August and Anti-versaries

Holy moly! I can’t believe it’s August already. This year has been such a shit year. It seems like all we do is tick days, then weeks, then months off of the calendar, hoping against hope that our lives might return to something resembling normal. I’m not sure there’s anybody out there actually enjoying this year. Most are enduring. I know I am. Between checking off the weeks that I’ve been downtown and away from our regular spot, and weighing in on Fridays, hoping to see the scale go down, it’s been an entire year of getting from week to week.

Summer is always a little tricky for me. I do my best to not let Jerry Lee and his past behavior influence how I see an entire season but it can sometimes be difficult. I found out about his first affair Mother’s Day weekend in 2013. I spent the entire summer pick me dancing and holding my breath, not knowing whether or not our marriage would survive. All that culminated in me getting a message from The Saint the day of Rock Star’s birthday party.

It was August 14th, 2013. My stepfather had just died. I was in the middle of buying drinks and ice, picking up the big 6 foot sub from Walmart, grabbing cupcakes, picking up chips and cookies and candy, and getting things set up down at the reservoir for her party after gymnastics practice. It appeared out of nowhere: Did you get a good lawyer yet? That was the way I found out Jerry Lee was a bald faced liar and had been in communication with Harley the entire summer, despite swearing up and down he would end it with her.

Two years later the kids and I took off for Queen Bee’s graduation and then headed out to Utah for 2 weeks. Not long after we got back we took off to Florida. Jerry Lee couldn’t come with us because of a work obligation. While in Florida I saw a purchase made in Whore Town. That was also the summer of him wiring his “mom” money for groceries and buying “her” and his “stepdad” phones and paying their cell phone bill. Needless to say there was no work obligation and he wasn’t sending shit to his mom. It was all Harley.

August 10th, 2015 I got another message from The Saint: I thought you should know Jerry Lee has been spending his weekends in Whore Town with Harley. Just like that my entire life crumbled.

This summer has been interesting. It marks five years since my life as I knew it ended. I’m pretty okay with it this year. I forgot June 10th this year. That’s the day, four years ago, he informed me with a brief text message that he had lost his job and wouldn’t be sending me anymore money. Period. Nothing else to be said. Completely forgot the date this year.

I also didn’t notice the day, six years ago, that we moved into our new house in Virginia. Oh sure, I saw Facebook memories. There were pictures of us going to some of our favorite places one last time before we left. Pictures of us going out to lunch and dinner with friends. Pictures of me with people who were saying goodbye. Pictures of the moving truck the day they came to load everything up. But I forgot the day we moved in. Ironically, it was pretty much a year to the day that Jerry Lee was fucking Harley instead of going on vacation with his family. Good times, good times.

Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll even make the connection this year. I was in the shower this morning after my four mile run and I suddenly thought, “Oh shit! It’s August. Some serious bullshit went down this month in 2013 and 2015. I almost forgot about that.” That was the extent of my thoughts.

Earlier this year I was trying to remember a date. I was thinking to myself, “Was it the 10th or the 14th?” Then I suddenly realized it was neither of those two dates. Those were my D-Days! This thing I was thinking about was a good memory and it happened about a week later. Those dates were stuck in my head but I no longer associated them with trauma. Maybe this is what getting to Meh feels like. Maybe it’s a way to see that I’m healing. Whatever it is those dates don’t hold much significance anymore.

Wanna know something really funny? We’ll see if Jerry Lee is going to follow the court order this month. He gets paid on the 15th and the last day of the month. This month though the 15th falls on a Saturday. So I should be getting my first direct deposit from his company on August 14th- 7 years to the exact day since my first D-Day. That’s even better than all the times he ended up paying spousal support on our anniversary. Maybe another celebration cake will be in order.

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.

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.

2015 Wrap Up

December 2015

Apparently my dumbass didn’t go to work yesterday either.  Now I’m beginning to wonder if he brought the whore up to our current state with him for these four days and he’s leaving the car with her.  I don’t know why he would since she doesn’t know her way around.  Kind of bizarre to think she’d drive him to work and then take the car on home.  It’s tempting to have someone go ring the doorbell and see if he answers the door or if she does.  Anyway….

I’ve decided to do my 2015 wrap up today instead of waiting until tomorrow.

As you might imagine 2015 has SUCKED!  I am seriously wracking my brain to think of a year that has sucked more than this one.  I think my senior year of high school might be a close second but that actually occurred over two years.  And I was a hell of a lot younger and able to absorb the blows.

So let’s start at the beginning.  2015 began with my loving husband starting his downward spiral.  Lots of drinking.  Lots of crying.  Lots of “PTSD” symptoms.  Thank you, American Sniper.  You gave him a narrative.  He ended up hospitalized towards the end of the month due to some sort of a bug.  That was the infamous, “She was making fun of me when I was DYING!” episode, despite the fact that I had never done any such thing and had instead sat by his side and kissed his ass as usual.  Apparently I didn’t grovel well enough.

The following month he ramped up the crazy, with lots of texts to his manipulative sister and probably his jackass “best friend”, frequent visits from the pastor of a church we had attended ONE time, still much drinking and crying, and then SURPRISE!!!! let’s add in a visit to the psych ward after suicidal ideations.  I got to spend HOURS in an empty ER room with him (because they remove EVERYTHING from the room when a person is suicidal) while trying to coordinate care of my two kids who were at school at this time.  Then I would drive to the hospital every day for the two hours of visitation that were allowed each day.  I brought him magazines and books and gum; I advocated for him.  I called him each day.  MY family all came to visit while his family (with the exception of one sister) all called him from the comfort of their own homes.  Incidentally, his family all live a minimum of 4 hours closer to us than my family does.  My mother drove 13 hours to come see him- at his request!  Why?  Because my family was more of a family to him than his own.  Of course it was, asshole; that’s why when Harley reappeared you turned to your own morally bankrupt family.

He came home and there weren’t many changes made.  He continued to hang out upstairs in the bedroom.  Refused to hang out with us in any of the main areas of the house.  Hell, I can recall asking him if he wanted to sit out on the enclosed porch with me and he shook his head, telling me he felt more comfortable upstairs in the bedroom.

March and April there was more of the same.  The migraines started back up again in late March/early April.  That’s a fun 2 week period where he’s basically bed ridden with a succession of migraines.  I’m taking him to the doctor’s for medication, trying to keep everything quiet and calm for him so he can sleep.  Once those are finally done he continues to have breakdowns.  Like, need to leave the restaurant, crying in public, breakdowns.  All of which his kids think he faked for sympathy and to justify why he did what he ended up doing.

His best friend showed up in April.  I think this is probably the time my dear, traitorous MIL encouraged Harley to call and offer him a blow job.  Oh, I’m sorry- encouraged her to call him to “cheer him up” since he was “so sad”.

My own state of mind at this time was not good.  I was still trying to adjust to this move.  I cried a lot.  Hell, I even taped messages for my friends and family to be played for them after my body was found.  THAT’S how desperate I was at that point.  I even said I thought he was messing around with her again.  Of course, the money didn’t start disappearing until June but that doesn’t mean that it didn’t begin up again sooner.  It may have taken him a few weeks before he decided to support his whore.  I was beginning to give up on just about everything.  I had written I was done with decorating and I was going to cancel the pool.

But I persevered, something Cousinfucker couldn’t do.  I signed the contract; I kept decorating.  I continued to deal with all the shit he shoveled my way, putting up with his moods, his anxiety, his breakdowns.  I made his damn appointments for him and went along with him.  I STILL found instances of him throwing me under the bus and it would infuriate me.  Accusing me of only staying for the money.  Of never checking on him.  Of hating him.  Of me leaving him alone to cry in the bedroom.  Poor, poor sad sausage.  Get your story out there, baby.  Let everyone know how mistreated and abused you are.

May passed with construction on the pool finally beginning.  Probably one of the few bright spots in the year.  That’s also the month he brought up purchasing phones for his “mom and stepdad”.  So generous of him.

Most of June the kids and I were gone visiting family and friends.  He was definitely fucking around with Harley then.  And lying to my face about what he was doing. He opted out of celebrating Rock Star’s birthday with her because “he didn’t want to ruin it for her”.  Yeah, right.  June was a fairly decent month for me, though.  I was happy to see family and watch as Queen B graduated and be able to celebrate that with her.  I was happy to get back to my former state and see all of our friends, go to some of our favorite places like the reservoir and the varied restaurants we no longer got to frequent.  I stayed in pretty constant contact with my philandering asshole.  I sent text messages.  I occasionally called.  I would send pictures if I went shopping and was going to buy something.  Oh, he was so complimentary.  Telling me I looked so good, so sexy.  He’s such a liar.

We got back home right before July.  Again, he opted out of the birthday dinner for Picasso.  Nice.  I seem to recall a lot of sex, or at least messing around, before he decided he just didn’t think he could ever get it up again and he didn’t want me to try because he didn’t want confirmation of it.  Nicely done, Asshole!  I’m still not sure Harley was on board with you messing around with me twice a day, though.

Of course, he declined to go on our family vacation with us.  Too stressful.  And then he drove to his “business meeting” after being coached by me and his therapist (fucking asshole- him, not the therapist) and onward to his home state where he definitely hooked up with Harley and fucked the whore.  When we got back from Florida and he got back from Kentucky he had plainly changed.  I didn’t know what the hell was going on.  Then there was the added bonus that he suddenly began making trips, spreading his wings.  There was the funeral he refused to take his daughter to.  His trip to visit “Blockhead”.  All lies.  All continued while he spent the summer funneling thousands of dollars to that whore.

Finally, August arrives.  The pool is completed.  Six days later I’m told my husband is fucking Harley.  My world imploded.

I’ve spent the rest of the year taking care of my two kids, putting together evidence for my lawyer, being the responsible one while he acts like he’s single and child free.  I get the fun part of worrying about what the hell I’m going to do for money, what I’m going to do for insurance and how I’m going to afford it.  I get to worry about selling the house and fixing it up.  I get to worry about what I’m going to do with our 3 dogs and 3 cats.  I’m the one that gets to worry about trying to relocate and keep Rock Star where she is and then move once she graduates.  Basically, I get all the responsibilities and he gets to walk away and pretend like we never existed.  He gets a fresh start with no obligations, only a shiny little whore spreading her legs wide with four whining kids, blandly worshiping him so that he’ll buy them things.

I’m eager to put 2015 behind me but I fear 2016 won’t be much better.  My lawyer tells me he doesn’t think we’ll be done with the divorce until September or October, so most of the year will be spent trying to untangle our lives while not getting fucked up the ass by him.  He pulled the wool over my lawyer’s eyes this go round.  While he will be charged rent if he continues to live at the house it’s nothing compared to what he would have to pay once he’s out on his own.  $750 flat.  It’s doubtful he would be able to find that on his own.  My family is taking bets on whether or not he will move out.  My mom thinks he’s going to amp up his efforts to try to find a job closer to Harley.  My lawyer had damn well better be accurate when he says he will have already established a level of income once this order goes into action.  I would hate to see him quit his job before he gets this year’s bonus and then he gets out of paying me.  Wouldn’t put it past him though.

You know, it gets tricky, though, because Harley is expecting a certain standard of living.  If he quits his job and takes something that pays less that won’t bode well for his relationship with her.  Same thing with going to jail.  That will put a damper on the relationship.

Present Day Sam Says: Yeah, 2016 was no picnic either. I started off okay. Then I found out in February that CF quit his job and moved in with the whore. I still find it amazing that he drove 2 hours each way to work. I rebounded. And then got knocked down yet again when he texted me to let me know he had lost his job and wouldn’t be sending me anymore money. We were faced with the choice of trying to stay put and probably being evicted midway through Rock Star’s junior year, or biting the bullet and moving right then. I sold off whatever I could and left behind most of my possessions and moved 600 miles away, in with my mom.  I ran out of money.  I began working at Target, going in at 4 in the morning. A month later I got a second job at Kohl’s because my first job didn’t pay enough. I cried pretty much every day. My life was nothing more than working, sleeping and trying to get my kids where they needed to be. No joy. No hope.

The holidays sucked. Worst holiday season ever. I had to go in at midnight on Friday after Thanksgiving. I went in at 3 or 4 (probably 3) on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day was my first day off in 21 days.

My kids were forced to start all over. My son took to life in Indiana right away- had a great group of friends, liked his school (at least at first), liked living with his Nana. My daughter hated it here; I’m pretty sure she still does. The one bright spot in her life for months was her job. Gradually she spread her wings- first by getting on the winter cheer team, and then going out for track and loving it.

The one bright spot for me that year was getting hired on full time at the bank. It wasn’t going to pay me much but it was a full time job finally. I wouldn’t start until 2017 but I still counted it as one good thing that happened to me in 2016.

Now it’s almost 2 years later and things are a lot different. You’ll have to wait until later in the month before I finish my wrap up for 2017.

 

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.

20170810_073636

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda

September 2014

Last month I posted about the differences between reality and what I sometimes feel I should have done. I know how I handled it. I was pissed but pretty calm, I think. I demanded that he end it. Honestly, I didn’t think he would and I was prepared to start divorce proceedings. I figured I wouldn’t come back from my home state. He must have thought that, too, because he told me he planned on driving out there to come get me.

But I wonder what would have happened if after confronting him and him admitting to loving her and wanting a future with her I had said: Fine. Call her up and let her know you’re free to be with her. Don’t bother coming home tonight. I’ll tell the kids you’re on a business trip and tomorrow I’ll tell them we’re getting divorced because you’re in love with someone else and you want to marry her. I’ll take my car to the airport on Friday morning and while I’m in my home state I’ll figure out what I’m going to do about all of our stuff and how to get it out there to us. CLICK.

Would the end result have been the same with the only difference being I wouldn’t feel like such a doormat? Would he have jumped at the opportunity to be with her? Would he have too much pride to fight for me after I told him I was leaving? Would it have sent him into a panic? Would he have, in fact, driven to my home state to come get us?

I could ramp this little fantasy up. He panics. He realizes he’s about to lose everything for some fantasy whore that he really doesn’t want if it means losing us. He calls her and ends it. He calls his mom in a panic, crying that I’m leaving him because he’s been having an affair with Harley and I found out. Maybe even texts his dear sister with the news. Of course, she’s no help. She’s good at helping people leave marriages but she’s at a loss on how to rebuild one. The news is spreading back in his home state like wildfire. She’s leaving Zack! He had an affair with Harley! I come home after the party and find him there. I ask him why he’s here and he tells me he won’t leave. I say fine and go into the bedroom to pack. I tell both of the kids to pack a bag. When he tries to interfere I ask him if he wants to tell them now. They are frantic now, wanting to know what’s going on. Of course he doesn’t want to say anything but I calmly tell them that he’s in love with someone else and wants to marry her so we will be getting a divorce. We probably won’t be coming back from my home state and we’ll probably be moving in with Nana.

Ok, honestly, I don’t see the part involving my kids happening. The last thing I wanted to do that day was ruin the memory of her party. I remember thinking that this would be her last good memory before her world came crashing down. I would hate to throw the discovery of her father’s affair and the fact that she was going to lose all of her friends and teammates basically overnight on her that night after having such a great day.

So, if he came home against my wishes I would probably have just ignored him, told him to go talk to his future wife. Hey, it’s all out in the open now. Call her. Text her. You’re free to be together now without all the hiding. Maybe he would have been begging me to talk to him, to reconsider. Maybe he would have told me he ended it right after he got off the phone with me. Maybe he’d be begging me for a second chance.

I’d like to think the outcome would remain the same. Eventually I would agree to work on this marriage and to not run off to My home state and file for divorce. We’d make up. I’d forgive him. He’d answer my questions. The only difference is one of pride.

Can it be said that a person is too rational, too calm, too focused on the goal of keeping the marriage together? Or is that a good thing? I sometimes wish I had made him grovel more. I wish I had been more hot-headed, less rational.

I know he went through hell (well, let’s face it- his own version because hell is finding out your partner’s been cheating on you) even without me tearing him apart. I know he thought I wasn’t coming back and he was prepared to come get me. I don’t know why he thought that because as I’ve said many times I never told him I was filing for divorce. I never said I wasn’t coming back. I know he was frantic in October when I found those Facebook messages and I told him I wasn’t coming home after I dropped off our son and dinner. I know it hurt him to see me cry.

In the end what’s done is done. Regardless of what actions I took or what actions I wish I had taken it is in the past. He banished her. He chose me. We are still together. Despite my last few entries we are happy. God willing we will celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary in 30 years and wondering if I want to acknowledge our 20th won’t even be a blip on the radar.

Clarity. Yes, at our 50th anniversary celebration this will all be so far in the past. If you look at our marriage, our life together, as one long winding road then this will be a huge pothole along said road, but only a pothole nonetheless. There will be beautiful waterfalls, and canopies of trees, and plenty of beautiful flowers and wildlife along the way as well. There will be hills and sharp turns and straight stretches and rough patches. There will be mountains and red rocks and countryside scenery and congested cities. Rivers and oceans and streams. And sometimes it may just be barren land that goes on for miles like I-80 through Nebraska or I-57 through Illinois. But those desolate drives always take you where you want to go. You have to look at the entire road and not concentrate on the potholes, the flat tires, the rough patches.

So, I may just go ahead and celebrate our 20th anniversary. In a big way. Hell ya we made it. We may not have made it perfectly. But who does? I won’t let some whore define us. I won’t let some whore take away our happiness and prevent us from celebrating a huge milestone. We may not have made a huge fuss in the past but nothing prevents us from adjusting and learning and applying what we’ve learned to the future. We’re not condemned to be stuck in the past. We can celebrate our marriage and make it a priority, even if we didn’t in the past. If we were miserable and just hobbling along then there might be cause to ask, “Why celebrate?” But we’re not. We’re good. We’re better than we’ve been in years.

I think that’s the point of the quote I wrote about. You can keep dwelling on the past but that won’t help. In fact, it usually does damage. But if you resolve to make a better future and you do exactly that it doesn’t matter what happened in the past. If you focus on the future, and the future is happy, then there is no reason to confront the unhappy past over and over. Or to put it another way: You can choose to concentrate on the past and be unhappy. Or you can choose to concentrate on the future and be happy. I choose to be happy.

Present Day Sam Says:  I should have left his ass back then. I should have done exactly what I wrote about- told him it was over and I wanted a divorce. I wouldn’t have disrupted my kids lives. I wouldn’t have bought a new house. I wouldn’t have moved half way across the country for that disordered nitwit. I would be done with him by now. I would have been supported by all of my friends. I would have had a support network. But no! I had to fight for the damn relationship! I had to give him a choice!

The biggest irony is that I didn’t want to cause a scene for Rock Star that day back in 2013 after her birthday party and yet in 2015 I ended up telling her and her brother about our impending divorce right after a pool party she had at our house with her cheer teammates.

I think the saddest part of reading this, aside from the excuses I would make for the asshole, is how I had hope.  I was so busy putting a positive spin on all of this and convincing myself that the worst was behind me.  Oh, Sam, if you only knew how bad it was going to get in a few months.  I should have kicked his ass out after I found out about him and Harley the first time, even if it wasn’t a physical affair (and I do doubt that at times).  I should never have agreed to move across the country and disrupt my kids’ lives.  I should have told him the kids were settled and I didn’t want to go.  I made so many mistakes.  All I can do is do better from here on out.

As I Was Saying…

The other day I posted this meme:

1cgrwg

Cheaters are very good at spreading this narrative. I’m sure Cousinfucker has a ton of reasons that he began fucking his cousin, and I’m equally sure that all of them revolve around things I either did or didn’t do.

I recall how in the days following my first discovery I sent a message to Harley’s husband and told him not to worry because CF had deleted all the naked pictures of her off of his phone. Oh, that brought such distress to poor CF! He begged me to leave them alone, to let them work on their own issues while we did the same.

Seriously? Yes, see the problem wasn’t so much that The Saint’s whore of a wife had been sending another man naked pictures. No, the problem was me letting him know his whore of a wife had been sending another man naked pictures.

Likewise, the real problem wasn’t so much that Cousinfucker had had an affair with Harley. The real problem was that I couldn’t forgive and forget (forget being the key word). I wrote about it. Sometimes I still felt hurt and angry about what had transpired. I wasn’t able to dismiss her completely from my mind. CF making plans to marry another woman wasn’t the problem. The problem was me continuing to collect her FB profile pictures. The problem wasn’t CF planning on taking her with him to get a tattoo and her getting a tattoo of her own to symbolize their great enduring love; no, again, the problem was how I responded to that news. I didn’t focus on the future. The problem wasn’t that his family wouldn’t cut Harley out of their lives; the problem was that I wasn’t willing to overlook that slight. It hurt me and I refused to pretend that it didn’t. Bad me! Here’s my virtual hand slap. The problem wasn’t that he moved us across the country and systematically dismantled our lives; the problem was that I was unhappy about having my life systematically dismantled. The problem wasn’t his drinking or that he once again secluded himself in the bedroom; oh gosh no! The problem was that I wasn’t upstairs sitting next to him, checking on him frequently, ignoring our kids, and making him the center of my universe.

And the second time around? Oh, the problem wasn’t that CF was lying to me while he funneled money to Harley all summer. And it wasn’t that he was fucking her, or had cashed in the rest of his stock, or was interviewing for a job in her state. No! Silly people, the real problem was that I stole his money! I dared to take the money that was in our savings, most of which was earmarked to pay off the pool, and put it into an account where he couldn’t hand it over to Harley. The problem wasn’t that he was fucking Harley; the real problem was that I had the audacity to tell the kids he was having an affair. According to him, this could still be civil and I wasn’t playing along. Now that was a problem! The problem wasn’t that he was having an affair and taking off every weekend to be with the whore; the problem was that I no longer cooked for him! The problem wasn’t that Harley posted on FB about how much she was missing my husband in her bed; the problem was that Rock Star saw it and went ballistic. The problem had nothing to do with his affair; the problem was that I wouldn’t play ball anymore. I didn’t cook for him, or do his laundry, and I had no interest whatsoever in speaking to him.

Similarly, the reformed cheater that I once blogged about was appalled at the thought of his mistress letting his wife know about their affair. He also maintained that if she had been married and it had been her husband that had told his wife he would have made his life miserable, possibly even suing him. I’m wondering on what grounds? Is douchebag a protected class?

Your Honor, I wish to sue this man for slander.

Okay. Briefly described what happened.

He told my wife that I was having an affair with his wife!

And that was a lie?

Oh no! It was the truth. But I didn’t want her to know! Now she’s divorcing me and I wasn’t ready for that. He must pay! Telling the truth has had disastrous consequences for me.

Again, it’s not so much actively participating in adultery that is the bad thing. No! Telling the betrayed partner the truth is the bad thing. He didn’t think that the mistress was such a bad person when she was helping him betray his wife and fucking him. She was only bad when she told his wife the truth.

Here’s another one from a poster over on Chump Lady:

When I told my STBX that I would tell the OW’s husband he said that I would be ruining their family and that they are good people.

Yep! Thankfully, that woman let her husband know that she wasn’t ruining a damn thing. He and his whore ruined their families when they began screwing around. But that’s how they think. It’s not what I’m doing. It’s how you’re reacting to it.

Another beauty:

On DDay when I said OW’s husband deserved to be told, X said in a raging and threatening tone, “You would ruin a dying man’s last year by telling him?

Turns out this poor man was suffering from terminal cancer. This betrayed wife found her backbone and replied, “I am not the one screwing his wife.” But according to this disordered wing nut the affair is not the source of pain; it’s the fact that someone might actually tell him about the affair.

Hmmm… I suppose technically he would be correct. Currently, the duped terminally ill man has no idea his wife is such a treacherous whore. The argument must be that what we don’t know won’t hurt us.

Unfortunately I know from personal experience that not knowing does in fact hurt us. We end up feeling even more stupid when we realize that we’ve been cheated on and we bought all of the cheater’s lies. It still stings when I realize I so easily bought all of his bullshit.

You know who else ends up getting hurt even though they don’t know about the affair? The woman who ends up losing her baby thanks to an STD her husband gave her due to an affair, the man who has to paternity test his kids, the woman who winds up with cervical cancer because her husband passed along the HPV virus he contracted from his AP, any of the people who find out they now have an STD when they’ve remained faithful, the man who pays alimony to his cheating wife and loses time with his kids, the woman who finds out her husband has drained their kids’ college funds and refinanced the house to pay for his affairs.

Or this one:

One of the things my husband said to me when I was shell shocked and trying to figure out who this person I trusted with my life really was, “I don’t want the girls to think I am a liar and a cheater.”

From her husband’s mistress:

I don’t want people to think I am a home wrecker.

It was the second affair with a married man that the wife knew about.

Oh, it’s an image problem! No, jackass, you really are a liar and a cheater. And whore, you are a home wrecker. You sleep with married men for sport.

You might be amazed at the number of cheating spouses who tell their partners that they are willing to forgive them for being so angry and for any actions that they might have taken upon finding out about the cheating. That is the pinnacle of, “It’s not what I’ve done; it’s how you reacted to it.” These delusional assholes actually think they are in a position to forgive someone.

And of course you always see the fallout with the kids. How dare you tell the children the truth about what I’ve done? You’ll turn them against me! It will be all. your. fault. that I don’t have a relationship with my kids. Some even go so far as to threaten parental alienation if a parent dares to speak the truth.

CF had a unique twist on this one. The first time around when I told him I wanted him to tell the kids what he had done he cried and begged me not to make him tell. He was at least honest when he said they would never look at him the same way ever again. Hey, he was looking out for his own best interests and he wasn’t shy about admitting it.

The second time around he admitted it but it was full of caveats. Your mom and I weren’t happy; we hadn’t been happy ever since we had kids. We grew apart. Your mom never loved me. Your mom took all of my money. Your mom has a lawyer and I don’t. Your mom never took care of me.

Sure… he cheated but he had very valid reasons for being a lying, cheating sonofabitch! Strangely, all of those reasons were my fault. Funny how that works, huh?

I don’t think this is necessarily limited to cheaters, though. I’m sure abusers don’t want the truth out there. Addicts, selfish and/or entitled people, narcissists… They all expect to have their secrets kept. Just sit there and keep your mouth shut. They’ll write the narrative and let everyone know what they think they should know. There’s no need for you to get involved and start telling “your version” of the truth.

I’m sure that Cousinfucker and most everyone in his family are united in their belief that I shouldn’t have told the kids he was having an affair. One of the last conversations I had with Tammy Faye occurred when they came to our house. She made mention of the fact that I had told the kids about his EA with Harley. I quickly set her straight and let her know that while I thought he should tell the kids he begged me to not make him do so. I acquiesced.

Jezebel’s kids were much younger than mine were when she had her affair with Husband #2. I’m not sure her oldest son knows even today that the reason his parents divorced was because his mom left his dad for their pastor. Their attitude seems to be that there is no reason for the kids to know the truth.

Of course not! We wouldn’t want to ruin that illusion any of them have going on.

Tell your story. Don’t let these fuckups control the narrative. The problem IS what they’ve done; it is NOT your reaction to it. As Anne Lamott says…

1cgk98

Three For the Road

Okay, these aren’t really for the road; however, they are all fairly short so I decided to consolidate them into one entry.

Blast From the Past 48

June 2014

Yesterday marked the one year anniversary of my husband lying his ass off and assuring me he had had no contact with his whore. It was also the day he told me he didn’t know if he loved me. He cared about me and he appreciated the fact that I was a good mom who kept the kids active and involved. But he didn’t know if he still loved me. It was the day he told me he wanted everything to go back to the way it was before he left for his home state- me doing my thing, him doing his. Of course, my things were the kids, PTA, and Bunko and his things, or rather, his thing, was sexting his whore. And, just to end on a nicer note it was also the day I told him I wasn’t giving up on us, that I thought we could make it through this and be happier than ever. Didn’t know what all I was getting through but I was correct.

Present Day Sam Says: And, just to end on a nicer note it was also the day I told him I wasn’t giving up on us, that I thought we could make it through this and be happier than ever. Oh Sam, you were so unbelievably naive. That’s such a sweet sentiment and yet sadly, it was lost upon him. You were pledging to fight for him and your marriage and he was sexting with a whore, looking at you like you were the dumbest fool he had ever encountered.

Blast From the Past 49

June 2014

How’s this for irony? I bought my house from a woman named Harley. It was a couple, not just a woman, but in the end I’m living in Harley’s old house.

Present Day Sam Says: And now I’m living in my mother’s house!

Blast From the Past 50

June 2014

One more for today. I got through Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. Well, today is Father’s Day and we’re here and he’s there, but I did get him a gift from me and the kids. He opened it yesterday.

On Mother’s Day we were supposed to go to The Cheesecake Factory but it was packed so we ended up going to a Mexican restaurant. It was much better the first time we went, but we got right in and ate so there’s that. Zack sent me flowers and my daughter gave me a gift. My son made a gift for me and then forgot to give it to me. It was a pretty low key day.

The important part is I got through them both, despite the fact that a year ago my husband shit on them both. A year ago, right before Mother’s Day he was telling everyone he was in love with his skank; he wanted to marry her. Then, he partially confessed to an affair the day before Mother’s Day, making sure to downplay what was going on so as to protect his whore. It was just texting. She was one of many (or maybe 3). All lies to cover his ass and protect his whore. A year ago he was neck deep into his affair with the whore by Father’s Day. A few days prior to Father’s Day he was telling me he didn’t know if he loved me and tacitly threatening divorce if I wouldn’t just go back to the way things were. Me doing my thing and him doing Harley.

And now here we are and he’s insisting his life is with me. He loves me. He wants to experience everything with me. I’m so pretty. I’m so sexy. I’m his world. He doesn’t know why I chose him and why I continue to love him; I’m so great and he’s nothing. He worries he will lose me. He worries I won’t move out there with him. He misses me like crazy. I’m such a great mom and he doesn’t know how I do everything I do.

I suppose we’ll see. I’m still buying myself something amazing on August 14th.

Present Day Sam Says: What a lying piece of shit he turned out to be! I had no idea he was such an amazing actor. I really should have bought myself something spectacular on that date.

One Year

According to the clocks I’m looking at it is now 12:09 a.m. on August 10th. One year ago at this time I was sleeping fitfully. My husband was down in his home state at the funeral that never seemed to end.  You know, the one where he refused to take his kids with him so they could see their grandparents.  The one where he said he was going to drive down on a Thursday and return Friday after the funeral. Only on Friday he texted and told me the funeral was on Saturday. And then on Sunday he told me he wasn’t going to start driving home until after 8 because he “wanted to challenge himself” and see if he could do it. Because of all that anxiety he was experiencing. Then he texted me around 11:30 at night to tell me he had found his mom’s keys in his briefcase and had to turn around so he’d start home in the morning. And then mysteriously he didn’t make it home until after 5 that evening.

One year ago, in about, oh, twenty hours or so, I would receive a text message from Harley’s husband and my world would come crumbling down. I still remember where I was sitting when that notification popped up on my phone. “BTW, CF’s been spending his weekends in Whore Town with Harley.” I still remember standing outside on my porch, talking to The Saint, him filling me in on all that had been going on, all the lies CF had been feeding me, and me telling him I didn’t know what I was going to do because we had just bought this house a year ago, had bought new furniture and a new car less than a year ago, and had just completed construction on an inground pool; it had been filled for six days.

Today, one year later, I am back in my old house. It is almost bare. I have sold most of the furniture. Our living room used to be comfortable and cozy. We had a nice big sectional with powered recliners, a coffee table that lifted up so you could use it as a table if you wanted to eat and watch TV, a granite topped desk, a TV stand and a 46” TV. There were pictures and plaques up. I had several end tables and a beautiful sofa table that I used to showcase my monthly decorations. It was warm and inviting and it was home. Right now I’m sitting on the couch that used to reside in our formal living room and resting my feet on the coffee table. The sectional and sofa table were sold before we moved to a lovely couple that are using them in their lake home. I wasn’t going to sell the sofa table but they really loved it and he was persistent so I caved. The matching end table was sold to someone else, also before we left. The desk in our living room is gone; it’s now sitting in Picasso’s new room 600 miles away. I also took the TV with me and sold the stand yesterday. The pictures are all down and are in storage at my mom’s. The plaques, signs and decorations were sold. The other rooms are equally bare.  My house is simply a shell now.

One year has passed and I have already moved my kids another 600 miles and in with my mom. I’ve registered both kids for school. I will begin looking for a job when I return home. I have Back to School Night for both new schools in my phone.

One year has passed and by God I’m still standing! I didn’t lay down and die. No, I made breakfast and paid bills and ran my kids around. I made dinner, listened to their stories and what was important to them, and took care of 3 dogs and 3 cats, as well. I did laundry and washed dishes and cleaned house. I went on field trips and watched cheerleading competitions and gymnastics meets. I cheered my girl on at States and encouraged my boy to try marching band. I wished them good luck as they went off trick-or-treating, I made sure we spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with family, and I filled those Easter baskets. Even when I found out CF had resigned from his job of 15 years and moved out of the state to work side by side with Blockhead and to be closer to Harley I carried on. I didn’t get Rock Star through all four years of high school here but I got her through this year. She got to cheer; she got to compete one more year in gymnastics. Hell, she even got to castrate a calf! For his part, Picasso got to release trout back into the wild. So fuck you, CF and Harley! You didn’t break me. I have my low moments and with your recent antics there have been a lot of those low moments, but you know what? I ALWAYS get back up!

We came back so I could clean up the house a bit, run some errands I didn’t get to run before we left, and grab a few items that were forgotten. I also figured that as long as we were here I might as well try to sell some more furniture. I thought I would have plenty of leisure time but I have stayed pretty busy. Yesterday and the night before I was cleaning. You would think what with the house being nearly vacant it would be a breeze to clean. It is not. I’m not even doing deep cleaning; I’m scrubbing sinks and toilets and then sweeping and vacuuming floors. I’ve also wiped down counters, dusted a little bit, put dishes away, and reloaded the dishwasher. Plus, being the slightly anal retentive person I can sometimes be I have brought in most of the stuff we were selling at the yard sale that had been sitting in the garage and have put it away. It feels like it has taken forever! Some of you may be wondering why on earth I’m cleaning but I don’t want to give CF any ammunition to use against me. We left in total chaos, it felt like, and there was no time to pick up. I didn’t want to be accused of leaving the house a total mess so here I am! On the plus side though I’ve decided I am not shampooing carpets. He can do it himself or pay someone to do it. I’m tired and I’m done with the cleaning.

Today I will be mainly running various errands and crossing my fingers that my prospective buyers actually show up like they are supposed to. I have a textbook of Rock Star’s that I need to return to her school, or rather her former school. I need to pick up their records from their doctor which I forgot to do before I left. I’m making a run to Goodwill to drop off a few boxes of things. I need to take CF’s mail down to the post office and see if they can forward it to him (it was supposed to be forwarded so I’m not sure why it’s coming to this address). I also get to mow the yard which I’m very excited about. If I have time I’m going to try to pick up the outside area.

Fortunately, one of the things I won’t be doing today, on the one year anti-versary of D-Day #2 is going to court. I wanted to come back to do the things I cited above but the primary reason behind it was because I thought I would have to be in court. CF is still going to try to get his support obligations modified or suspended, but his attorney will be filing a separate motion for that and will just agree to everything in my attorney’s motion. I’m fairly certain I will be back. He doesn’t want to have to pay me anything and I want him to so it seems we’re at an impasse.

I was fortunate enough to get to go to lunch with one friend yesterday and today I have plans to go to dinner with another friend. We didn’t get to meet up before I left so I’m really glad we’re getting this chance.

All in all I suppose it’s not a bad way to observe the one year anti-versary of the total destruction of your old life. I’m good with dates so it’s not like it would simply pass with no absolutely notice. I’m trying to keep it low key and just acknowledge it like it’s any other date.  Hopefully next year at this time I won’t even realize what this day is. But for this year, even though I do know what day it is I’m doing okay.

The Whole Sad Story, Part 2

I think this part of the story, though the most devastating, will probably be the shortest.

He was having more and more difficulty dealing with every day life.  He would retreat to our bedroom and not interact with any of us unless we went to the bedroom to see him.  He talked about his “anxiety” quite often, including how much he hated driving.  He said even making the short drive to work was taxing on him.  He told me he didn’t think he could go on vacation with us; it was too far from home and he needed to stay close by.

As luck would have it, the same week that the kids and I left to go on vacation he supposedly had a business trip about 6 hours away.  Stupid me with all my pluckiness helped coach my darling husband through this upcoming drive.  I was right there, cheering him on, telling him how fabulous he was and how he could do this!  Great news- he made it!  He was able to get in his car and drive.   Bad news… spoiler alert… he fucked a whore.

While on vacation I found out he had sent his mom yet another $500.  He had been sending his mom money all summer long, helping her out with groceries.  It was a little frustrating to see that he had sent a huge chunk while we were on vacation but I let it go.  The day he was supposed to return home I checked on him to ask him when he was leaving.  “Oh, I have to stay an extra day.  They couldn’t get the machine to work.”  He later told me since he was so close to his mom’s he was going to go see her, especially since he had just regained his new driving skills.  “Are you mad?” he asked me.  I assured him I wasn’t and told him it was his mom and how could I say no.  In retrospect, let me count the ways!  Then I discovered a debit payment from a store in the whore’s town.  I immediately asked him why there was a charge to Whore Town.  He had no idea!  He had given his mom his card information so she could make a purchase before he got into town but she had gone to a different city.  He had no idea why it showed up as Whore Town.  Does anybody see the red flags here?  Yes, I was an absolute idiot.  I guess when you want to believe something badly enough you’ll excuse away almost anything.

He seemed a little distant once he came back home but he explained it away by saying he was having some bad days and wanted to shield me from them.  For my part I told him that I was his wife and we were a team and I wanted to be there for him.  We would work through all of this together and it was going to get better.  I told him how proud I was of him for being able to make the drive; that was such a huge step!  The plucky heroine kept insisting she was going to love him through this!  Things were going to get better!  You can drive again!  Now we’ll just tackle that social anxiety and the PTSD and we’ll be on the road to happily ever after!

About ten days after he got back he found out a cousin of his had died.  Now keep in mind this cousin is about ten-fifteen  years older and he hadn’t seen him much, if at all, in twenty years.  Nonetheless, he was determined to go to the funeral.  When I told him our daughter wanted to go with him so she could see her grandparents he immediately vetoed that idea, saying that it was no place for her to be and she didn’t need to see that.  He tells me the funeral is on Friday so he’ll leave Thursday and come back on Friday after the funeral.  Short visit, right?

Oh no!  I ask him on Friday if he’s still coming home and he proceeds to tell me how they’ve switched the day of the funeral.  He swears up and down that they told him it was one day at one time and now they’re saying it’s the next day, at a completely different time.  So he’ll be staying until Sunday.  Then Sunday comes and I ask him if he’s leaving so he’ll get home before it’s dark.  No!  He wants a new challenge so he’s going to drive home when it’s dark to see if he can do that!  I then get a text message around 11:30 telling me that he had his mom’s keys in his briefcase and he had to turn around and take them back to her so he’ll leave the next day.  He finally gets home around 5:30 the next evening.  Again, anyone else seeing the incredibly huge red flags?

Here’s another one for you.  His sister posts a picture of the two of them together.  Once again the whore is liking his picture.  To make matters even worse the whore’s sister mentions how she saw him at “the family reunion” and it had been years since she’d seen him.  I’m thinking, “What reunion?”  Darling husband never mentioned a family reunion.  She had seen him at this family reunion?  Maybe she was talking about a reunion 20 plus years ago and that damn auto correct changed ‘had’ to ‘has’.  It HAS been years since I’ve seen him.  And to add to my paranoia there was yet another charge in Whore Town.

My gut was screaming at me the entire time he was gone.  I walked around like a zombie, telling myself that I was overreacting.  I told myself that I was just hypersensitive because of what had happened before.  “He loves you!  He wouldn’t do this to you again!  You just moved here!” I told myself.  I barely ate.  At one point I went down to my daughter’s room to see if she wanted to get something to eat and she told me she was terrified that her dad and I were going to get divorced.  When I asked her why she thought that she told me it was because her dad hadn’t shown any emotion lately and I wasn’t acting like myself.

I got a message from her husband the evening that my husband got back home.  He told me that my husband had been spending the last two weekends with the whore in Whore Town and he thought I should know.  With that the bottom dropped out of my world.  I held it together though.  I asked him if they were still married and he told me my husband was paying for their divorce.  He gave me his number and we talked for about 30 minutes.

I found out that he had been giving her money all summer long.  All that “grocery money” was actually going to his whore.  Wow- now all of a sudden it makes sense why he didn’t want to send a check.  Those charges to the store in Whore Town were purchases for her.  My husband was making pancakes for her kids, throwing money at them, promising to buy them a dog, promising to buy her oldest child a car.  His MOM was the one who encouraged her to call him and make contact since he was “so sad”.  Yes, encourage his former mistress to call him and cheer him up.  That sounds like a great plan.  What could possibly go wrong?  That family reunion?  That happened the first weekend he went to go see his mom.  Yes, pretty much a year to the day that our furniture was being delivered to our new house my darling husband was fucking his whore of a cousin.  The funeral?  Oh, his mother and his whore went with him.  I’m so glad he had lots of support.  I was also told that according to the whore I knew about their affair and I didn’t care.  I think my favorite part has to be the story she tells about how he would have dumped me the last time but he couldn’t “liquidate his assets” quickly enough.  Those were both things she had told her husband to rub salt in the wound.

I later found out that the phones he had purchased for his mom and stepdad weren’t for them at all. Yes, he laid that trap quite nicely.  As his mother’s birthday approached he told me he was thinking of buying her and his stepdad new phones and putting them on his plan since they only had pay as you go phones.  When a letter came in from his phone carrier letting him know he had been approved for new phones he explained that away by saying it was for his mom and stepdad.  What a good son!  It turns out he instead bought new phones for his mistress and her daughter when her husband took them off of his plan.  He’s currently paying their phone bill on his corporate card.  Again, so many things make sense now.  When he kept making reference to getting phones for his parents I asked him why he didn’t just put them on my account.  Oh, he got a discount through his work which made it more practical to go with this other provider.  Incidentally, my cell phone carrier is much less expensive- probably $100 less expensive. Nothing but the most expensive for the whore and her kid, I suppose!  I’ve also since learned that he has indeed put a deposit down on the damn dog and his whore is wearing a diamond ring.

When I dug a little deeper I discovered withdrawals from our savings account, withdrawals that occurred throughout the summer.  My husband *never* takes money out, and if he ever does it’s certainly not the maximum withdrawal amount.

He got back home on Monday, I found out he was cheating on me later that night.  On Tuesday I called around to make an appointment for a consultation and on Wednesday I met with the first lawyer to see what my options were. On Thursday I sent him a text asking him when he was planning on going to see his best friend.  Oops, he was already on his way.  He thought he had told me and he was going to say goodbye but I was gone so long he didn’t have a chance.  Mmm hmm. This turned out to be an exciting weekend.

I confirmed with her husband that my darling husband was planning on spending the weekend with her and I had him tailed to her house. Even got pictures for my lawyer.  I also found out he had cashed in the last bit of his stock and had it wired overnight.  Now that was strange because there wasn’t a deposit in OUR account. Oh, lightbulb moment- he’s got a secret, separate account.  The coup de grace though must have been when I was told he was interviewing for a job about thirty minutes away from her, which obviously meant in another state.

This whole entire time he is playing it off like he’s at his friend’s house.  He had problems with his debit card and I offered to drive it to him. Actually, what happened was I knew he had a separate account at this time and he had just received a new debit card in the mail.  I asked him if his had expired and when he said no I put on my thinking cap and said, “This must have been a mistake!  I’ll call the bank and see what’s up!”  When I later went to the bank I used his new debit card to see if there was a separate account.  Turns out once the new card was activated the old card was useless.  He had tried to buy gas and his card was declined and confiscated.  Oops!  He was pissed.  I tried to soothe things over and that’s when I offered to drive to Best Friend’s House with the new card.  Oh no!  I’m good.  I’ve got cash and I’ll use my credit card.  He actually had the audacity to try to get me to send him naked pictures!

He got back early Monday morning (like 3 am) and I met with my lawyer on Tuesday and signed the papers to set the divorce in motion.  I didn’t figure I could wait any longer.  Who knows what the hell he would do in the next few weeks?

This is the best part though.  Everyone I’ve ever told this story to has looked at me like, “WTF?”  A few have even said exactly that.  We had a large amount of money in the checking and savings accounts for the pool we had just put in.  Our contractor hadn’t been paid yet.  When my darling husband wasn’t home by 1 am after I had discovered the stock transfer and the job interview earlier in the weekend I figured I really couldn’t wait any longer to protect myself and the kids.  He had given her thousands of dollars over the summer and I didn’t want to give him the chance to take all that money and run.  As I was driving to sign the papers at my lawyer’s office he asked me if I had paid the pool off yet.  I replied that I hadn’t.  He then goes on to ask me why I transferred all the money out of the accounts, to which I replied, “Because you’re fucking the whore and giving her money.  I figured I needed to protect myself and my kids.”  Without missing a beat he says, “Ok, I understand then.”  About thirty minutes later he sends me another text.  I swear this is true; I couldn’t make this up if I tried.  He says:  Where are you?  Are we still having spaghetti for dinner or do I need to make something?

The End