End Of The Line

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With my anger already on high alert, it hit a new high last night.

My sister was visiting and happened to mention a video that was going viral. A video of my husband’s band with Gina doing lead vocals.

I had no idea.

He is not in the video but it was posted on the band’s Facebook page and he Liked it.

A video of THAT FUCKING BIMBO singing and he Liked it.

I mean, how fucking DENSE is my husband?

I know it’s a seemingly harmless gesture, and normally it would be.

But not to me. And not now.

My sister, who is unaware of my husband’s affair, sat there happily playing the video to me on her phone.

I mumbled something about not liking her voice and moved onto something else.

Thanks, husband, for not mentioning this. Dickhead.

My husband works in the field of social media, so to not have even mentioned this to me would have been killing him.

All this shows me is what a complete lack of respect my husband has for my feelings.

He will never GET IT.

Any shred of love or respect I had for him died in that moment I saw he had Liked the video.

I am completely dead inside.

Maybe this is the end of the line.

Eight Days Away

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My husband has recently returned from being away for eight days with the military.

I had mixed feelings about him going away. Following D-Day almost 18 months ago, he has turned down all out-of-town assignments. He knew I wouldn’t stand for it. He knew he had to stay. The thought of him going anywhere made me furious. He didn’t even ask me if he could leave. He wouldn’t dare.

Well, obviously that was then and this is now. When the annual military leave came up this year, he simply assumed he was going. This year is the centenary of the ANZAC landing at Gallipoli and there are official military events happening all over the place. Which I understood. And was why I didn’t put my foot down and tell him he had to stay. I would never have taken that away from him. But he could have at least offered, knowing how badly it triggered me.

So off he went, away with the military, and of course Gina the overweight giraffe – the cause of all my angst. She’s the silly 20-year old bitch who sent my husband flirty messages, which I discovered about a month after D-Day. She fucking loves all the attention from the men in the unit; she absolutely laps it up. A female in a military unit isn’t exactly commonplace, so she thrives on the novelty factor, batting her eyelids at any man within cooee. Silly slut.

The thought of him going away to a place where he’d be with that fucking whore triggered a tsunami of anger within me. I acted as normal as I could, as the kids were now on school holidays and I didn’t want them to sense anything was wrong.

I found myself feeling angrier than usual that week, constantly on edge and close to “snapping point”. If anything even slightly pissed me off, I went nuts! To make matters worse, my husband decided to come home on two of the evenings he was away, probably out of obligation or knowing how mad I was. So then I had to deal with his departure in the mornings again. A reminder that he was going back to the same place the silly skank was. He should have just stayed away so I didn’t have to see his stupid face.

At some point during his absence, I sent him an angry text message:

“If I find out you’ve spoken even ONE WORD socially to that little bitch, we won’t have a marriage left to “work on”. Take your martial problems to someone else.”

His response:
“I haven’t. I don’t. And I don’t take them to anyone.”

And that was how things sat for a couple of days.

We are so shit at communicating.

When he returned home for good at the end of his military stint, I didn’t speak to him for days.

A week later and I’ve only JUST defrosted.

I thought I was passed this phase of clamming up but I guess not.

There WILL be shit days. They become fewer as time goes on but they never completely disappear.

A sobering thought.

You’re So Lucky

Last night, my husband and I attended a party for one of his work colleagues. It was held at a night club in the city. It was noisy, it was crowded, and I didn’t really know anyone in the room more than superficially.
I got talking to an older woman, an extrovert. She was maybe in her late 40s or early 50s with three teenage children, and was having a grand old time at the party.
I had met her once before at my husband’s 40th and instantly liked her. So, we chatted for a while at this latest celebration and we somehow got onto the topic of relationships.
“My husband and I separated a year ago,” she began, then shook her head sadly. “We were married 26 years. You think you’re going to be married forever, then life happens.”
And what she said next made me die a little inside. “You’re so lucky you got one of the good ones,” she said. “Your husband is such a good man. There are so many creeps out there.”
She then went on about dating and meeting men, and if it didn’t happen for her she was fine with it…
But all I could think about was her “you’re so lucky” comment. Once upon a time, I would have wholeheartedly agreed and elaborated on what an awesome man I nabbed.
Instead, I smiled weakly and nodded weakly, and turned the conversation back to her.
I thought about how no man walks down the aisle thinking “I love this woman, I can’t wait to marry her and cheat on her!”
We marry with honorable intentions, our hearts filled with so much joy. Our dreams for the following years begin to take shape. We plan our lives together.
Then life happens.
A friend’s marriage breaks down. Another friend’s husband leaves her. Your friends are getting divorced.
It seems relationships all around you are crumbling.
But YOU’RE going to be OK. See, you married one of the good ones. Probably the last good one, you say laughing with others. A real catch.
And then you find out he cheated on you with some fucking whore, and you realise the rosy picture you had of your stronger-than-oak married was a mirage. A hallucination. A sham.
The rug was pulled out from under your world and you’re falling down the longest rabbit hole ever.
At some point you hit the bottom, and the anger rises within as the full impact of what has occurred registers in your brain.
It’s a vicious blow. Even 17 months after D-Day, the sting is still there.
Back to the party. As the night went on, my husband found new people for me to meet. One was the managing director of the company.
“Your husband is a really good bloke,” he said to me. “Really good.”
If only you knew, I thought, if only you fucking knew.
But I just smiled sweetly. And controlled my impulse to scream.
In many ways, my husband IS a really good bloke.
Just not where it counted.

Sex at 3am

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A couple of nights ago, my husband and I both happened to be awake just before 3am. I was suffering from insomnia; he needed to make a quick bathroom trip.
On his return to the bedroom, I made it very clear to him that I was awake, if he was interested. Don’t need to ask him twice.
My husband’s favourite bedroom activity is to go down on me (what a coincident, my favourite activity too!). And damn, he is good. REALLY good. He doesn’t stop until I orgasm, or I push him away. If I push him away, he asks if I’m not enjoying it, but more often than not, it’s the intrusive thoughts that have me pushing his head out of the way.
He told that fucking whore that he wanted to put his hot tongue deep into her pussy, so having him do it to me really fucks with my head more than anything else.
But the other night at 3am, I tried to stay mindful. I stomped on the intrusive thoughts and focused on the sensations in my body. I concentrated on his firm hands holding my legs apart, his relentless prying tongue pushing its way inside me. I just let it be. I enjoyed the moment.
The sweet, slow-building orgasm and warm embrace afterwards made it easy to crash out. He told me I could wake him whenever I wanted to at 3am “for that”. I smiled as I drifted off.
It was a good night.

I Will Always Be The Stupid Wife

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Fuck me, tonight I had a revelation. It came to me as I was making the kids school lunches. As I was spreading the butter on the bread, it hit me.

Here it is: I will always be the stupid wife.

ALWAYS.

I will always be the wife who saw her husband on his phone all the time and never suspected anything untoward.

Even when he was taking the phone to bed, into the bathroom, sitting outside in his car, I never suspected anything that would annihilate our marriage.

When I read the message on his phone that night which would shatter my core belief in absolutely everything, reality hit me like a dump truck unloading a full load of bricks on top of me.

How could I have been so fucking stupid?!

Now, 16 month later, I am STILL the stupid wife. Still fucking here. He fucked me over, and I’m the one still here trying to deal with the shit.

I have, in effect, given him tacit permission that what he did was not bad enough for me to leave, and that he’ll probably fuck me over again at some point in our marriage.

I remember telling my mother-in-law about the selfish actions of her son, and her question to me was: “Is he leaving?”

I wanted to scream.

IT’S NOT UP TO HIM! IT’S UP TO *ME* WHETHER *I* WANT *HIM* TO STAY.

I’m the stupid wife because I suspected nothing, and then when faced with the raw reality, still decided to fucking stay.

Is it really so fucking noble to want to stay so that your children don’t grow up in a broken home?

I don’t think so. To sacrifice yourself for your children is what a parent does.

Do I care if my husband cheated on me? Do I care if he does it again? Obviously not, because I’m not willing to give up and go anywhere.

I’m still fucking HERE.

Anyone looking at me would say: “God, what a fucking stupid woman. She busted her husband cheating on her and still decided to stay with him. She deserves everything she gets.”

And don’t I know it.

Because I WILL ALWAYS BE THE STUPID WIFE.

 

Under The Knife

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At this very moment, I am lying in a hospital bed, having had abdominal surgery late yesterday.
I am happy to be alive.
Before I went into surgery, I was given the gown, compression socks, hospital undies, and foot socks to get changed into.
As I stood in the change room, tears were streaming down my face.
My overriding thought was “what if I die?”. I know, morbid, right?
But people go into hospitals for seemingly routine procedures all the time and never leave.
Last time I was cut open in hospital, I spent the following 11 days lying in a hospital bed with a severe infection.
Me and hospitals? Not a happy combination.
So as I’m getting dressed into my hospital garb, I pick up my phone and send my husband a final pre-op message.
It reads:
“Husband, I’m about to go in. I’m terrified. Please be here when I wake up.
I love you. xo”
Then I turned my phone off, and my possessions were placed in a locker.
I was placed on a trolley bed, wheeled to the operating theatre, and given an injection.
The next thing I remember is waking up in the recovery room. Half an hour later, I was wheeled to the ward.
My husband was there waiting for me.
I was overjoyed.
But then doubts crept in.
Is he here because I asked him to be? Did he feel obligated, or did he want to be here with me?
The kids are staying with their grandparents, so he was home on his own last night. I wonder what he got up to?
Were the flowers he bought me for appearances, keeping up the doting husband bit?
See, this is the true effect of an affair. Even when you are healing or feel the relationship has healed, there will ALWAYS be doubts where your cheating spouse is concerned.
Is there an ulterior motive behind every action?
Maybe. Maybe not. But now you’ve learned to question EVERYTHING.
And THAT is the legacy of an affair.
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Happy Valentine’s Day, Husband

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To my Husband on Valentine’s Day:

 

On this day for lovers, I feel nothing but sadness and emptiness.

I look around and I see happy people, happy couples.

I am not one of them. We are not one of them.

We were, though, do you remember? We used to be so happy. We fell in love, we had good jobs, we lived overseas, we returned to our homeland, we had children, we fell in a rut.

You changed. I changed. Our marriage changed.

But we never discussed it.

The most important thing in our life, and we let it waste away.

We were once invincible. It was once us against the rest of the crumbling world.

Then we began to crumble and we couldn’t even see it, let along acknowledge it.

Your affair sealed the deal.

Now when you say you love me, it’s like you’re slapping me across the face. I know you see me wince when you say it, because you’ve now stopped saying it altogether.

You may love me, but not enough. You wanted someone else.

Someone else to be with, to talk to, to be intimate with. That hurts so, so very much. Because that was the reason *I* was here. I was supposed to be that person.

And to make it hurt so much more, you told me lies, lots of them. About working late. About going out for lunch. About what you were doing on your phone. About who you were talking to.

The trickle truth has been excruciating. I know you haven’t told me everything.

And that’s why nothing will ever be the way it was.

The way I love you has changed.

Yes, I do still love you. But my eyes have now been opened as to how much that gives you permission to hurt me.

I see people grow old together and I thought that would one day be us.

But now I find it hard to think beyond the current week. But I’m getting better – 15 months ago, I couldn’t think beyond the current minute.

Maybe one day we’ll be able to make longer-term plans.

For now, I feel empty, wooden, dead. Even after 15 months of ‘healing’, I don’t know if this feeling ever ends. It’s like living a half-life.

Your affair affected me beyond comprehension. Nobody understands this pain unless they are standing where I am standing.

My life is so very different now. Most importantly, I no longer believe in love that lasts forever.

And I didn’t even have any say in the matter. I didn’t get to decide what our future would look like because you made the decision on your own.

I am torn between wanting to love you, and being terrified to love you.

If I love you, it means I am resigning myself to being open to any further pain you may one day inflict on me again.

I just don’t think I am stable or strong enough to take another hit.

But I’m still here. Hopeful. Scared. Still numb.

And as long as we’re both still here, there is a glimmer of hope that we may be able to survive this grenade you threw into our marriage.

Happy Fuck Valentine’s Day.

 

Love, Your Wife.

What Makes An Affair News?

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I was catching up on the news of the day online last night when I noticed one of the top stories was ‘Christchurch office sex caught on camera from busy bar across the road’.

Today, 12 hours later, it’s still the top story by far on news.com.au. It has four times as many readers as the next story down.

So here’s the gist: a man and woman were having sex in an office, after hours, last Friday night. The entire scene was clearly visible from a busy pub across the street. (The pair likely thought the tinted office windows would prevent anyone from seeing in.) Naturally, pub patrons were captivated by this free porn show and photographed it endlessly. Photos of the pair went viral.

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The problem: he’s married, she’s engaged. The two are work colleagues at Marsh, a very respectable New Zealand insurance company. Various reports have him as a senior manager in his 50s (looks younger to me), and she in her early 20s. She is possibly his secretary, according to one report.

The story goes on to say that the wife of the married man is no longer speaking to him and has been “crying non-stop”. They also have children.

We don’t know much about the female, except that “her Facebook page has been deleted”, according to a statement by Marsh, which is also investigating disciplinary action against the pair.

Apparently, neither have turned up to work this week.

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This story brought up many feelings and questions for me.

Q. What the fuck makes this news exactly?
A. People with mobile phones who can capture it, then easily distribute it. The illicit sex angle. The affair angle.

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Q. What must the wife be going though?
A. Sadly, too many of us will have some inkling of what she’s going through. Unlike most of us, however, our husbands’ affairs weren’t splashed across the world’s media. Some betrayed spouses have not told one living, breathing soul about their husband’s affair, outside of the blogosphere. This wife will never have to wonder what the two did together. It’s all there, captured from many, many angles.

Q. Would most men take advantage if they were in a similar situation?
A. Knowing what I now know, I’d say yes. Office affairs are insidious. Sneaky. Stealthy. Cunning. Deceitful. And unless one of the involved parties leaves, the threat remains.

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Q. Is it right for the pub patrons / world’s media / bloggers to publish pictures of the pair?
A. They knew what they were doing. I have no problem outing cheaters.

Whores. Both of them.

If anyone wants to read the full story, you can find it here.

Hello 2015, Please Be Kind

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It’s a new year and therefore a new start.

For people who’ve been cheated on, the start of a new year signifies a way to say goodbye to a shit-filled year, and hello to something that’s hopefully an improvement.

At least, that’s what it means to me.

I must admit I feel a certain amount of hope as 2015 gets under way.

On the second day of the year, I sat down with my husband and had one of “those” talks. A talk about our future, where we see ourselves heading, how things are shaping up.

We tend to have these talks in the dark after we’ve put the kids to bed for the night.

In this case, it was the middle of the lounge room floor. Late. In the dark.

I had been trying to talk to my husband for days leading in to the end of 2014, because as I said to him, “there are some things I want to leave behind in 2014 and not drag into the new year.” As it happened, this wasn’t to be. It was now late on January 2.

(Although we hit rough seas after weeks of being on even keel, 2014 ended on a fairly sober note. He didn’t go to his work staff awards night party, which I was happy about, and even more glad he didn’t go to his band Christmas party. Both are serious triggers for me and he recognises and acknowledges their effect on me.)

So as we sat on the lounge room floor, I eventually spoke.

“As you know,” I began, “I spent a lot of time in 2014 thinking about whether I wanted to stay or go.”

“I know,” he said.

“I had to work out whether I wanted to stay in this marriage and be miserable, or go and have a shot at being happy.”

“Is that your only choice? Staying and being miserable?”

“I’d like to be happy one day, but I don’t see that happening any time soon.”

It was dark, but I could see his head was hanging in sadness. There was silence.

“In any case,” I said, “I don’t want to leave.”

He let out a huge sigh of what sounded like relief.

“I love you,” he said. I didn’t respond.

“We have so many good weeks that give me hope, then you go and do something stupid that sets us back MONTHS, ” I said.

“I know, ” he said. “I’m sorry. What can I do?”

“You can stop drinking alcohol for 6 months. Do you think you can do that?” I asked.

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes, of course.”

And so everywhere we’ve been since January 3 has been alcohol-free.

Having my husband drunk and doing something stupid is one thing I don’t have to worry about at the moment. I cannot tell you how freeing that is. My husband never drinks at home, only when we/he goes out. For now, I needed him to not drink for a while. My mind needed it.

He is trying to to do whatever I’m asking of him. And for that I am grateful.

Tomorrow marks 14 months since D-Day. And while I’m no longer a complete emotional wreck, I still have plenty of down days, down moods and down energy.

Anything he can do to change that is a positive step.

The New Meaning Of Music

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“She says her love for me could never die.

That’d change if she ever found out about you and I.”

Oh, how many times I have sung those lyrics! The song is Run To You, the singer is Bryan Adams.

It’s devastating how discovering your husband was cheating on you changes the way you hear lyrics, changes their meaning, their effect on your soul.

The next line in the song goes:

“Oh, but her love is cold.

It wouldn’t hurt her if she didn’t know.”

What was once one of my favourite songs is now a source of pain.

Songs I loved bopping around to now anger me. How could I have sung these lines so oblivious as to their meaning?

Then there’s Ray Parker Jr, ‘The Other Woman’.

“I’m in love

With the Other Woman

My life was fine

Until she blew my mind.”

The song also contains the lyrics:

“Now I hate to have to cheat

But it feels better when I sneak.”

As you can see, I came from a decade of wonderful pop songs. This music fills my library. Music that once brought me such happiness and found solace in, is now a landmine of triggers.

I picked up the new Paloma Faith album recently. Some of the song titles include:

Can’t Rely on You

Only Love Can Hurt Like This (great song)

Other Woman

The Bigger You Love (The Harder You Fall)

Love Only Leaves You Lonely

It’s the Not Knowing

Poor Paloma. They are song titles only a betrayed spouse could have come up with.

This is messed up.

Which is, I suspect, why so many betrayed/healing spouses relate to Sam Smith.

Here is ‘I’m Not The Only One’.

“You and me, we made a vow

For better or for worse

I can’t believe you let me down

But the proof’s in the way it hurts.”

I could add more but I’m going to stop.

What songs did your partner’s affair ruin for you?