that, not falling for it again. So you keep going about being a selfish liar and then throw your hands up to proclaim I don’t value what you say, as you ignore it is you who created the issue from the start. It’s such a pleasure watching you kick me and then hearing you whine your foot aches terribly. Woe is you, and only you, until your guilt valve turns on for ten seconds, then woe how awful you feel, until you switch it off and go right back to the cruelest person again.
If you refuse to even genuinely try then no one around you should bother to genuinely care. Yet you’re probably taking advantage of kind, loving, people who rarely stand up for themselves and let you abuse them. Too bad life isn’t fair. It really is such a pity.
I have mostly forgotten what seemed like a nightmare. Those feelings, the wrenching pain, the shock, the sorrow, that night he said he had been having an affair. My world as I knew it collapsed entirely.
It’s funny, after every terrible thing I have ever been through that is what did it. A jackass of a man, a lying, manipulative, cheater. I let that take me down. How shameful I would feel, if I could feel. That is what changed me deep in the core of my being. That is what broke me. I spent my childhood severely abused, for reasons still unknown to me rejected of my natural parents, I endured endless abuse and bullying from adults and peers alike. I was neglected and hurt repeatedly. Yet I still trusted. I still got up every day, brushed myself off, and went about smiling like a Disney cartoon character. Not rape, not homelessness, being car-jacked, not going through 2 pregnancies without a lick of support, emotional or financial, did me in. It was when the person I trusted most in the world admitted their betrayal, admitted without words that they did not love me, after everything I did and gave for them it was meaningless. I was meaningless in his eyes. That screwing a stranger for a brief while was worth throwing me away.
He compared sex with her like going to a prostitute. He would take her out to eat and buy her things because he felt he had to pay for it. It wasn’t particularly good, but empowering, because he felt like he was controlling her, and the thrill knowing he shouldn’t be doing it was a great high. He said he felt like he could kill her and it wouldn’t matter, that she didn’t count at all. She was below him. He liked how gullible she was. He said she was too easy. He knew he could do it, so he did. The irony of it all made me sick to my stomach. Typical low brow thoughts, she was easy, not him. I forgot only men are allowed to like and have sex. This is the mind of the person I chose to make babies with? That alone was enough to make me want to rip out my uterus.
I never put up with it before, such nonsense. Now I am caged. Now I am a prisoner in my own home. How do you escape it? How the hell is this living? My mother, who is quite mad and dependent on Prozac since the devil invented it, tells me things work out, things are meant to be. What a load of crap, coming from a co-dependent, miserable, shopaholic who has hated her life as far back as I can remember. There is no such thing. Every time I stand up someone tries knocking me down, that’s what unhappy people do, try to take out the others because they’re so busy hating themselves it lights a fire within them to see anyone content. This whole planet is a mess, humans are a mess. We destroy everything, we make up some of the most idiotic rules, we bark at each other who is allowed to do what. It’s all nonsense.
I daydream of living in a fairy tale cottage in the woods. It’s quiet, peaceful. I wander about barefoot with my dog, letting the sun rest on my skin, warming me until I had enough and resort to shade. I imagine digging my hands into the cool, moist, earth, hopefully planting something that becomes edible. Other moments I’d spend my time painting, sculpting, singing, reading, writing, and having mad tea parties on the lawn. I don’t want much to do with this world anymore. I have no faith in it. The place is beautiful, the creatures are amazing, but the people are so damn destructive I’d rather not get involved anymore.
I used to to think it was silly to place value on love because it’s a damn emotion and emotions are fleeting. According to some scientists they now say love is an action, not an emotion, which makes it even more unreliable. They’ve proven during brain scans that blah, blah, blah (you’re not really reading this anyway) and different parts of the brain lit up when showing people photographs of their romantic loves, and not all those were sexual, and that you can have sexual love but not caring love, and vice versa, along with that other bit and, whatever. It’s somewhere on the internet, good luck finding it. I don’t really care. It doesn’t change anything. There are dozens of reasons why people cheat; they don’t feel appreciated, they don’t enjoy their sex life, they got caught up in the thrill of excitement, they did it in retaliation, they refuse to be monogamous, etc. In the end it’s always about them, their choice, their fault. If you don’t want to be with someone, in a balanced committed relationship, leave. If they’re cruel to you, leave (as much as you can, anyway, which I know from experience sometimes means while still under the same roof). That’s it. You don’t destroy them. You’re not allowed. You have no damn right to do it.
All that nonsense floating about ‘well if it hurt you that’s because you were already hurting’ is more guilt gibberish. If I punch you in the face are you going to smile and hand me a bouquet of daisies? Idiotic. Of course being lied to hurts, of course being shown by the person you love that in their eyes you are worthless hurts, and there is nothing wrong with that. There is nothing wrong with hurting. It’s natural. It isn’t an illness. You don’t need pills to numb your brain from it. What you need is to let it out and then get the hell way from that pain inflicting, destructive, person so you can heal. It isn’t your fault and you’re not bad, they didn’t bring out bad things inside you, they put them there when they betrayed you and broke your trust. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s your fault, or it was your life lesson and you had to go through it. No, that person was selfish and mean and I am genuinely sorry you had to endure that. Now you pick yourself up and, at your own pace, you keep going.
People should come with warning labels, all of them, animal abusers, racists, cheaters, liars, every bad thing. It should be written on our skin in glowing letters, unable to be hidden, so we actually know what we are getting ourselves into. Only then could it really truly be our own damn fault. I am so sick of hearing ‘you attract what you are / what you want’. I never wanted a lying, cheating, rotten person in my life. I refuse to accept that guilt, that bullshit. I only wanted good, creative, honest, thinking people, like me, if not far better. I wanted peace, bitch.
He told me he didn’t want to kiss me because it would make him horny. He had no problem making out with her. In fact the first time he pretended to go to work and drove to another nearby city where she lived to meet her, he picked her up in my car, where eventually they made out and he said he couldn’t have sex because he had no condoms. He knowingly fooled around with her but refused to kiss me. Oh, because I am amazing and far better than her, he says. I deserve so much more.
I deserve more and better all right. Both have absolutely nothing to do with him.
I know I am far from the illusory “perfect”. Mind you, in a way I think I am perfect, just like I think you are perfect. That is to say, I don’t think we are flawed or bad. I think we’re just human, a soul encased in an animal shell, and for what we are, we are as we should be; Pretty, dirty, silly, insightful, clumsy, selfish, curious, helpful, everything. Even as we improve, as we change, we are doing as we should.
We do change. I know because I have. I used to be outgoing. I was talkative. I felt happy and complete. I was helpful, loving, kind, tender, playfully sarcastic, righteous. I used to smile just to smile.
And it’s okay. I’ll change again. It took a long time for me to go this dark place. Years. It was the proverbial wave beating against a rock. I became quiet, withdrawn, sullen, anxious, irritable, bitter. I rarely smile. When a stranger taps me on the shoulder and I turn to see their face they look frightened, or worried, which I can only imagine what I look like to make them respond in such a way.
In time I will transform again. I hope I will be freer than I ever was, in ways I couldn’t fathom to be possible. I hope I will find my strength and peace. I hope I will heal, when I’m ready, slowly over time. Then one day I will look back and this will be just another memory. I can’t wait and I do believe it will happen, you see, because I can still hope.
I suppose I sound like a fool.
It’s natural to judge. I’ve read plenty of blogs/forums/comments of people abused, suffering. Why don’t they do better for themselves? Stand up? Make it stop. That’s how it works, right? The world is just. Someone is cruel, you call them on it and they stop. You get a free pass to leave, go anywhere. You’re safe. That’s real, right?
Well damn it, just think happy thoughts! Just get out! Wave your magic wand and whoosh yourself to a better place! Because that’s how life works, right?
I used to sing, very well. I loved opera most as a child. I cannot read a note but I have a natural ear. I spent 13 years singing in school. Every program that called for it, I was the lead. I was shy though, I didn’t like the attention. That’s the Aspergers in me. I refused the spotlight whenever I could but oh, how I loved to sing. It lit me up inside. It was my soul revealing itself.
At my childhood home I was taught not to sing. Like almost everything else, I was punished for it. It didn’t stop me from singing though, not completely.
Sometimes I would sing in the house and he would scream “turn off the god damn radio!” and I would reply that it wasn’t the radio, it was me.
“If that was you I’d be a god damn millionaire!”. “God damn” was, and remains, his favorite sentence enhancer.
When I was still quite small, in the warmer weather my father would go out to mow the lawn. We lived on the top of a mountain, 2 acres in the woods, a beautiful valley spread below presenting an ever changing work of living art just outside the windows. The house itself was a plain and modest ranch, which they had built. They originally purchased over 20 acres but a church moved in nearby and convinced them to give most of the land over. They foolishly did and later that church sold it all. Regardless, I grew up on a mountaintop and when my father would go out to mow I would dash downstairs with my little yellow and gray electric suitcase-style record player, open the back door so I could keep an audible watch on the mower running, plug in my player, put on a record, and sing my little heart out.
Now my voice is scratched. No doubt from all the screaming I’ve done over the years and lack of singing. I lost my range. It breaks my heart and I know that is my own damn fault.
I know what I could have been. I just didn’t know how to get there. I was wild but I was never brave.
I stood up for myself, defended myself, but I never took life altering risks.
I may have stood out from the crowd in many ways. Appearance alone I dressed like a so-called weirdo but that was expression. A form of art. I never did it for attention. I’d always forget when I went out the door that the world was filled with other cruel people who would treat me like I wasn’t of any value because of my hair and clothing. I’d forget people would act like thoughtless cruel morons. I would forgot how much bitter hatred people keep in their hearts and unload on anyone they please, just “because”.
Yet who am I to say? They judged me, mistreated me, and in turn I thought poorly of them. That was before the great shock came last winter. Before my life changed. Before I changed.
Now I know everyone is going through something. That if someone seems (or is) cruel it’s because they’re hurting, they’re suffering. That they need love and help, though I am in no state to give it myself, I am at least now aware. Really fully aware, not when it suits me, not in a hope-filled-meme of peace and love to post on your Facebook account, wishing for a “better” world-aware, but an actual practicing aware. Once in a while I slip up. I get irritated particularly after being subjected to hours of his non-step negativity. He’s only bringing out what’s inside me.
We are both suffering and destructive. The difference between us is the way we show our pain.
I used to be hurt. Hurt that he lied. Hurt that he faked going to work while he spent hours with her. Later I realized she was easy, available, and could have been anyone. In fact I quite think years ago I was her. Not in any particular way, but the deer caught in headlights he was about to feast upon.
He didn’t care about her. He didn’t bat an eye when she made him choose between her and me. It was all about sex and control. He prided himself on controlling her, she would believe any damn lie that escaped his lips. When I’d hear some of it later I couldn’t get over how stupid one had to be to accept it.
He had vanished for 10 days. Just went to work, turned off his phone, and that was that. I was filing missing persons reports fearing he was dead on the side of a road somewhere, he was shacked up with her, at her grandmothers house. She’s half his age and tiny, they’re always tiny, it makes him feel more powerful as he is barely average himself. Everything is about his ego, what he wants, the entire relationship was like taking care of a child. He’d never give, after the “honeymoon”, he’d always take, and make promises that he never kept.
She didn’t know one true thing about me beyond I existed. It was of course all lies. For sympathy, he said, to manipulate her. When he admitted it he begged to stay with me, while still telling her he wanted her. She played the pregnancy card. Mind you, she was a liar too, though she was also quite dumb so perhaps she believed she was because she wanted to be.
No one asked what I wanted.
I was in too much shock and pain to even make a choice if they had. I spent the entire year after, foolishly demanding I deserved to be treated better than her. The thing is, he could have transformed into everything I wanted, I simply no longer wanted him. Nothing he could say would repair it. The trust was gone. Belief was gone. I was gone.
Except I’m stuck here, in this house I don’t want to be in, with him.
Now he says he will do anything to help me, make me happy. I was happy, and I let him ruin me and hurt me all because I had no way out, nowhere to go, no one to lean on. After everything I’ve done for others, it didn’t matter.
I wish I could go back in time and walk right past him.
Reality is cruel. If this is some cosmic lesson, I don’t get it.
I don’t get sick often. Not because I’m in extraordinary good health but I’m careful.
In addition, I don’t go out much, for multiple reasons. For years the main reason was the depression I developed, paired with social anxiety. The lesser reason being there isn’t much to do where I live to tempt one. I have few local friends. It’s a small city, that really is more of a one-horse town. Night life is practically non-existent.
As I don’t go out much for these reasons, naturally I’m not around a lot of germs, so when I do pick up something, maybe once a year, it’s a doozy.
The past week I ran through many nights with an abnormally high fever, headache, and other more disgusting symptoms. Now I’m going through the stages of painful body aches, fatigue, and coughing up things I can’t bare to look at. Yet, I’m in a good place in my head. In fact I find I’m remarkably alert and zen.
Just the tiny bit of writing I’ve been doing has already released me from so much pain. I feel close to content. Relaxed. Care-free. Like I can see again. The best part is I know this is just a sliver of light coming in.
I’m almost afraid to get back into it, that the process of digging might take away this peace and throw me back into the misery head first.
I don’t want to tell you how he had me question my own sanity, that many times he left me thinking I was a ghost. All those lies. I don’t want to feel that right now. I’d rather bask in this glow and not ponder how long it will stay.