Hurt

The mobster and I were talking one day about the topic of being hurt by infidelity. I responded that CF didn’t hurt me. He pissed me off. He then went on to ask, “You were never hurt by his behavior?”

I had to think about that and I had to go way back to when all this crap first started, back in 2013.

I was extremely naive in 2013. I still thought I was married to an upstanding, honorable guy. A guy who understood and believed in things like: honor, commitment, marriage, fidelity. I never in a million years thought he would cheat on me. How stupid is that? I know I’ve said before that I figured maybe he would one day leave me, but I never thought he’d cheat. STUPID!

So back to me finding out something hinky was up five years ago….

When I first discovered him there, shriveled up in our bathtub, rocking himself back and forth and giving a performance of a lifetime in his self-written, self-directed, self-starring (naturally) play, “Anxiety, Thy Name Is Cousinfucker” I couldn’t begin to imagine what the problem might be. When he tearfully told me, in a whispered voice, “I’ve been texting other women,” the bottom dropped out of my world. I was absolutely shell shocked. This was simply not something that he would do. He had just told me less than 6 weeks prior that he loved me and he had always loved me.

I was so stupid and so naive that I actually convinced myself that he was probably only confessing because he felt guilty that he had actually talked to other women about our marriage. Yes, that’s how far my head was stuck in the ground. I foolishly thought he felt guilty about merely talking to other women, maybe confiding in them about our marriage. At that moment it never occurred to me that he was sexting or saying, “I love you,” to his whore cousin, or making plans for a future with her.

No, it took another whole week or so and a little bit of mind fucking from the whore before I began to suspect that maybe his texting hadn’t been so innocent after all.

I don’t recall feeling hurt back then though. I was sad. I was sad about my marriage potentially ending. I was sad about disrupting my kids’ lives. I was sad about the implosion of a 17 year relationship. I was sad that I had let things get to that point (and yes, at that point I was willing to shoulder almost all of the blame). I remember crying. I remember wanting things to go back. I remember wanting our marriage to work out and to be restored. I remember wanting him to love me again. But I don’t remember being hurt, or feeling hurt. Sadness was my overwhelming emotion.

Yet I spent the next three months trying to show him what life could be like for us. I spent the next three months “pick me” dancing, trying to cautiously woo him back. I rejoiced when he tenderly fed me a piece of tenderloin he had grilled. I was thrilled with every seeming loving gesture from him. He never said, “I love you,” and I didn’t say it either as I didn’t want to push him and “scare him”.

I wasn’t completely sure the whore was gone at first. She was very good with the mind fuck- posting little inspirational quotes, liking his pictures. And then came the day I believed she was gone for good and we were back on track. Followed shortly by her husband contacting me and letting me know they were still at it.

Hurt? Oh, honey, I was pissed! There was no hurt. There was only fury. “What in the fuck are you doing and why are you doing it? Are you seriously willing to give up your wife and kids for your cousin? She’s a fantasy, not reality.”

I was not nice. I was not calm, although I wasn’t as out of control as one would think I might be. Hey, I had a party to throw; I would not disappoint Rock Star. I yelled. I told him outright that he needed to shit or get off the pot, that I deserved to be happy, too, and I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for him to dump me when Picasso graduated from high school.

I felt certain that divorce was imminent. I didn’t think he would “pick” me. I was pretty certain after I issued my ultimatum (you end it now or we’re done) that he was going to pick her (and he did- it just took him two more years of wasting my life and completely destroying the lives we all had out in Utah before he could do it). But I remember being so happy when I got the text message that he was going to end it, that he didn’t want to lose any of us. Blech! I should have left his sorry ass back then and saved myself a whole lot of trouble.

I had sadness when I thought my marriage was over. I had fury/anger when I realized he had been duping me all summer long. But I can’t say that he ever hurt me. His behavior the first time stunned me but it didn’t hurt me. His behavior the second time pissed me off.

I think what actually hurt me more than anything was realizing what a bunch of complete assholes his family was. They never cut the whore off. I was disposable; she was not. It took me a very long time to wrap my mind around that. Naturally, just as I began to forgive them and gradually allow them back into my life he cheated once again and they, once again, were done with me and fawning all over and supporting his union with Harley.

Fast forward two years and once again I find out he’s cheating. Again I’m in disbelief. Not hurt. Frantic. Juggling twenty million things. Keeping all those plates spinning. Thinking about the situation financially and not with my penis.

Seriously- he had been a mess for more than six months. He had emotionally drained me. I was perpetually in fear that he was going to have a massive breakdown and we would end up bankrupt. He had moved us 2000 miles across the country because this job was supposed to make him happy and he was so miserable out in Utah, and yet here he was less than a year later, crying in bed and supposedly unable to function. I don’t know why but I had this feeling that he was once again involved with the whore. I was probably right.

I wasn’t sad; I was suicidal. I wasn’t suicidal because the great love of my life might be off and running with the whore. I was suicidal because I could not take anymore of his shit- the crying, the drinking, the unhappiness, shutting himself off from the rest of us, breaking down every time we turned around, unable to take him anywhere, never able to make him happy, watching all of our dreams collapse around our feet in this new place with no friends and no support. I was mentally exhausted. I had been sold some magic beans, but unlike those beans that led to the goose that laid the golden eggs, my beans were old and rancid and led to nothing except total destruction.

I had kept trudging on. I would put my head down and keep going. We would fix this. We would be happy once again, like we had been. All those dreams we talked about when we talked about moving would become a reality. I was convinced I could do it by sheer will power alone. Until I could no longer do it.

I remember getting that message from The Saint, and my heart sinking. It didn’t break; it sank. Now I had to figure out what the hell I was going to do. Keep those plates spinning!

He had no worries. He didn’t care about what would happen to the house. He didn’t care about the upheaval the kids would experience. He didn’t think about the pool we had just put in our backyard, or the money we had spent decorating and furnishing this new house. He didn’t think about the new car he had just bought for me, or the two new kittens we had, or the new cell phone company we had just switched to. He was fucking his cousin. The world was his oyster! No, I was left to worry about those things.

So no, once again, I was not hurt. I was in a panic. I had kids to worry about and protect. I was worried about the house. Our mortgage was less than a year old and I had no idea how I would ever be able to afford to maintain this house on my own. I didn’t know if I would get enough in support to pay the mortgage, much less be able to replace a furnace or air conditioning unit if necessary. How would I make repairs to the house and keep the yard and pool up? I worried about how we were going to pay off the pool and our other debts. I worried about whether or not the kids would be attending their current schools or I would have to uproot them once again and move in with my mom. While I was tasked with letting Rock Star and Picasso know that their parents were getting a divorce, he was off having another fuck-fest weekend with Harley the Whore.

I kept the house clean, went grocery shopping, made breakfast and dinner for my kids, chauffeured my daughter, and took care of the dogs and cats. I stayed involved in their schools and activities, and paid the bills and went on field trips with them, while I also worried about finding a job and what I was going to do, how I was going to find insurance once the divorce was final, and learning how to live on a whole lot less than we had been living on. There wasn’t time to be hurt. I was trying to survive.

Sure, there were moments when I wept. There were moments of sadness, like when I realized our house wouldn’t be decorated outside and hers would, because he had always done the outside decorations. He did nothing for us; everything was about her and her kids. Or when I felt sure I was going to be alone forever and he, a complete and total anti-social fuck up had someone new already. Or finding out how deep his betrayal had run- all the lies about the money being sent to his mom, phones being purchased for her, a joint bank account with the whore and the rest of his stock cashed in and given to her.

Him losing his job and forcing us to move was devastating, but I can’t say it was hurtful. It was yet another blow and another shit sundae I was forced to eat while he was off doing whatever the fuck he wanted. You know how that makes me feel? Angry!

Everything that has happened since June 10th, 2016 has enraged me. Forcing us out of our home, leaving me to be the one to tell our kids that we were going to have to move again, a mere two years later, having to sell off all of my belongings, moving in with my mom and sleeping on the couch, having to watch Rock Star cry as she realized she wouldn’t be getting her license on time, watching Rock Star struggle at school, working two jobs and still barely able to afford much of anything, stocking shelves at Target, getting up at 1:30, 2:30 and 3:30 in the morning to go to work, not being able to support myself, watching my kids suffer, wondering if he was going to get away with everything and not have to pay squat in support, hearing all the lies he and his family have spread about me, losing time with my kids, always being tired and feeling like a failure at this mom gig, learning about all the money those two nitwits spent while my kids and I lived like paupers. It was infuriating, but not hurtful.

The reality is, at least the second time around, I lost every bit of feeling I ever had for him the moment I discovered what he was up to. He didn’t hurt me; he disgusted me.

I have a visceral reaction to this idea that I write the things I do because I’m hurt. Nope. I write the things I do because I’m pissed off when I think about all the hell that asshole put me through. I write the things I do because I hope that someone who has just discovered a cheating spouse will come across my blog and read my story and not make the same stupid mistakes that I did. I hope they will see the futility in it and that they will do the sane thing and get the fuck out. I hope those that choose to stay will read my story and be able to discern the difference between being truly sorry and wanting to avoid any painful consequences. That when their spouse tries to blame them for the affair, or refuses to tell them the truth when asked for it, or when they want to avoid the topic of the affair, that they can say, “This is unacceptable. We’re doing it my way or you’re getting the fuck out because I’m not dealing with your shit.”

Hurt has never been a part of my story. I’ve been sad, I’ve been despondent and suicidal, and I’ve been angry, pissed, enraged… pick your adjective. This past year I’ve been hopeful and very, very happy. Yet I don’t think there will ever come a day when I just shrug at his antics. I don’t think I will ever get to the point where I am not pissed off about everything he put us through and everything he took from us. He changed the course of our lives; he changed our destinies and altered our futures. There is so much that he took, so much that he altered. I have hope for my kids that they will be able to forge a new future, despite what their father has chosen to do to them, and yet I still feel the very real pain of everything they’ve lost. This is not the life I would have chosen for them and I will always regret the things they missed out on, no matter how the future plays out. I do not hurt when I look at the ruins of our lives, but I do mourn.

10 thoughts on “Hurt

  1. I love this! My experience is different, as there is a fuck ton of hurt, also suicidal, but I absolutely love how you articulate your process. And hearing you write about that shitty, shitty period in the beginning, OMG, you are fucking MIGHTY AF!

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Yes, WE ARE MOVING FORWARD. Yea us.
    I hurt back then, a lot. But now I see I am in a much better place, her destructive, worrisome lifestyle is gone. Maybe it is semantics. The sadness you mention, I would call that hurt. He caused you to be sad. His actions damaged you and your quality of life.

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  3. We are all different Sam but I know in my case I had the towering rage – but it was acting as bodyguard for hurt. And absolutely nothing helped me with the rage until the hurt started healing. The only time he bothers me now is when he upsets my son. that hurts my heart too. I hurt because my boy is hurting – and rage is right there wanting to smash something to protect us both.

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    1. I wrote another post about this, explaining it a little bit better. It probably won’t get published for another week or so but I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring your comment. I think it all boils down to what I mean when I say he hurt me/didn’t hurt me.

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  4. It’s been two years since I’ve come back after discovering my husband of over 30 years had been hiding all of our savings. He had spent 10 months trying to convince me before the money issue.

    I still have many unanswered questions but he swears on his life no affair.

    We had two disastrous counselors and he won’t go back to counseling. We went to a family wedding out of town a few months ago. He was on his phone a lot that weekend. I was too though but mostly texting family members.

    On the drive home he got a text on his phone. I looked at it. It was a notification number or something like that for tinder. I wrote the number down to try and get on it later. I couldn’t. I waited until we stopped for lunch and showed him the thing from tinder. Of course he had No idea.

    Also, in January someone was trying to hack into my fb account. Fb sent me a number and I told them it wasn’t me. In April I just happened to go on my private settings and there was another number by mine. This was my private settings.

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  5. I wrote it down and deleted it from my settings. I called it later and got a voicemail and it was a woman from the church we left two years ago. I was stunned and didn’t leave a message. She is 10 years older than me.

    I waited until he was home and told him I needed to run down the street and grab something to finish dinner. I accidentally… lol. Took his phone.

    There was nothing on his phone with her name on. She also doesn’t have a fb unless it’s a fake one. I deleted all history. Checked twice to make sure it was gone. It was.

    Much later that night I told him that I had discovered a number under my private settings and it was someone from our former church. He said nothing for a couple minutes and then said…. Great- now I’m

    probably going to get blamed for something I didn’t do.

    Not surprise or… What on earth??? ( Did I mention he would sometimes take my iPod to work to read my messages). Maybe that’s what he was figuring. I should also mention that we didn’t ever even have her number written down.

    The next morning we were heading out early to order some things. We are remodeling. I got up and he was up but I didn’t know where. I picked up his cell on the counter to check the weather and this woman’s name came across the bottom in little blue letters. Like typed letters.

    I had never seen that on either phone. I stared at it for two minutes. I knew I wasn’t crazy! I went to check his messages and there was nothing on there. He came in the room and I told him what I saw.

    He asked me if I had been looking her up on his phone? I told him no. I also told him that for all the times I had looked up things on my phone and people on fb, that I had Never had that happen!! Of course he didn’t know why.

    We went on our way. About 2 one of our kids texted his phone to say they’d made it to work. We were sitting at a desk ordering still and he was talking. I picked it up and texted kid back.

    I hadn’t touched his phone since that morning. He hadn’t been on it all morning. I checked safari just curiously. The gmail app page was on. Almost like he had been on and forgot to delete that. There was no gmail address.

    I showed it to him and asked if he’d emailed realtors. He and I have one together. He says he doesn’t have a separate one.

    I had to wonder if he had emailed her and she emailed him back? I let that go.

    I called her 2 nights later. I told her that her that I found her number under my private fb settings. How did that happen? Of course she said she had no idea! I say BS. She proceeds to start griping about her adult handicapped son. He is able to live on his own and my two oldest grown sons used to pick him up for church!

    It was weird!! I didn’t stay on long. I just let her know I didn’t appreciate it.

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  6. He was in and out of the room while I was doing this. I swear I wondered if he had something with her. She is a completely different woman. Her husband is much older and is in an assisted living place.

    He has spent the last two years trying to show me how much he wants this marriage. I told him that if Zi find out it was true…. that Im gone! He also has a lot to lose financially . The email I log in with is an old one and I can’t get on anymore. Thanks for letting me vent!!

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