In a couple of weeks, it will be two years since I discovered my husband was cheating on me.
The past 24 months have been a violent ride on the infidelity rollercoaster. Bad days sprinkled with the rare good day have been the recipe for absolute misery.
I would really like to be able to say we are doing well. I’d love to be able to share some positive news.
But I have none.
In July, my husband and I went away to a health retreat in Fiji for two weeks without the kids.
It was bliss. We were in a good headspace, eating wonderful organic fresh food every day, and having sex every night. We felt closer than we had in a long time. Everything was going to be OK.
Then we got back. And things went sour.
I noticed that in our joint expenses program, there was an odd item. Condoms, $34.95. For a box of 140!
Since the last of our children was born, I swore I would not go back on the pill and my husband and I discussed him having a vasectomy. Although a little apprehensive, he agreed.
Then he goes and buys a box of condoms — 140 OF THEM!
Well, I lost my shit BIG TIME. Who the fuck buys condoms in such massive quantities? A brothel? A cheater?
I told him to go fuck himself. I refused to use even ONE of those stupid condoms.
And then the real kicker came a few weeks later with the Ashley Madison hack: he had an account, TWO in fact.
The description under his name read: “Thirty-something missing out after kids’ arrival.”
While I was struggling to juggle three children under the age of 5, he was busy lamenting he was missing out.
While I was busy preparing three different meals PLUS his meals, doing mountains of laundry, repairing my pelvis after suffering pubis symphisitis (splitting apart of the pelvis) from week 20 of the pregnancy, he was off checking out dating apps and affair websites. Because he was missing out. Selfish asshole.
When we were going through the post-affair shit in the immediate weeks following D-Day, I said to my husband “Lay it all out, I want to know everything. I don’t want to be discovering new stuff a year from now, two years from now.”
“There’s nothing else,” he said. Nothing else except a couple of Ashley Madison accounts, a secret email account which was immediately deleted, and now, a suspiciously large box of fucking condoms!
As you can imagine, things are not good right now. I cannot even pretend to be nice to him. In fact, I struggle to even be civil.
I gave him a chance to come clean about everything and he continued to hide things.
“I found your email account in the Ashley Madison hack,” I said to him that Sunday morning. “Why didn’t you tell me about that? ”
He drew in a deep breath. “It was all part of that same period,” he offered in the way of an explanation. The idiot even had the brains to use his real date of birth and OUR real suburb when joining the site.
“I signed up because I was curious, ” he said. “I never used it. I never met anyone from there.”
Never used it? YOU SIGNED UP FOR IT! DO YOU REALLY WANT TO HAVE A DEBATE WITH ME OVER FUCKING SEMANTICS??
Given we now know there was something like 3 women for every 10,000 men, the chances of actually meeting anyone on Ashley Madison were next to non-existent. But no-one knew that then. So I suppose if some hottie had thrown himself at him, he would have turned her down? Not bloody likely.
So where does this leave us? Let’s see. We’re currently living under the same roof but we don’t communicate unless it’s to discuss the children.
If he attempts to make small talk, I cut him off – I’m not interested, dickhead.
“I’m trying so hard,” he often says. Too bad you didn’t try before running off to some skanky married whore, I say silently.
Why am I still here? I’m miserable yet cannot leave as I have little income and three children in private school/daycare. We have a shitload of joint assets. We have three young children that we both agree should be brought up by two parents together. Bleugh.
I DIDN’T ASK FOR ANY OF THIS SHIT.
It’s a miserable existence. And I’m stuck in it until I choose to walk away.
Addendum: Thank you for reading my blog. I blog to clarify and to heal. It hurts that I am still with my cheater husband and I carry a huge amount of self-hate for still being here. I ask that you please not come here and say “just leave your husband already!” That might be what you did and that’s what was right in your situation, but please don’t pretend to be an expert in mine. We all move through this shitstorm in different ways. SWxo