It’s been two weeks since he left. Waking up is terrifying right now, each morning I open my eyes in fear of what memories or emotions are screaming for release. Yesterday was a less painful day, but today, the humiliation returned.
I’m tortured in the most inconvenient and overwhelming manner by this heart of mine. It cultivates and exposes those feelings I prefer to hide, the harder I push those feelings down, and attempt to distinguish them, my heart is a selfish bastard and regurgitates the temporary forgiveness inviting once again the hatred and tears.
Friends mean well, and I’m thankful for those who I can call at a moments notice, and are content lying with me, holding me, offering to kill that son of a bitch and offering those same few phrases of bullshit which we all know are lies, but desperately want to believe.
“He will come crawling back once he realizes what he lost” and “He doesn’t deserve you!” or my favorite phrase right now “She is a disgusting home wrecking tramp, who probably has HERPES and low self esteem!”
While these all help some, or make me laugh my mind gathers a response of “Well her vagina must be laced with something or bedazzled, because why else would he leave me? Why did he leave our kids, our family and why in the hell for her? Why? Why? I just want a clear fucking answer, just once, the whole truth – Don’t I deserve that, at least? And…why do I still care, and cry…why?”
For two weeks now, I’ve laid here alone each night, knowing he hasn’t laid alone once. I’ve avoided grocery stores, or public places for fear of running into him, his family or anyone who has questions. I’m humiliated, embarrassed and feel as though I’ve suffered a loss far worse than the death of a loved one, because in that type of loss – they didn’t choose to leave. He chose to leave me; to leave us.
Social media makes it worse, either by reliving the past of us, or witnessing the present of his new relationship. It is sickening that I still look him or her up. It is sickening to see the pictures of them together, to see them kissing, to see our friends who remain supportive for sake of their friendship to him. There are moments where I become consumed by them, and reading their loving posts to each other about how glad they are to have found one another, and how much happier he is with her.
My children ask if he is coming home, and my response to them varies on the day. Sometimes it is no, sometimes it is that he is taking a break, and we will have to see. They are angry, he never even said goodbye to them, of course they are angry. That is point where my anger returns tenfold – he hurt my children. He was their step-dad, and he always claimed them as his own, but apparently that was all an act. Just like our marriage.
On bad nights, like tonight, after the onslaught of snotty toilet paper, sweaty pits, and hyperventilating crying I have to remember life is still happening all around me. It’s my job as a mother to begin picking up the pieces and taking care of all the responsibilities I can’t turn my back on as he has. My life must move forward. While his life is spent with her, in her home, with his head completely up her ass, not giving two shits about the family he tossed away like yesterday’s trash. I fucking hate him! Hate him!
*This article is an excerpt from the diary I kept two years ago when my emotions were new and raw, thank you for reading!