Damn You, Facebook!

I hope everyone reading my blog by now knows that I am completely over Jerry Lee. That shipped sailed the moment The Saint told me he had been spending his weekends with Harley while he lied to me and made up story after story. And I am probably somewhere in the 95-99% range of being over all the shit he put me through and the havoc he created. With that said Facebook can be a real meddlin’ bitch who stirs shit up!

If I let triggers rule my life I would have to be put into a coma somewhere around the beginning of May and be kept unconscious until the end of August. That’s pretty much when Jerry Lee pulled all his shit- both times! Much like my children have June and July birthdays which means I can pretty much always say, “They’re two years apart,” Jerry Lee was “kind enough” to make sure that both of my D-Days were in August. Four days apart! Except for the original D-Day which was not much of a D-Day because I was so stupid. That one happened in May- hence the medically induced coma beginning in May.

I looked on my Facebook memories and was treated to pictures of my kids and I on a “family” vacation in Destin with my mom, brother, sister-in-law, 2 nieces, and a nephew. I’m not triggered by the pictures of us on vacation so much as I am by what was going on behind the scenes.

See, poor Jerry Lee couldn’t come with us because he had to go on a “business trip” to Tennessee. That was the trip where his counselor and I both coached him on the arduous drive that he was unsure he was going to be able to make. We cheered him on and gave him all the atta-boys his little heart could handle. And then while the kids and I were in Destin Jerry Lee drove to Tennessee and met up with Harley. We’d been in Virginia one year exactly.

I look at those pictures and I see me and my kids enjoying our vacation, having a great time, with absolutely no idea what was ahead of us. We were carefree and happy. Approximately two weeks later I would find out my husband was a lying, cheating shit eating chimp, and about two weeks after that his kids would find out that the family they grew up with was no longer. In a 10 minute come-to-Jesus confessional they both found out not only had their father been spending his weekends hanging out with his new girlfriend in Kentucky but also his entire family knew about it and condoned it. His mother organized it and went on a date with them. It was to a funeral but still…

While the kids and I were on vacation, thinking that life was going on as normal, my husband was busy stabbing me in the back. I look at those pictures now and I think, “Oh my God! You were completely clueless.” And it makes me kind of sad.

Of course, this was also the trip where I spotted the Walmart purchase in Whoreville, otherwise known as Winchester, Kentucky. Looking back on it it’s quite insulting how stupid he thought I was. “D’oh, I gave my debit card to my mom so she could get a new tire for her minivan. That’s why that’s on there. I don’t know why it says Whoreville. She bought it in Lexington.”

Actually looking back it’s kind of insulting how stupid I allowed myself to be. In my defense I thought he was a whole lot smarter than that. Who in their right mind moves their family across the country, buys a brand new house, fills it with brand new furniture, buys their wife a brand new car, and agrees to install a brand new in-ground pool in the backyard which takes almost all of your stock options and requires a loan, and then turns around and cheats with the same damn whore you cheated with 2 years prior? Even more stupid than that, who in the hell buys the whore something from Walmart and uses their damn debit card when they know damn well that the other spouse can see the bank transactions and is checking on a regular basis because they’re on vacation with your kids? I do remember saying to myself, “He can’t be that stupid. He’s a smart man.” Not smart enough apparently.

God, he was such a shit. I remember being in Florida and him telling me the trip lasted longer than he expected. Then he told me that since he was already in Tennessee he was going to “try” to drive and see his mom. Would I be okay with that?

Would I be okay with him seeing his mom? Absolutely. I said as much. Something along the lines of, “She’s your mom. Of course I don’t have a problem with it. How could I say no to that?” Would I be okay with him fucking his cousin? No. I had no idea that to him they were one and the same. Okay with him continuing to slough off on our family vacation? Well then I must be okay with him fucking his cousin. And going to a goddamn family reunion that was set up knowing his wife and kids weren’t going to be there. It was probably their fucking engagement party knowing those inbred motherfuckers.

I don’t remember what set me off. All I remember is thinking that if he could spend money freely on his “mother” then I was no longer going to be keeping the purse strings closed for my kids. I took Rock Star on a very nice shopping spree. All the clothes she wanted. A Coach purse. Another Coach purse for me… after I had already bought a Kate Spade purse and wallet because the Coach purse I liked was a little too expensive. Oh you better believe I went back there a day or two later and bought the one I wanted. It was an outlet mall; it wasn’t that expensive. I bought for Picasso as well, but he had no interest in coming along.

I guess that seeing these memories pop up so close to my return trip to Utah has hit me in some way. I don’t want him back and while I freely admit I miss the lifestyle I used to have I can’t envision still being with him. The thought of being married to him and living life with him makes my skin crawl. I am 100% happier in this new life. Yet I look at those pictures and I can’t help but know that I thought I was happy and I was definitely a lot more innocent. I had no idea the hell that was about to be unleashed. I had no idea the changes and the hardships that were about to befall me. I was a sheltered, pampered stay at home mom with no financial worries and plenty of (maybe too much) time on my hands. Those pictures represent me before life kicked me in the throat. They’re a reminder of my old life, a life where I didn’t struggle and where I thought things were okay, maybe even mostly good. Those pictures are me and my kids before our lives were imploded and we were forced to change everything.

It’s not a bad life anymore. I’m not even sure I’m sad about it. It’s more like seeing a picture of a loved one shortly before they die. You look at that picture and you think to yourself, “I had no idea at the time that this would be the last time I saw them.” That’s what those pictures do to me. I look at the happy faces, the smiles, and I think, “That’s the last time my life was normal.” Approximately two weeks later I would join the ranks of women whose husbands had cheated on them and were planning on leaving for the other woman. I went from being a stay at home mom to being a working mom. I went from being a great mom to just being a mom. I went from living in my own home to living in my mom’s house. I went from no financial worries to worrying about money constantly. I went from being married for 20 years to being single. I went from living in Virginia to moving back to Indiana. I went from having furniture and dishes and towels to getting rid of probably 95% of everything I’d ever owned. Absolutely everything changed. Those pictures are the last pictures taken of me before I died, along with my old life.

Oh, don’t worry. Like the Phoenix I rose from the ashes. Maybe I’m even better than I was before. All that forged in fire shit. Not waiting for the storm to pass but learning to dance in the rain. I did that. I’m still standing. But that woman in those pictures? She’s gone forever.

Time Flies When You Forget Stuff

Today is August 10th.

As I’ve said before I work at a bank. I have to know what day it is all the time. I’ve got holds to place. Forms to fill out. Service requests to fulfill. These all require dates.

So, I knew when August rolled around. “Oh wow! I can’t believe it’s August already!” I got a little hung up on the 7th, 8th, and 9th. Kept mixing them up. Never sure if I was a day behind or a day ahead. Not a good thing to admit. But I have a calendar- a huge calendar- on my desk so it worked out okay. Then today, the 10th, rolls around. I’m not at work; I’m home, checking out Facebook while I cook breakfast. More specifically I’m looking back at my memories on Facebook.

The most recent memory? This little ditty: Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose. Oh crap! Today is D-Day #2, the D-Day that ended my marriage and completely changed the trajectory of my life. Our lives really, because that jackass deeply affected my children as well.

Another momentous occasion that I have forgotten. Had I not checked my memories on Facebook I doubt I would have made the connection.

It’s strange though because only six days ago I came across the memory of our pool finally being filled. There was a picture of Rock Star and Picasso shivering in the cold water, so happy our pool was finally finished. A few days later came the picture of the deck jets working. I’m quite familiar with that timeline and how my enjoyment was so short lived.

Yet, somehow this date completely slipped my mind. Sitting here typing this I feel nothing. I’m not happy. I’m not sad. I still feel like I haven’t made proper progress in four years but that has nothing to do with him.

Hey, come to think of it I forgot my three year anniversary of moving from Virginia to Indiana, as well. Wow- I’m losing it.

Or maybe the significance of all of those dates are simply losing their power over me. They don’t really mean anything anymore. I’d rather concentrate on dates like August 15th, which is the date my son begins his junior year. Or, August 13th which is the date Rock Star has to return for her sophomore year. Or May 23rd and 24th, which are the two anniversary days of the mobster coming into my life.

So fuck you, horrible anti-versary dates. You mean nothing to me anymore. I barely even recognize you. Four years ago today my life fell apart. I had no idea what was going to happen to me and to my children. Today, I am with the love of my life, my kids are doing well despite whatever hurdles are thrown our way, I have a job no matter how little it pays, and I no longer have to worry about a fuckwit and his whore. Tonight I am going out dancing with two of my friends from high school. We’re listening to a band that someone we know plays in. I’m going to have a few drinks, maybe enjoy some appetizers, and dance the night away. Even if I don’t dance I’ll be with friends. Maybe I’ll mention the date’s former significance to them. Maybe I won’t. It’s possible that between now and then I’ll have forgotten about it once again.

August 10th

It’s been three years since my life as I knew it was destroyed. Or, more specifically, it’s been three years today since I got the message from The Saint letting me know that my husband had not, in fact, been spending weekends with his dear sweet mommy, but rather was spending them with Harley.

I will admit the date has not clubbed me over the head like it did the first year. I actually had to keep track this time around. Oh hey, August 10th! That’s kinda significant. When is it again? I know, right after the 9th and right before the 11th, but I keep losing track of time.

Last year I brought a cake into work to celebrate my freedom. The date still had a place of prominence in my life; I didn’t have to think hard at all to remember it. It was front and center although I put a positive spin on it.

Maybe next year it will pass right on by without me noticing at all. It seems kinda strange to think that a date that has affected my life so greatly would pass by without a second glance from me but it seems that’s about where I am.

Has it really been three years? Wow! In that time I have started writing this blog, sold off what I could of my possessions and left the other 95% behind, moved out of my home, moved back to my old city, saw my house foreclosed on, started working full-time, met the mobster, was able to quit my second job, got my daughter through her last two years of high school, kicked the ex’s ass in court, and will soon be taking my daughter down to college. My life is still not where I would like it to be financially. I HATE depending upon CF for money. I’m still in a much better place than I was three years ago.

I think Janis Joplin had a point when she sang: Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose….

I emerged from my divorce with my two kids, my three dogs, and my car. Almost everything else was lost. I make a fraction of what I used to live on. But, I AM free. Free to start a new life. Free to make my own plans. Free to do what *I* want to do. Free of him and all his baggage, all his lies, all his shit. Free to finally be with someone who genuinely loves me.

I won’t thank him, but I am thankful that he left me. I would have never left; I would have stayed until the very end, convincing myself that life in the gilded cage was perfectly fine and all that I desired. So here’s to three years of freedom. Three years since I got my second chance at life. Now that is worth celebrating!

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.

Should Have

September 2015

I know this is a fruitless endeavor but I wanted to psychoanalyze my lying, cheating douchebag of an ex.

Here’s what I think.  He always sees himself as a victim. He doesn’t want to do anything difficult.  He is a coward of epic proportions.  That completely explains his behavior with his kids.  He gets to run off every weekend and hang out with kids that think he’s so wonderful because he’s putting on this big act and throwing money at them.  His own kids are pissed off and hate his guts right now.  Talk to Picasso or Rock Star?  They might say something mean to me!  That’s why he leaves shit in the mailbox for Rock Star instead of putting it on the island where he might encounter me and Picasso.  That’s why he didn’t call her back.  That’s why he only communicates with her through texting.  Hell, that’s why he couldn’t grow a pair and tell his fucking mother to stop communicating with his fucking whore when he was supposedly reconciling with me!  Wah- if I talk to her about this then that means I have to face the fact that I did a bad thing.  That makes me feel bad.  I don’t like feeling bad.  Let’s just move on and pretend this never happened.  Dammit, why can’t you just act like nothing happened?  Be friends with my mom and sister!  That makes life so much easier for ME!  That’s why he could never stand up for me and constantly threw me under the bus.  It was so much easier than taking a stand.  Fucking chicken shit!

He looks down on everyone else which is why the only people that really get along with him and think he’s fabulous are those who work under him.  With them he feels superior so he doesn’t have to be a know it all dickhead. He’s never had a boss that he likes; he only likes them once they are no longer his boss.  He thinks he’s always the smartest guy in the room and resents anyone being able to tell him what to do or thinking that they are actually, gasp, his boss!  He is surrounding himself with sycophants who tell him exactly what he wants to hear.  Oh, don’t you worry, honey, you deserve to fuck your cousin.  Your happiness is the only thing that matters.  Your wife was so mean to you.  She didn’t appreciate you.  Leave her!  You deserve so much more.

His whore is a complete downgrade.  She’s a manipulative, deceitful, gold digging whore.  She obviously doesn’t give a shit that she’s tearing apart a family, or that his kids hate him now and he may end up with absolutely no relationship with either of them.  I don’t believe she’s ever actually owned a home and she’s living in a dump right now. She’s been arrested at least 3 times.  She lies. She told Zack her husband had put her into bankruptcy three times because of his spending.  Turns out they declared once, when their business closed, and it’s her and her daughter who spend money like water. I suppose that explains her arrest for writing bad checks.  Seriously?  How many fucking bad checks do you need to write before they send your ass to jail?  She sends naked pictures to her neighbor.  She has cheated on her husband numerous times.  Zack is not her first rodeo.  And probably won’t be her last once she realizes he is not the money tree he is projecting himself to be.   She’s giving him all the ego stroking he desires.  He felt like he could never make me happy and we all know that he just can’t cope when things aren’t going his way.  But here is this gold digging whore and she tells him all the time how wonderful he is and how she loves him.  No, sweetie, she loves your money.  And once that’s gone, she will be, too. In the end I think he is able to feel superior to her.  He’s a knight in shining armor for her.  He comes in and saves the day and the poor little piece of white trash is oh so thankful for her sugar daddy who buys whatever she and her kids wants.  He was never my superior.  Ever.  He may have thought he was a time or two, but in the end he knew he wasn’t.  I was there when he lost his job and witnessed his humiliation.  I was there every time he lost his shit over some minor random crap.  He couldn’t be the big strong man because I already knew who and what he was.  With her he gets a redo.  And if he ends up living in a city three hours from her and only seeing her on the weekends, well that will be perfect because he can probably keep his act up a lot longer.

And what is with this bullshit of instantly falling in love with every fucking female you fuck?  I can understand falling in love with me. I’m awesome.  🙂  He was also single.  I was single.  There were no children involved.  No marriages to destroy.  Nobody got hurt when we got together and threw caution to the wind and married 7 months after meeting.  But this?  I already know that 2 years ago he had decided to leave me, was in love with her, and plotting to move all of us 2000 miles across the country for the dumb bitch after less than 2 weeks of her simply *telling* him how much she wanted to suck his dick.  I guess her trumped up sob stories gave him a stiffie. Now this time he’s gone even further.

I seriously believe he’s lost his damn mind.  Seriously.  How do you go from loving your wife of 20 years to fucking your cousin?  How do you decide almost overnight to start sending her thousands of dollars, sell off the rest of your stock, open up a checking account in her town, and start this new life with her and her kids when you’re still fucking married with 2 kids?  How do you do this when you’re still messing around with your wife twice a day?  I sometimes feel like he just made a preemptive strike.  Well, she’s not happy; I can never make her happy.  I know she’s going to leave me so I’m going to fuck my whore of a cousin and leave her first.

But you know what?  I’m going to be ok.  I’m going to be better than ok.  I should have left the first damn time.  I should have thrown all his damn clothes out the door and told the kids and divorced his lying, cheating ass the first time I discovered his lies.  I should have left when I discovered he was throwing me under the bus to everyone who would listen.  I should have left when I realized that he and the truth had stopped existing on the same plane.  I should have left when he resumed drinking.  I should have left when he refused to continue therapy.  So many bread crumbs that were showing me what was up but I hung in there.  I’m not a quitter!  I’m not going to be a statistic; I don’t want my kids growing up in a broken home.  I will never divorce if it’s up to me!  That’s me.  Loyal until the end.  Persevering even when I should have kicked his ass to the curb.

He won’t be able to keep this up.  His natural setting is misery and unhappiness.  He can keep up the act for a while, 6 months, maybe a year.  But eventually his true personality will come out.  Something will happen that will throw him off balance and once again he’ll be a simpering, whimpering mess.  She’ll find out he’s not much for helping out around the house, or watching kids, or having to help shoulder the load.  As my brother said about his potential move: That works out perfect for him.  He gets to be by himself all week, watching tv and talking to no one and then on the weekends he goes to see her and play the part of happy involved family man.

I think once we go to court and he realizes what he’s going to be paying in spousal support and child support and marital debt division he’s going to have a real awakening.  She might get a taste of the real Zack that very day.  Holy shit!  How am I going to do this?  I have to pay my future ex-wife anywhere between a large amount and an even larger amount per month.  I owe her money for her share of the stock I liquidated without her knowledge and I owe her even more for all the money I either gave to or spent on my whore and her kids.  She’s taking half of my 401k, and at the balance it was before I took out my loan, plus she gets half of my pension.  She’s putting me in charge of paying for the kids’ cell phones and their allowances.  I’ve got my whore’s cell phone and her daughter’s cell phone at $231.  I have a monthly payment for the loan I took out.  I have rent because she won’t let me live there anymore.  I need cable and I have to pay for utilities.

The second lawyer I talked to believes he will be assigned more than half of the marital debt.  He may be looking at a second job.  Good luck!  You still need to buy food, gas, Kodiak and wine. Just getting down to his home state each weekend runs him about $70 at least so $280 conservatively for the month.  He goes through 3-4 cans of Kodiak.  I think it might even be more than that.  …he goes through probably 3 boxes of wine at a minimum; those are $20 a pop so $60 easily on wine.  Per week.  If I am able to get the remainder of the amount of money we still need to pay for the pool and my car loan included in the marital debt he’s fucked! ….

He also doesn’t like being embarrassed.  Watch him go ballistic when his card is declined.  Oh, if that threw him off wait until he realizes everyone he works with knows he’s fucking his cousin.  I’ve been invited several times by his boss to attend church with them.  It would be a shame if I somehow let it slip that we were divorcing because of his affair with his cousin.  Oh, I thought you knew that with all of that time he was taking off.  Yeah, he’s been leaving every weekend to go play house with his cousin and her kids.  He has essentially abandoned his own kids.  He lives here in the house still because he refuses to move out but he hasn’t spoken face to face with his daughter since August and he’s had one conversation with his son where he was basically trying to defend his affair with his cousin.  Not to mention I have a friend who is very close to one of his co-workers and his wife.  She’s responsible for getting them together.  I wouldn’t be surprised if one day it just slips out inadvertently.  Ooops, sorry, I figured you knew!  Our pool contractor works with Zack’s boss’s best friend.  Oops, sorry, I thought you knew.  It’s a small town.  Zack may be popular with the people on the floor but I’m pretty sure that most everyone in the office thinks he’s a pompous ass.  Once they realize he’s fucking his cousin… or rather, once he realizes they know he’s cheating on his wife after moving his entire family across the country and fucking his cousin he will be mortified.  He whined and cried and begged me not to tell the kids the last time?  Oh, that’s nothing compared to when everyone realizes the great Zack X is fucking his whore of a cousin.

Facebook After Infidelity & Conversations With the Kids

I’m still waiting on the judge’s decision so nothing new from me right now. I have a lot of posts in my drafts section but they are all about things I don’t want to publish until after the divorce. Maybe I’ll loosen up a little as time goes by if I have to wait much longer. Strangely, I’m not really nervous. I’m expecting the worst and hoping for the best.

September 2015

Doing a bit better today.  I should probably stay off of Facebook for a while because all of these anniversary announcements make me sad.  For 2 years I wanted to be able to shout it out:  Happy Anniversary to the love of my life!  But he ruined that.  Every year when it rolled around I couldn’t do it.  I was hoping this year would be different.  I think that it probably would have been.  I was pretty much healed.  And now…. well, now it’s just over.  There won’t be a 21st anniversary.  Oh, technically we’ll be married 21 years at the time of our divorce.  But I won’t count it.  Not when he’s out fucking his whore.  And then you have the memories they share with you.  A year ago today I was talking about Picasso commenting on Zack playing football “back in the day”.  And 2 years ago I posted a meme about him having an awesome wife.  I wrote:  And he knows it, don’t you?  To which he replies:  I do.  Of course I do!  Just fucking heartbreaking stuff.

I took the kids out to dinner last night.  Rock Star tells me she’s terrified of her dad.  Why she’s not exactly sure but she is.  She’s afraid he’s going to hit me.  She wants to start up a hate page about the whore.  Tonight she said he wouldn’t care if they didn’t spend Father’s Day with him or not because he would be too busy with his other kids.  I find that sad.  I also find it extremely hypocritical.  He’s been so busy criticizing my one brother for walking away from his daughter and yet what does he do?  He’s planning on moving away to be with his whore and her kids.  She really hates him.

I did try to remind them of the good times they’ve had with him.  Unfortunately those good times are all clouded over now by his lies and his behavior.  Picasso said he didn’t recall his dad going to Disneyland with us.  And then he made a comment that he was probably all excited about it because he knew he was moving to our new state soon to be with his girlfriend.

He’s worried that I’m going to have to get a job.  He told me he likes having me here.  He’s not fond of his dad either.  I think with him it’s more of a disappointment.

They were giving me their list of requirements for a new dad, not that I’ll ever remarry.  Rock Star wants me to marry someone rich.  Picasso wants me to marry someone who will be involved because, as he puts it, “I’ve never had an involved dad.”  He was sad when I told him I wouldn’t ever remarry; that’s when he brought up the job.  I guess maybe he thinks that if I remarry I won’t have to go back to work.

Every day brings new questions.  My mom googled whether or not you could get a home loan using only spousal support.  The answer was yes but you had to show a divorce decree and have been receiving it consistently for a year.  So…. looks like I’m not going anywhere for over a year.  I may get lucky and be able to move into a rental place if it’s someone a friend of mine here knows.  Otherwise, I’m screwed with that as well!  So if his next company offers him a house buyout he may not be able to take it.  Take that, you bastard!

Every day brings new twinges of sadness, things you don’t always think about.  Yesterday I was driving somewhere, maybe to dinner, I suddenly thought to myself:  Our house isn’t going to be decorated for Christmas this year. At least not on the outside.  He always did that.  And then my next thought was:  Of course, I’m sure he’ll decorate hers.

I try to feel the feelings and then move on quickly because it doesn’t help to dwell.  Sometimes I am enraged when I think about all that he is taking away from us.  Then I tell myself:  You have a great opportunity to reinvent yourself and your life with your kids.  Create some new traditions.  You are no longer going to be brought down by his behavior and his moods.

More and more I’m realizing just how incredibly selfish and self centered he is, and always was.  It was always about him and the amazing thing is if you asked him he would tell you it was never about him.  No, it was always about him.  His moods, his wants, his needs, his peace, his quiet, his feelings.  Don’t talk while Dad is watching tv.  He doesn’t want to have to pause the damn television show.  Don’t tell him you’re mad.  Don’t tell him you’re sad.  Don’t tell him something doesn’t work. Hell, I told him I hated the fact that everyone in his damn family still kept in touch with his whore and his response was:  I can’t control what they do.  God forbid he do anything difficult!  I told my mom today that I was pretty close to being done when he bought that bourbon after his psychiatrist appointment.  And when he stopped therapy.  I know that aside from the money I am going to be so much better off without him.  Even if I never have another single date.  Even if I never fall in love again.

 

The Past, Present and Future

The four year anti-versary of finding out that CF was still fucking around with Harley after a summer of degrading myself to win him back was just the other day. Four long years. I should have showed him to the curb that very day. Instead I forgave him and tried to work through it. I moved 2000 miles across the country. I uprooted my kids lives to make him happy. And in the end none of it mattered because he started fucking around with the whore again. This time he left me. He left all of us.

You know what’s funny about it though? I don’t care. Just like the 2 year anniversary of my final D-Day didn’t affect me this year, the four year anniversary didn’t affect me either. It is what it is. I’m hoping that next year I won’t notice the dates at all. That’s not really likely though. I have a great memory. I can, however, let it roll off my back like water off a duck’s back.

My kids started back to school. Picasso began his freshman year of high school and Rock Star began her senior year. Wow!

Sixteen years ago we had moved to a new home in a new state. Rock Star was almost a year old. I saw signs for graduation open houses all over the neighborhood. I remember lamenting to CF, “That’s going to be Rock Star one day!” He told me that she wasn’t even one yet; we still had plenty of time.

Guess what? Time’s up. I’ve got 9 more months with her. She wants to go to college back west so I really will be losing her. 9 more months with this beautiful, funny, sweet, amazing girl of mine. Her dad is missing it all. He lost her 2 years ago. This spring those signs are going to be for her. We’ve got senior pictures scheduled. She’s taking the SAT again next weekend. I’m going to do my best to enjoy this time with her.

And…. CF sent me yet another check for his ridiculous $555.55. I emailed my lawyer the other day to let her know I was up to 5 checks. Now I’m up to 6. I asked her if there was any news about the show-cause hearing. I’m just waiting to hear that there is no point in having a separate hearing because it won’t happen until right before our divorce hearing.

On one hand it would save me money to not have to make yet another trip out there and to pay my lawyer for her time. On the other hand he is once again getting away with financial rape.

His lifestyle hasn’t changed at all while ours has changed tremendously. I’ve done the math. He brings home over $6000 a month. I’ve seen the bank records. She brings home $5000 a month. And she receives child support from her cheated on ex. I would imagine she probably receives around $1000/month for 4 kids. If he keeps sending me a check every week then he’s paying me $2200 a month. They live on approximately $10,000 a month. My kids and I live on less than $3500. That seems fair, don’t you think?

So, the options become take him back to court and spend money I don’t really have to try to make him pay when the judge seems reluctant to put him in jail and CF doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck about court orders. Or continue to let him flit about, living his same old lifestyle, blowing money on that fucking whore and kids that aren’t his, and letting him get away with not paying me.

I’ll admit it galls me. I hate that he’s suffering no consequences. His life is going on almost exactly as before. He’s got his new and improved wife and his new and improved (and expanded number of) kids. He’s got no bills except car insurance and a cell phone. She was perfectly able to pay all the household bills on her own before he came along. Which means the two fuckwits are living with an extra five grand each month to just spend on whatever.

Meanwhile, I’m working full-time for $11/hour. I bring home approximately $1400/month. I can’t take my kids to their doctor’s appointments. I missed Picasso’s middle school graduation. I still don’t have much time to get shit done because most of it needs to be done during the day and I’m at work. I can’t volunteer at their school.  All so I can go to work for basically slave wages. It sure as hell isn’t providing a nice lifestyle for us, and if I didn’t live with my mom I’d be living in a homeless shelter because it definitely isn’t enough to pay all my bills and pay rent and utilities.

I suppose that’s yet another rope I’ll have to learn to drop. He lives high on the hog and my kids and I live in poverty until I can finally find something that pays better.

I know it’s not very “meh” of me. The mobster likes to point out to me that I’m still tied very tightly to CF because of the money situation. Believe me I’d love to make enough that I could tell him to go shove it up his ass. But I don’t, and until the divorce is finalized I can’t seem to get a garnishment so he’s free to keep playing with me.

Anyway, on to the future and better things ahead, right?

Two Years Later

Normally I would do a Blast From the Past for Throwback Thursday, but this Thursday, August 10th, marks the two year anniversary of finding out my husband was a lying, cheating, cousin fucking, marital asset stealing dirtbag. I figured maybe I should write about that today.  You know why? Because I no longer care.

I bought a cake today to celebrate my freedom from that shit eating chimp. I took it into work and shared it with my co-workers who know my story. This time last year I was unhappy and fearful. I had lost my house; I had lost almost everything I had ever owned. I had moved out of state and back in with my mom. My kids were having to transition to new schools and I was having to look for a job and apply for Medicaid.  This time two years ago I was stressed, wondering what the hell was going on with my husband until the moment I received the message from Harley’s husband, letting me know that CF had been spending his weekends in Whoreville with the whore. The bottom dropped out of my world and I began making my way along this long and winding path. Today I ate cake. I celebrated the fact that I was free of him. I no longer have to listen to his sob stories. I no longer have to pretend I care about his every little problem. I won’t ever actually thank that cousin fucking sorry excuse for a human being, but I am thankful he cheated because I never would have left. And had I never left I probably never would have started this blog; I definitely never would have met the mobster.

I refuse to be held hostage to this date, year after year. Yeah, he cheated. He interrupted our lives. Hell, he entirely changed the course of them. But we are all still standing. He didn’t win. He lost, in fact. He lost his kids and took on four kids that already have a devoted dad, ones who talk shit about him behind his back. He lost a faithful, devoted wife and got a cheater instead. I’m doing my best to make sure he loses a lot of his money and that whatever income comes his way he has to pay a hefty share to me.

Me? I’m eating cake and celebrating the day I ended up being freed to live a far happier life.

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Gosh, Just Be Grateful He Picked You!

October 2014

I was reading one of my favorite infidelity websites. Is that an oxymoron or what? The topic was why does he stay? I’ve been honest that I still sometimes wonder if he stayed because of the kids. Hell, for all I know he called her and said, “Baby, I’m all yours!” and she said, “Uh, no thank you.” And that’s when he decided I wasn’t that bad after all. Now, he insists he knew he loved me June 13th when I confronted him. He can’t quite explain why he was such a dick to me then. And of course there’s that little mystery of why, if he knew he loved me and wanted me, he continued his affair with her. He doesn’t have an answer for that.

Anyway, a popular approach to this vexing question seems to be: What does it matter why he picked you? He chose you. Now you can begin to do the hard work of rebuilding your marriage.

Oh yea! That’s exactly what I want to do when I’m the second choice or the choice of convenience. I mean, I get why that advice is there. It sounds sound. Hahaha. I crack myself up. But does that really cut it for most of us? No, we want to know he stayed because he realized he had made a huge mistake and he is madly in love with us. I don’t want to deal with him pining away for her. I don’t want to know he’s constantly wondering, “What if…?” Again, I am probably a cut your nose off to spite your face kinda gal but I wouldn’t want my husband under those conditions. You either want me or you want your whore. If you want me it had better be because you love me and realize what you’re going to lose. If I find out later you’ve chosen me because you don’t want to miss out on your kids’ lives, or a divorce would be too expensive, or you don’t know if you can really bridge that long distance gap or she isn’t ready to leave her husband or, or, or… Then I don’t want you. This crap quickly gets hard and I’m not wading through shit for someone that’s not madly in love with me. I don’t care if the feelings eventually come back. I don’t care if he eventually realizes he’s in love and very happy. I don’t care if the end result is he’s happy and he knows I’m the one for him. He had better feel all that before I agree to work on this marriage with him because agreeing to do so with no guarantee that will happen is just not for me. As I said it’s hard work and I’m not willing to do it for some selfish ass that thinks he’s thrown away his only chance for happiness and is resigned to living a life of misery with me. Or willing to see if he can transform his misery with me into something bearable to withstand another 10 years or so of marriage.

Present Day Sam Says: Yet another lesson to share with you all. If the cheating spouse is trying to figure out which one to pick, is mooning over the other person, and has basically chosen you because it’s the honorable thing to do and their happiness no longer means anything, run. Seriously. Set them free. Cut them loose. It’s not worth it. Plus, you will always be blamed for any problems or unhappiness they are feeling.

In my situation I didn’t even get the ten years. It was less than two and he was out there fucking around with the exact same whore. I’ll give him this much. He played a good game. He was an excellent con man. I sometimes actually believed him when he said he had made a horrible mistake with her and that I was the one he really loved and wanted, and that he wanted his family.

Here we are not quite two and a half years later and he’s living with the whore. He walked out on all of us. He hasn’t set eyes on his kids in over a year. Yep, he really valued all of us.

So folks, if they’re not staying because they realize they have made a huge mistake and they’re willing to spend the rest of their lives making it up to you and they will withstand your anger and your sadness as long as it takes? Get rid of them. It will never be the marriage you deserve.

Having Information Will Only Hurt You & Other Bullshit They Try To Sell

October 2014

Although I have been drifting peacefully off to sleep imagining intercepting all their communications, and her naked pictures, so I would know exactly what all was said and promised… I have come to the conclusion that that probably would have not been best. I’ve been honest that I really had my head in the sand. There were signs. The two biggest being 1. He had his phone password protected and 2. The whore blocked me the day after he returned from the wedding. I considered spying. I really wanted to spy; I just wasn’t sure how to go about it. But looking back what would I have done? I was able to take a stand because I had had enough of the uncertainty over the course of the summer. If I intercepted their messages I would have known and I would have been forced into action earlier. I truly don’t know if I could have spent the summer silently stalking them, patiently compiling evidence against them I could use later. If I could hold it together it would have been fun. I’m not sure I could have held it together, though. Knowing all summer long and not being able to do anything about it? I think it would have killed me. I’m pretty sure I could have converted it into an extremely one sided divorce settlement under the threat of showing the kids all their text messages. And I could have blackmailed Harley into listening to me as I told her how I was going to make their life together a living Hell. Hang up on me one more time, bitch, and I’ll send your naked pictures to everyone you know. Plus, I just would have known. I’d know everything instead of bits and pieces. That would be sweet.

I know there are those who push the philosophy that if the answer to the question will hurt instead of heal you shouldn’t ask it and the cheating spouse shouldn’t answer. I say fuck that. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again (although I may have read it and stolen it). When your spouse has an affair and you’re trying to pick up the pieces and rebuild it’s like you’re looking at a puzzle. You, as the betrayed spouse, are only looking at parts of the puzzle. Your spouse and the OW know what the entire puzzle looks like. When he refuses to answer the questions he’s refusing to let you see the entire puzzle. I think those that push the “don’t ask/answer hurtful questions” are thinking of themselves. I don’t think they have a right to decide for another what they should know or not know. It’s all about protecting themselves and not having to deal with the fallout of their fuckup. It’s them saying they know the answer is going to hurt and there will probably be fallout and you’re just not worth having to trudge through all of that again. It’s them saying they don’t want to have to do anything that’s difficult. They want to focus on what you did wrong to make them cheat; they want to focus on correcting that so they don’t have to look at their behavior. And they want to focus on the future where they never again have to discuss their affair.

I get to decide for myself what is too much and I’d rather know everything so I’m not blindsided by his whore or some family member.

Present Day Sam Says: Sam doesn’t give a lot of advice because Sam feels like everyone needs to do what is right for themselves and she doesn’t know what she’s doing anyway. However, Sam will make an exception right here. 1. If your spouse has his/her phone glued to his/her side and it’s password protected he/she is having an affair! You can pretty much bet on it. 2. Don’t ever let them get away with insisting that telling you the truth will only hurt you. If you don’t want the information, fine. But if you do you have every right to every bitter, nasty detail. It’s the least you deserve. Keeping the truth from you is for their benefit, not yours. Do. Not. Let. Your. Spouse. Get. Away. With. This. Utter. Bullshit. You wanna know if he/she is truly remorseful? Does he/she answer your questions honestly or does he/she tell you that this would only cause you pain and you need to focus on the future and creating a better relationship? If it’s the latter they’re not one bit sorry. They are looking out for themselves. Don’t fool yourself. They don’t want to listen to you bitch. They don’t want to do the hard work. They want it to all go back to the way it was before they were discovered, back in the days when they could play you like a fool. If you want that information then insist upon it. Oh, sure, they’ll probably still lie but you can let them know you won’t be dropping it anytime soon and if you find out the facts on your own there will be hell to pay.