I Think He Knows

Tags

affair, cheater, husband, infidelity, loss, love, marriage, new beginnings, relationship, wife

I suspect my husband knows.

About this blog, I mean.

He knows how much I live and breathe writing, and would expect no less of me than to write my way out of the hell that has been the past four years.

Yes, the blog is full of “vituperative nonsense”, as ‘Someone’ once described it, but what else would you expect from a blog written by a betrayed wife?

You bet it’s full of fucking vituperation!

It took most of that four years to work the anger out of my system.

My blog is full of swear words and bitterness and raw anger that only time could tend to and eventually tame.

Not erase, but tame.

That, plus my husband’s magnanimous efforts in righting his wrongs, have eased the open wounds that bled for so long.

For years — more than 3.5yrs, in fact — I could not see a way out of the despair.

The despair of reading your husband’s words of seduction to another woman.

The heartbreak of learning your husband meet up with multiple women for God knows what.

The utter devastation of learning he began cheating while his wife was pregnant with their third and final child.

It takes some real fucking effort to pick yourself up after being discarded so cruelly by the one person in the world you thought had your back.

What I’ve realised through this entire saga is that I’m a goddam survivor.

I may have been brought to my knees, drowning in depression and anger, but I made it out the other fucking side.

There is nothing I cannot handle.

I can never be hurt like that again because I have hardened and become more resilient.

Even if I discovered my husband cheating again one day, I could shrug and walk away. I’d be mad but I wouldn’t be destroyed.

I’m near fucking invincible.

Yes, it would hurt, but nothing like the first time, when it seemed my world completely blew the fuck up and I was left standing in the middle holding the remnants of a grenade.

Anyone who makes light of affairs has not lived through it, and for that they should be fucking grateful.

Life may not always be so generous.

But this is the life I’ve had to live and adjust to. I didn’t ask for any of it. It was dumped on me by a thoughtless and selfish individual. We all had this shit dumped on us.

BUT…

Life is better today. It’s different. I’m different. I’m happy! I smile a lot, and most of the negativity I once carried has gone.

My husband and I have rediscovered a very active sex life, which has been a revelation. Sex four or five times a week is the norm. Previously, we could go months without being sexually intimate. I enjoy this new closeness.

I don’t think of a certain bunny boiler much at all these days. I look back to that time and I swear I must have been fucking mad. The thought of being with that revolting human repulses me no end, although I’m sure my husband would be excited at the prospect of a threesome LOL.

Before my husband and I turned a corner, he made a comment to me that he thought I had “checked out” of our marriage, terminology I had used when writing here. I thought it was odd, that he used that phrasing, but tried not to think about it.

Then, that night when we were lying in bed and I tried to tell him about you-know-who, he told me I didn’t need to tell him anything. Why not? Maybe he already knew?

So dear husband, if you are reading this, please let me know.

Just say to me, “I know.”

And if I’m stressing and in the middle of something and carrying on and I turn around and snap at you, “Know what??”, please cradle my face in your hands, look me in the eye, and repeat, “I know.”

We now know where we stand with each other.

Let’s make a clean break and be open.

I think we at least owe each other that.

xo

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The Truth Comes Out

Tags

affair, cheater, cheating, cunnilingus, husband, infidelity, marriage, wife

I did it.

Last night after the kids had gone to sleep, I lay down in bed with my husband and talked. For hours.

I told him I knew about Audrey and that he had cheated on me while I was pregnant.

He said, “I know, you forwarded the emails to me.”

Huh? I did? Yep, sure enough I had. Guess I was more rattled than I thought when I found them. Facepalm.

I stayed calm.

“How did you feel reading them back?” I asked, ” Because I’m having a hard time reconciling that you now, and you then, are the same person.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head.

“I can’t believe it either,” he said. “I read those emails and it was like a stranger had written them.”

“You were cheating on me while I was pregnant,” I said calmly. “Throughout all the therapy we underwent, you never once mentioned this Audrey. You told her you wanted to explore with her, spend the night with her, lie to me to be with her!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I told you that over that period, I had spoken to lots of women online.”

“I know,” I said. “But come on. You weren’t just speaking with her. You met her — for an early morning coffee!”

He said I could ask him anything I wanted, so I spent the next 20 minutes asking anything and everything I could think of about the mysterious Audrey.

I learned she was the one that cut off contact, he wasn’t intimate with her, and he didn’t even like her.

“Her English wasn’t very good,” I said, for no particular reason.

“She was Asian,” he said, and I burst out laughing.

My husband might like perving at long-legged blondes or brunettes in short skirts, but has never, ever shown any interest in women from the East.

“You didn’t know that before you went to meet her??”

“Nope.”

I knew that to be true, as in the email chain, she refused to send a picture or even describe what she looked like.

His expression when he laid eyes on her that morning at Starbucks must have been priceless.

She sent him no messages after that date.

So as we lay there talking, I looked at the man I feel in love with 26 years ago and saw the lines etched deeply into his face.

After a long purge from both of us, I felt at peace.

Except for one little thing.

I had to tell him about Lorna.

In her last email to me, she threatened to expose me to my husband if I didn’t permanently remove this blog from the internet.

There was no fucking way I was taking this blog down. And I sure as hell wasn’t giving her the opportunity to out me.

“I have to tell you something, too,” I said. My voice was trembling.

He looked at me.

“Don’t say what you’re about to say.”

“How do you know what I’m about to say?”

“I can just sense it. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“Yes, I do,” I said.

I took a very deep breath and began.

“Last year, I developed a crush on someone I worked with,” I said.

“I told them, but they weren’t interested and no relationship came of it.

“But what it did tell me was that I wasn’t dead inside.

“I’m telling you because they threatened to tell you and I couldn’t have you finding out like that.”

He watched my face as I spoke.

“Where does that leave us now?” I asked. “Are were committed to staying together?”

“I know I am,” he said. “I feel sick when I think about what I’ve put you through the past four years. I don’t deserve you.”

Well, that much may be true.

Here’s the thing: I know my own inner strength now.

Him cheating again, or even these additional revelations, won’t break me. Not again.

I’ve come a long way these four years. The marriage still has its ups and downs (more ups) but the overall projectile is upwards.

I love him.

And even though I thought it was all over last year, I stayed because I had not definitively decided what I was going to do.

“I’ve never loved anyone else,” I told him softly.

“Me either,” he said.

I snuggled into him.

Later, we made love, and I crashed out at peace with myself, with him, and our future.

New Information

Tags

affair, cheating, husband, infidelity, lies, marriage, whore, wife

Four years ago, my marriage as I knew it, ended.

Discovering an X-rated message exchange between my husband and some whore left me seriously messed up for years.

Even through the therapy and the many post-affair talking sessions, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my husband wasn’t telling me everything.

Despite my husband swearing everything had been purged, I did not believe him.

And last night, I was vindicated.

My husband gave me complete access to his phone after D-Day, and although I’ve looked a handful of times to satisfy my curiosity, I couldn’t see anything to raise alarm bells.

Last night, my husband came to bed early and crashed as he was clearly exhausted.

I took the opportunity to remove the glasses from his face, his phone from his hand and starting flicking through a few things: email, Instagram, Facebook, Messenger.

Nothing.

But that nagging feeling persisted. So I kept digging.

And then I found it. A Yahoo email account. But not under his name. He had called himself Simon Temples.

I opened the inbox.

Facebook ‘people you might know messages’ filled the screen.

I thumbscrolled through the messages.

More Facebook messages.

No, no. Thumbscroll, thumbscroll.

There’s more, I know it.

Thumbscroll, thumbscroll.

Ah, jackpot.

Messages from an Audrey.

Dated March 2013.

When I was almost 8 months pregnant.

Bastard.

A second affair he never told me about.

He swore he began cheating on me after our third child was born because he felt neglected.

Now I had proof he had begun cheating on me before then.

I read all the messages. All 71 of them.

Then, because I didn’t panic and become enraged, I took my time forwarding all of the messages to myself.

Messages where he met up with her for coffee.

Messages where he told her what he’d do with his tongue.

Messages where he told her he would “definitely try to work out a way” to spend the whole night at her place “but not very often.”

Messages where he was looking for a booty call and would lie to me about what time he had to be home and then drop around to her place.

I know this was 4+ years ago, and we’re in a good place right now, but this fucking hurts.

What do I do with this new information??

The Legacy Of An Affair

Tags

affair, anniversary, infidelity, love, marriage, sex

Every time July comes around, it fills me with trepidation.

Prior to this fucking affair bullshit, July was my wedding anniversary month.

When July rolled around, it signalled a time to celebrate being together. Have a romantic escape somewhere. Tell each other how much we meant to each other. A night of passion was guaranteed.

And then D-Day hits and you realise you’ve been living in a fucking matrix your whole life. An alternate reality.

Your confidence is shot and you feel like the world’s ugliest, most worthless woman. It takes years to get any confidence back.

Your eyes are open for the first time. It’s a stark and frightful reality.

You begin to notice interactions in a new way — the way men interact with women. How women interact with men. The flirtatious exchanges, the hidden meanings, the knowing smiles.

What was probably already there becomes magnified with your post-affair lens.

And you realise how naive you’ve been all your life.

You wonder if that fat woman’s husband is cheating on her. You wonder if that married man is chatting up that younger, sexier woman he’s talking to.

Because nothing is innocent any more.

Everything is tainted and dirty and underhanded.

Because THAT is the lasting effect of betrayal. THAT is its legacy.

Even now, almost 4 years later, the pain never leaves.

It subsides, sure. You no longer pull over while you’re driving so you can burst into tears. You no longer do the shopping with tears streaming endlessly down your face as you walk the aisles in slow motion. You no longer go to bed crying every night because the person you thought would die for you, killed you instead.

It’s totally fucked up.

You live recalling the lies they told you to spend time with the whore. The “late nights” at the office. The “weekend gigs”. The “Sunday morning runs”. The text messages “from a mate”.

The excuses roll off the tongue so naturally and effortlessly. You have no reason to question any of it.

Until the bomb detonates in your face.

So what is there to celebrate now?

Absolutely nothing. Love don’t live here, anymore.

We stopped celebrating anniversaries post D-Day. I want no mention of it, no recognition of the date, abso-fucking-lutely nothing.

I’ve been doing some spring cleaning around my home recently and came across anniversary cards I’d been given by my cheating husband over the years.

I love you so much. You’re the best wife. I’m so happy we’re together. Blah, blah, blah.

I took great pleasure in ripping up every single one. There was nothing left to preserve. Nothing to savour.

It’s a part of my life that is over now.

To the half a million of you that have read this blog over the past almost 4 years, I’m sorry I cannot give you more hope.

You see, I was one of the ones that thought we’d come out the other side of this hell in tact.

We did couples therapy. We had individual therapy. We talked and talked and fucking talked.

But in the end, it all came to nothing.

We have separated but continue to live under the same roof. He sleeps downstairs, I sleep upstairs. We continue to co-parent our three children, and pool the majority of our money to pay the mortgage, and the cost of sending all three kids to a ludicrously expensive private school.

I don’t know what happens next.

I was recently attracted to someone and even though nothing came of my limerence, it was the first time in almost four years I ‘felt’ something other than depression, anxiety, blackness, emptiness, death.

To feel alive after being dead inside for so long was a surprise to me.

But that’s neither here nor there.

It was what it was.

Life goes on.

This year would have been our 20th wedding anniversary.

Such a fucking shame.

My Mentor

Tags

affair, life, marriage, mentor, sadness

The past month has been difficult but I have accepted my reality and am moving on.

My husband and I continue to live separately but under the same roof. He’s still downstairs and I’m still upstairs. We no longer have sex or any kind of intimacy, but we continue to discuss the children and our finances. It’s underwhelming but stable.

Work is going really well. I began my job just over six months ago and I’m having a blast. I’m loving the autonomy I have over my division, the training of my staff, and the fab people I get to work with every day.

I’ve been thinking for a while that I need some kind of mentor or life coach to kickstart me and give my life some much-needed direction. I had a life coach for a while some time back but she wasn’t great and I gave up after a couple of months.

I’ve been thinking about mentoring and who I might be able to ask for help. I work with some pretty bright people and it occurred to me it wouldn’t be a bad idea to approach one of them for mentoring.

It had to be someone I respected, someone with deep emotional intelligence and advanced business acumen. Someone I could learn from and advise me on some actual fucking direction for my life.

I picked an older man — a manager — and asked if he’d be interested in mentoring me. He sent me an email shortly after to tell me he was really touched to be asked and that he’d be thrilled to mentor me. I was ecstatic!

We had our first introductory mentoring session a couple of days later. Our 45-minute scheduled meeting ran closer to 90 minutes as we went over what I wanted to get out of mentoring, how long I envisaged the process to be, my level of emotional intelligence, how often we’d meet (fortnightly), and of course, the level of confidentiality of our discussions.

The first bomb he dropped on me was that he didn’t expect to be at our workplace long term. That sucked, but was fully understandable. Our workplace is full of multiple levels of bureaucracy unlike anywhere I’ve ever worked. It’s stifling and cumbersome.  I’m hoping, though, that our mentoring can continue, regardless of when he leaves. But in the meantime, he’s there and I need to extract as much of his wisdom as I can. I felt positive after our first meeting.

I travelled interstate for work this week to the north of Australia. Beautiful weather, an interesting event, and an absolutely gorgeous stay at a luxury boutique hotel. 

It was refreshing to be away from home, away from drama and kids, alone in my thoughts. I filled the giant bathtub with warm water and sat in it for an hour. In silence. Relaxing. Thinking. Enjoying. Contemplating my life over the past month. Thinking about the things I’d fucked up and telling myself that things happen for a reason.

I slept well that night, deep in dreams. Morning came too soon, but I was so thankful for a night of undisturbed sleep that I woke with a smile, kicked off the blankets, and headed to the shower.

It was a new day.

Unhappy Anniversary

Tags

affair, anniversary, end of the road, husband, infidelity, marriage, trauma, wife

Since I discovered my husband’s affair in late 2013, I’ve dreaded the thought of ever celebrating a wedding anniversary again.

When he told me post-affair that he loved me, I screamed that a person who loves someone doesn’t sneak around and fucking cheat on them.

I also remember spitting out a short time later that our marriage clearly meant nothing to him and that I never wanted to celebrate a wedding anniversary for as long as I lived.

So this week, when yet another anniversary rolled around (the third since the affair) we treated the day like any other.

My sister (who knows about the affair) and my brother (who doesn’t), along with me and my husband, are in a WhatsApp group. WhatsApp is a chatting app that allows us to swap endless messages and photos without having to send text messages.

When our anniversary rolled around, my brother, who lives in Europe, posted the following message to our group.

“Happy Anniversary to you both. Hope the kids are treating you to a special day.”

I saw the message pop through on my phone and thought “yeah, right”.

I was about to type it in, then figured this was probably a good a time as any to let my brother know what was going on.

So I opened a private message window to him and typed in:

“Hey brother, I should probably let you know that we no longer celebrate our wedding anniversary. We’re practically separated. A few weeks after our third baby was born, I caught him cheating on me with some married skank. We tried to work it out, but it’s not going well. We live together, but we’re not together. I hate his fucking guts.Your sister knows but please don’t say anything to mum or dad.”

I stared at the screen. Even though I could see the words in black and white, I still couldn’t believe this was my life. That I had typed those words. That I was some fucking cheated-on wife stereotype. And did I really hate his guts?

I waited for my brother’s response. At the top of the screen, I could see he was ‘Typing….’ (that’s how it comes up).

And then it popped through:

“So sorry, I had no idea. I hope you’re doing okay. He’s one of the last few people I would thought would do that, but guess you never can tell. 

I don’t blame you for feeling like that. I think it would be tough for anyone to let that go. 

Hope you and the kids are doing okay, and no worries, won’t say anything to your parents.”

Tough for anyone to let go. Tough for anyone to let go. Tough for anyone to let go. The words swirled around in my head.

I felt the sting of tears in my eyes then warm wet drops rolling down my cheeks.
This was my little brother. And he knew exactly what to say to me, his big sister, in pain. He was wiser than he knew.

My brother will be back home at the end of the year…for his wedding. 

All I can hope is that he’s a better husband to his wife than my husband was to me.

I love you, little brother.

xo

The Fog is Lifting

Tags

affair, anxiety, cheating, depression, family, husband, love, marriage, medication, trauma, venlafaxine, whore

I had been down too long. Way too long. My brain couldn’t think straight, let alone make important decisions. I was snapping at everyone, including my husband, my children, my boss. My perspective on life was badly skewed.

I seriously questioned whether I should be locked up in a facility for crazy people.

I can finally feel the fog lifting. After what seems like months and months of being down in the dumps, I finally went and saw my doctor. I was an absolute mess.

I was stunned when she told me it had been 18 months since I last saw her.

Actually, that shouldn’t have been all that surprising, given I’d spent that time elbow-deep in Babyville.

But without realising it, I’d also spent that time falling deeper and deeper into the depression abyss and had no idea how to crawl back out again.

So, Dr D put me back on the same medication she had me on last time: venlafaxine. It works to conquer depression and anxiety by basically chemically altering your brain.

The first time I went on this drug 18 months ago, I was hesitant. VERY hesitant. You get started on an introductory dose of 37.5mg, then after a month you go on the full regular dose of 75mg. Dr D told me quite a few of her patients are on 150mg.

At first I experienced bad headaches and dizziness. Then I went on the full dose, and dry mouth syndrome kicked in. I didn’t like it. I took myself off the drugs after 5 months without going back to my doctor.

And then, without noticing, I went downhill.

My problem with taking drugs is two-fold: Basically, I don’t believe depression is a true condition (so therefore how can you take drugs for it?) and two, I don’t want to rely on drugs to get me through the rest of my life.

But I couldn’t take it anymore.

“My marriage is over,” I told my doctor a few weeks ago as big, fat tears rolled down my face. “There is no chance of reconciliation.”

Because in my head, it WAS over. I couldn’t think anymore. Everything around me was black. I felt I was walking with a shroud over my head. There was no point to anything. It was all over.

So when the doctor suggested, no, STRONGLY ADVISED, that I give the medication another shot, I nodded glumly but didn’t fight it like I did 18 months ago.

“Do it to be a better mother to your children,” she said. “They deserve to have their mother present.”

Well, she knew how to pull at my heartstrings.

She said I had to stay on the medication for at least 12 months for the chemical imbalance to be restored, and to come and see her in a month.

I took the script she wrote for me and headed to the chemist.

The person who walked into her office a month later was a very different person. I could feel the fog had lifted. I could see things clearer. Making decisions was a bit easier. I was smiling.

Even the Dr D was noticeably surprised, but in a good way. Right now, I’m taking 75mg of venlafaxine every night before I go to bed.

The depression has lifted and the anxiety has subsided. I don’t like having to depend on medication to get me through the day, but I will commit to 12 months, and review things at that point.

For me, feeling better HAD to happen.

The negative thoughts were destroying my well-being, festering and breeding in my brain, day and night. I was mentally exhausted. (It is currently 2 years and 1 month after D-Day.)

I haven’t forgotten the affair — it still hurts like hell. Triggers will still set me off, as will seeing my husband on his phone.

But the medication has cleared my head enough to begin seeing a new psychologist. I even sound coherent when I speak to her.

The medication can cause insomnia and make it harder to climax, but if that’s the cost to feeling otherwise somewhat normal, I’ll pay it.

Because going through day after day drowning in misery and blackness is no way to live.

I know I’m strong enough to walk out tomorrow if I choose to.

But I choose to stay.

My family matters more. I will do what I need to do, and that includes taking medication.

You have two choices when you discover your husband cheating on you: you can find a way to move forward, or you can leave.

I am moving forward.

Forget Divorce, ‘Staying’ Is The New Shame

Tags

affair, betrayal, betrayed spouse, cheater, esther perel, fuck it all, healing, hope, husband, infidelity, liar, lying sack of shit, marriage, other woman, sex, survey, trauma, wayward spouse, whore, wife, yougov

Last week, research body YouGov released the results of a survey asking 1660 British adults a bunch of questions relating to affairs. Of the 1660 questioned, 314 said they had engaged in an affair.

The press release only skims the surface, so if you’d like to see the ACTUAL poll results, scroll to the bottom of the page for the link to the PDF file.

Keeping in mind this sample is quite small, there were nonetheless some fascinating insights.

Much has been made of the result showing most men have affairs with work colleagues (44%), while women are more likely to have affairs with a friend (53%).

Digging deeper, I found far more remarkable stats.

This one really surprised me:

 

Have you ever taken a partner back after an affair?

Yes, I have 14%

No, I have not 75%

(Other 11%)

 

Fellow betrayed spouses reading this, we are in the minority. Three quarters of betrayed spouses said NO WAY, FUCK OFF. That is a surprisingly high figure.

 

Q. Why did you have an affair?

There were three stand-out answers here:

I felt flattered by the attention (men 35%, women 44%)

I felt emotionally deprived in my relationship (men 29%, women 43%)

I was dissatisfied with my sex life (men 32%, women 15%)

Wow, what a huge disparity in the sex life numbers! If you ever wanted more proof men want more sex than you think, there it is.

 

Q. Was the person you were having an affair with also cheating on someone else?

Yes, they were 55%

No, they were not 39%

Proof everyone is cheating on everyone else! OK, maybe not. But sometimes, it sure seems that way.

 

Q. Which, if any, of the following do you consider as cheating? Please tick all that apply.

Having sex with someone who isn’t my partner 92%

Oral sex 84%

Using a prostitute 82%

Romantically kissing someone else 75%

Having webcam sex with a stranger 73%

Sexting someone else 67%

Forming an emotional relationship with someone who isn’t my partner 44%

Other 4%

This question was asked of everyone, whether they’d actually had an affair or not. What disturbs me is the level of ignorance concerning emotional affairs. Let’s admit it, many of us didn’t know we’d be so affected by an emotional affair, mere WORDS on a screen.

MOST of us thought our partners having actual sex with someone else would devastate us the most, but here’s the truth of it. Hurt is hurt. Let that sink in for a bit. Hurt is hurt. The way you were hurt is different to the way someone else was hurt, but the affects are the same: devastation, sadness, mourning, realising your relationship was a sham, anger. Someone else’s hurt is not your hurt. Your hurt is your own hurt, your pain is your own pain. They way you feel it is REAL.

A few other curious findings:

• One affair was not enough. Almost 50% of respondents had engaged in two or more affairs. Sobering thought.
• Most affairs ended because the cheater decided to end it (men 38%, women 49%).
• 41% of cheaters said they had children with the partner they were cheating on.
• 67% of men said an affair improved the relationship with their partner because “it made me appreciate what I had” (yeah, right). Only 44% of women gave this answer.
• Most affairs lasted less than 6 months.
• Most affairs happened when the couple had been married more than 10 years.

While we’re on the topic of affairs (this IS an affair blog!), if you haven’t already watched the Esther Perel TED talk ‘Rethinking Infidelity’, GO NOW. Set aside 22 minutes of your time, and watch this expert psychologist detangle the reasons why people cheat and the psychology behind it. It’s a fascinating insight. I’ve watched it 4 times now and discover something new with every listen. I’ve also sent it to my husband.

Consider her hypothesis that having an affair is not about you, the betrayed spouse, but about a cheater trying to find another sense of themselves. It’s a fascinating concept. Have a listen.

In her presentation, Perel also makes the observation that once upon a time, divorce was likely to be a great source of shame.

Today, she says, “choosing to stay WHEN YOU CAN LEAVE is the new shame”. I agree wholeheartedly. It angers me that this shame is not ours to wear, yet we do. But why? Why do we feel ashamed? Our husbands were the ones who cheated, yet we’re the ones staying to wade through all the shit, AND have the added burden of shame? It’s a slap in the face.

What a stinging observation.

I do admire Perel’s belief that a marriage can be better after an affair. But, she says, you must first acknowledge your first marriage is over. Most of us, she says, are destined to have two or three big relationships/marriages in our lifetime, “and some of us are going to do it with the same person”.

It’s an optimistic outlook. Hopeful.

Something to think about.

 

 

I Will Always Be The Stupid Wife

Tags

affair, affair infidelity trauma husband wife betrayal diet, D-Day, infidelity, marriage, stupid, wife

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

Tags

affair, betrayal, cheating, hospital, husband, infidelity, liar, marriage, surgery, whore, ļying

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.