Lately I’ve been thinking.
Thoughts I’ve buried. Thoughts I’ve deemed too difficult to process.
And mix it with thoughts that counteract the trauma. The “Look how far I’ve come now” kind of thoughts.
I remember driving in the car. We dropped the boy off with mom and dad and making our way home to pack for a quick weekend trip to Chicago. It was my “Hail Mary” to save our marriage. A weekend away, big suite hotel room, food, drinks, no kid no mention of the cheating. I’ll just focus on us.
I remember watching him drive. He was quiet and watching the road. His phone made a beep and I jumped. He checked it and I saw him smile.
I accused him of talking to her. I flipped out.It had only been a month since I snuck into his phone and saw his talking to “Clair”. That first time I never saw anything too incriminating. Just some conversations about getting drinks.
We went from riding in silence to screaming.I remember exactly how that felt in that moment. I wanted to jump out of the car. I didn’t care if I lived or died. I hated how much I hated someone I used to think I would spend my dying days with. The father of my child.
We got home. He left. I was alone. Crying in my room. I spent that night in the fetal position crying and praying. I was glued to my phone asking him where he was. My mind was racing and raging I couldn’t tell if it was real or a terrible nightmare. I called my Mom in the morning. I told her we are not going to Chicago and I would come pick up the boy. Of course she barrages me with questions and forces me to live the moment over again. Like a millions shards of glass in my chest, I wanted it all to go away but I knew that this was the kind of pain that lingers forever.
I was putting the boy to bed that night when he came home. I asked him where he was. He said it was none of my business. He said it was my fault I wasted my money on the plane and hotel. He reminded me we could have had a nice weekend if I just kept my mouth shut.
We shut the light off in the babies room and walked over to the other room. I saw a picture on the wall of us on our honeymoon. I was filled with rage. He saw me grab it off the wall. I stared at him holding it and he knew. He told me not to do it. But all I could think was “Fuck him”.
I slammed it to the ground and glass shattered. It was like our life. Broken. Never to be put back to the way it was ever again. He was pissed. He told me to clean it up. I looked at him with tears rolling down my face at record speeds. I lifted my bare foot. He said “NO STOP” and then I smiled at him and like I was putting out a cigarette on the ground I smashed my bare foot into the shards of glass. I wanted to feel real pain. I wanted to know this was real. I wanted to see blood. I wanted it to hurt more that my chest.
He was horrified that I would put myself in that position. He demanded I leave so he could clean up the mess. So I did. I sat in the bathroom crying and laughing. Picking glass out of my foot. (some of it is still there)
Sunday was a quiet day in the house. Mom came over around dinner time and brought the baby to her house for another over night. So he and I could talk.
We talked. He reassured me Clair is a friend. He isn’t cheating. He just thinks that I don’t pay enough attention to him. He asked me to make him dinners, to clean more and to pay into the bills more.OK. Seemed easy enough. I told him that when I get to work in the morning I will find us a marriage counselor and we will fix this.
Monday Morning. He got up early and took a shower. I laid in bed and I thought to myself. I know his password, I watched him do it and memorized it. I would have a better piece of mind if I could just see that they are really just friends.
I located his phone in the living room. Entered his password. First text was Clair. my heart was racing my hands were shaking. I opened it and scrolled. I saw things like “One day I will leave my wife” “You are so beautiful” “I care about you”. My world was spinning and spinning I couldn’t even hear. I took a few photos with my phone for proof. Since I knew he would lie.
Calmly I walked to the bathroom. I kicked the door open. I heard him say “What the fuck” from the shower. I pulled open the curtain and said “FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING LIAR!” His fake surprise made me laugh in his face. I told him I looked through his phone. Then I curled on the floor and cried. He got dressed. He tried consoling me. He was busted. Guilty. He went to work and there I was, on the floor and devastated. I called my boss. I told him. He felt awful. Told me to stay home. I did. My best friend came over and helped me from hurting myself. Because it’s all I wanted to do. I kept saying I wish it was easy to just will yourself to die. Because I wanted to die. That day was long. It was hard. He came home from work a few hours later. My friend gave him the best fake smile and left us. He tried reasoning. He did a great job of making me sure this was my doing. I asked for this. I blamed myself for being such a shitty wife. I was officially hanging off a cliff staring at rock bottom.
That next week we started counseling. That would last for a few months. But like that frame I shattered. It just never would be put back together.
It’s still painful to even type. I’m tearing up. I can’t quite let that memory have less power over me.
I still hate him. Not for cheating. Not for lying to me about her.
I hate him for making me think I was the broken one. I hate him for walking this planet still like he tried his hardest. Like he’s the victim. I feel like he needs a scarlet letter to warn others how awful he was to me.
I’m fine now. I took a bad situation and I learned to be strong. I learned to choose to find the happiness in life. I relied on myself to get through the day.I would thank him for being an outrageous lying ass hole, and ending this now when we are young. I would. But his ego is big enough. He probably has already thanked himself.