I’m probably dating myself here but I feel like the newspaper carrier in Better Off Dead. You know the one? The little kid that keeps screaming, “I want my two dollars!” That’s me. Only my rant is, “Why couldn’t you give me two years after I’ve spent our entire marriage coddling you?”
Honestly, our entire marriage I babied him. I gave into him. I let him call the shots almost always. I moved even when I was perfectly happy. He screwed around with Harley, lied about it, tried to cover it up, and then *I* was the one that made all these changes. He didn’t change a damn thing. I gave and gave and gave. I put up with his “social anxiety”, his “PTSD”, all his bullshit “issues”. I dealt with him acting like every damn cold he had was the Black Plague and death was imminent. I accepted the fact that I was going to have to do a lot of this parenting stuff on my own. I accepted the fact that we wouldn’t do a lot of things as a family because he had better things to do. I accepted and dealt with a lot. But after the first discovery he couldn’t give me even two years.
It wasn’t just two years to “get over” his first emotional affair. It was two years to get over that, to accept that he had done it, to try to move on and forgive him and put it all behind us. But it was also learning to accept the fact that his family betrayed me and supported Harley. They refused to cut ties with her, citing the fact that she was family; they gave her a ringside seat into my life, our life. Every reconciliation site advocates no contact but it didn’t really matter if CF and I had no contact with her; everyone he saw when he would go back home to visit had contact with her. They fawned over her. I had to learn these new parameters and try to rise above, be the bigger person and tell myself, “I can accept the fact that his mom has a relationship with her and one with me.” Yeah, if that currently describes you STOP IT! I was an idiot. I ate way too many shit sandwiches. But at the time I knew it made Cousinfucker unhappy when he had to choose between his family and me. I told myself that if our marriage was going to get back on track that at some point I was going to have to drop the rope and be the bigger person because his family is too stupid and insensitive to ever realize what they’re doing is hurtful, and I can’t keep making him choose between us (despite how right I really was!).
It was learning to accept the fact that his sister would stab me in the back every chance she got. She never supported our marriage once he began his affair with Harley as far as I’m concerned. When he told her he was messing around with Harley the first time her advice was to do what makes him happy. When he complained about the money I would spend she would agree with him that I wasted money. Funny that neither of them actually knew how I spent the money. Yes, I was wasting it on frivolous things like groceries, the mortgage, utilities, car payments and insurance, sports for the kids, clothes for the kids, pet food… the list of financial abuses goes on and on! After sending me a friend request on Facebook over a year after his EA was discovered she whined to him that I had declined it and she was just done! I could hardly blame her though. After all, she had reached out to me dozens of times at that point- calling, texting, emailing, FB friend requests. Oh wait- that never happened. Yes, this savior of our marriage NEVER reached out to me. When I discovered his little exchange with his nephew about the tattoos and marrying the whore I texted her and told her to check up on her brother. That was the one and only time that we had any kind of exchange. It was started by me and she never checked up on me again. And of course he once again had to play the poor, pitiful victim. He couldn’t have a relationship with her if I didn’t like her. Oh, she just loved and supported her little brother unconditionally. It made him so sad that he couldn’t have his sister visit our house. Believe me, I did set him straight on that one! I reminded him that his sister hadn’t visited us in more than ten years at that time; she didn’t come to our house because she didn’t want to come to our house and I was not going to take the blame for her no longer being “welcome” at our house.
I’m sensing a theme here and it goes kind of like this: Sam, you just need to understand that you are at the bottom of my priority list. I’ll throw you under the bus to anyone who will listen and when they stab you in the back while you’re trying to climb out from under the bus tires, I’m going to need you to smile real pretty for them. You gotta make nice because these people, though I whine and complain about how they’re never there for me and your family is more of a family to me than mine is, are way more important to me than you are.
It was discovering they had made plans to move me and his kids closer to her so that they could carry on their affair and then being asked to trust that everything was over and that this move he wanted was not about her. Oh, and did I mention that this occurred months after DDay? Yes, my one year anti-versary was spent in a brand new house only hours away from Harley the Whore. I moved across the country narrowing the distance between my husband and his mistress by about twenty hours and he wants to go around telling everyone I hate him. You entitled, selfish ass!
To sum up: I find out in August, the day of my daughter’s birthday party and only days after my stepfather has died, that my husband has been lying and cheating all summer long. Two months later I find out he was making plans to marry the whore and they were going to get tattoos together. Three months after that he accepts the offer for the new job which will take us hours away from her. And he had been talking about this move the whole entire time, offering to give it up for me because even though he was miserable he would be willing to live in misery so that we could all be happy. You are such a fake, Cousinfucker.
I then am being asked to acclimate to a new town, one that is much smaller than any we’ve lived in for years. I’m asked to leave all my friends behind. I’m asked to leave all my volunteer activities behind. I can’t find anything similar out here and can’t really find anything to do. I have 3 or 4 friends. If we want to count people that I’ve met as friends then I may be up to around eight but it doesn’t mean I actually do anything with these people. My support network is gone. My tight knit group of gymnast moms is gone. There’s no more traveling for gymnastics so no more team dinners and sightseeing with a bunch of friends. No more Bunko.
I’m watching my kids, specifically my son, struggle with this change. I know he misses his friends. I know he misses hockey and playing the cello. He missed his last year of elementary school because at his new school 6th grade is the first year of middle school, instead of the last year of elementary school. He missed out on the Valentine’s Day dance, the DARE program, 6th grade graduation.
My daughter adjusted beautifully but it was still painful for her to leave behind gymnastics. She has continued on in a lesser capacity but it’s not the same. She knows she’ll never improve. It was, and still is, difficult for her to watch as all her teammates advance and learn new skills. She recently said to me, “Think about how good I would be now if I hadn’t had to quit.” When asked if she would give up her new life and all the new experiences she has been given in order to be a Level 10 she answers without hesitation, “In a heartbeat.”
I came back from visiting everyone this summer renewed and refreshed, ready to tackle the world and to grow deep roots in my new community. I needed less than two damn years to get over his emotional affair, to accept the new relationship with his family, and to adjust to a new town. TWO! But apparently that was too much to ask of him. It needed to be instantaneous or he felt unloved, hated even. I didn’t trust him; I would never be able to get over what he had done. Cousinfucker, you are a pathetic piece of human excrement.
I gave him twenty-one years of my life. Twenty-one years of babying him, holding his hand, propping him up, dealing with his various issues, moving all over the place, taking care of him, telling him he was the most special boy who ever lived, and defending him ferociously against anyone who would go against him. Twenty-one years of listening to him whine, bitch, and complain. Twenty-one years of doctor’s appointments, ER visits and the like. Twenty-one years of him being miserable and unhappy about one thing or another. Twenty-one years, everybody. He couldn’t give me two.