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.


That Time Sam Was Ready To Throw In the Towel

April 2015

My darling daughter crashed my car into the garage door on Friday.  Fortunately Zack was able to fix it.  He spent the weekend mostly in bed. And then today the dog knocked the trashcan over in the bedroom and I found 2 vodka bottles in there.  One probably didn’t have much in it to begin with but I’m pretty sure the Moscato flavored vodka was almost completely full.  So I’m getting pissed.

Honestly?  I don’t know how much more of this I can take.  I’ve dealt with his damn anxiety and depression for over 20 years.  I’ve dealt with his drama of thinking everything is a disaster, and his reluctance to help with the kids and be a partner to me.  For quite a few years now.  I’ve dealt with having to go to family events and family holidays without him; I’ve dealt with going on vacation without him because he wanted no part of it.  I’ve dealt with having no couples friends pretty much since OB.  I’ve dealt with low key holidays and him napping and everything else.  I’ve taken him to the ER every time he gets sick and I’ve dealt with and survived his affair with Harley, all the while he’s lying to me and humiliating me.  I’ve moved my ass from my home state to State #2 down to State #3 and back to State #2 before moving across the country to State #4 and then back across to State #5, all in the name of his career.  I’ve dealt with him being locked up in a psych ward.  I’m dealing with all the PTSD shit now.  But I’m not sure I can add on him becoming an alcoholic to my list.

I didn’t even spend that much time with him this weekend.  He slept most of the weekend.  Every time I went upstairs to check on him he was asleep.  I went out to grab some lunch from McCallister’s around 2 and he was up but when I came home he grabbed his food and went back upstairs.  I’m exhausted and I’m not even dealing with him. He has an appointment on June 2nd with a psychiatrist and I’ve got an appointment with my doctor tomorrow morning to be put on anti-depressants.  I hope to God it helps. I’m also trying to get him in to see a new therapist that does EMDR therapy.  At least that’s what Google is telling me.  I can end up calling and finding out she doesn’t do that after all. But I can at least try.  Like I said, I’m exhausted.  I don’t know what else to do.  I keep thinking I should call our pool contractor and cancel the pool because I don’t know what’s going on in our lives.  I try to be happy.  I try to look for the positives.  But then I’ve got all of this going on.  And I hate to shake up my kids’ lives yet again. So I guess I’m dedicated to making this work and doing everything I can to help him get better.

I’ll tell you, though, some days I wish that little bitch had gotten her way and he had left me for her.  I’d love to watch her deal with him, especially with the added guilt of what he had done to me and to his kids.  I don’t know why all this has bubbled to the surface lately.  I have my suspicions.  I am willing to believe it could possibly be because he finally got what he wanted in regards to work, and now if he’s not happy, well… where does he go from there?  It’s one of those what do you do when you’ve achieved the dream you’ve set for yourself situations?  Or, there is a slight chance I suppose that he’s leading a double life and the stress is killing him, but I give that about a 1-2% chance.  See?  I’m evolving!  More than likely the guilt and stress of him cheating on me and then moving us across the country (the man does not deal well with change) was already doing a number on him and then when Blockhead told him about my other FB page he completely lost it.  He was an anxiety ridden mess for a while but it’s gotten really bad over the last few months.

In other words, I have managed to send my husband to the psych ward.  I have damaged him perhaps beyond repair.  Is that fair?  I mean, I’m already dealing with this shit and trying to repair a a marriage and focus on the fucking future all the while I still have questions and my in-laws are fawning all over her, and now I’m supposed to stuff all of that deep down inside because it bothers my husband to know that I’m not totally, 100% over everything that went down.

I was thinking about this the other day.  As I’ve said before I have tons of time to think since I have no life here.  Here’s what I want to know (or at least some of what I want to know):  I want to know who made the first overtly sexual move.  I know he told her she looked fantastic.  I know she whined about her marriage.  I want to know who started the fucking affair.  Who made the first move?  Who took it from friendly conversation to soul mates destined to be together forever?  Was it her with her, “I can envision a future with you” remark?  Did he say something before that?  I don’t know, because he won’t answer my questions.  Or he conveniently forgets.  I want to know how he was planning on having a future with her but wasn’t going to leave me.  How was that possible?  What was he telling her?  What were they planning?  How much thought did they put into their little plan?  Did he tell R he wanted the Whoreville plant before he got involved with Harley, or did he tell him that once they decided he would move closer to her?  I want to know what the hell happened the day I confronted him.  I want to know why she sent that text message that made it sound like she was the one calling it off.  I want to know why on earth he was more concerned with her feelings than with mine, if indeed the truth was she sent it to save face or to prove to her husband that she ended things. What I want is to be able to go back in time and have him text her that it’s over, that his wife knows and she’s told him she’s done playing these games and that he needs to pick because she deserves to be happy too.  And then I want him to dig the knife in deeper and tell her that he’s chosen me, that he loves me and he’s always loved me and when he realized that he could lose me he also realized how much he loved me and wanted to make our marriage work. Finally, he would follow it up with:  It’s over.  I won’t be contacting you anymore and I want you to leave me alone as well.  My wife is my only focus now.  You were a terrible mistake and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to my wife.  Ok, ok, ok.  I know that’s pouring it on a little thick but that’s what I’d like.  I’m being honest.  No matter what he may have said to her in their conversation, when she texted him with all of her drivel he still chose to let her have that instead of slapping her down hard and thinking about me.  I want to know why in the hell she and her husband seemed to be divorcing right when we were buying a house in Whoreville, their target city.  I want to know why she was liking Tammy Faye’s post that talked about having a handsome son.  I want to know why in the hell that bitch was liking Tammy Faye’s post where she asked for prayers for Zack.  Those are some pretty damn big coincidences and I no longer believe in those.  I thought it was a quirky coincidence when she blocked me right after I had her picture up in our house.  Turned out it wasn’t a coincidence at all.  They were still having an affair and my husband told her about the pictures. And speaking of those pictures… I want to know exactly what was said about the pictures.  Did she ask if I was suspicious?  Did you tell her you thought maybe I suspected something?  How did that conversation go down because it’s pretty damn apparent to me now that she blocked me on purpose to let me know she was still messing around with you.  So what was said?  I’d love to know.

I could play this game all night and well, all year, really.  Hell, maybe the cunt is even more devious than I ever imagined and she knew full well that I had that other page and could use it to watch her.  Maybe she deliberately staged it so that when we bought our house she closed everything down so I would be suspicious.  Maybe she did the same for the other posts where the bitch shouldn’t have been liking anything having to do with them.  I think it’s rather elaborate but I wouldn’t completely put it past her either.

Oh well, I need to go.  I’ve got a lunch date with my husband tomorrow and I think I might eat a burrito before picking up Rock Star.  Tons of excitement here!

Present Day Sam Says: He probably was fooling around with the whore at this point. Little did I know when I said, “I sometimes wish that little bitch had gotten her way and he had left me for her,” that she was getting her way and he was planning his exit into her loving whore-y arms right then and there!

I find it interesting, too, that I decided drinking was the final nail in the coffin. I had already put up with so much but I wasn’t going to deal with an alcoholic as well. Would I have left if there was no infidelity but he continued with his drinking? I’d like to think I would have but I don’t know. This was April and I continued to spin straw into gold in my quest to keep this marriage alive. I think I might have stayed until the very end, although I was finally getting fed up with everything.

In the end it was good that he left. I don’t think I ever would have and he was killing all of us slowly. He’s still killing all of us; he’s just doing it a lot more quickly now!

The Beginning of Sam’s Own Downward Spiral

February 2015

Came home from a dentist appointment to find the pastor here. And yet another text message to Jezebel where he tells her I hate him. She called the pastor for him. It looks like once again he can either have a relationship with her or one with me. He’s incapable of doing both. And he’s so messed up right now I can’t even tell him how hurt and angry I am.

I’m done. I’m done decorating. I’m done with any thoughts of a pool. I’m done with life. I’m done with any hope he’ll get better and we’ll actually have some sort of family life. I’m done dreaming and planning. I’m just waiting for death.

Present Day Sam Says: Yep, he did it. He pretty much began breaking me right around this time. I just remember feeling so helpless and defeated.

February 2015

I wrote this the other day: I think they’re in contact again. She’s no longer in The Saint’s list of contacts once again and my MIL asked for prayers for my husband and Harley liked it. Why on earth would she be liking anything having to do with my husband at this point?

He knows about my other page and is convinced I hate him and haven’t forgiven him. So it wouldn’t surprise me to find out he’s reached out to her. Maybe this was the plan the entire time. Maybe they never lost contact.

He’s been hospitalized. I’m crossing my fingers that insurance pays for this because otherwise we’ll be paying for it for the rest of our lives. And I’m sure anyone reading this would say: What a bitch! She’s worrying about money and her husband is in the hospital. Yeah, well, guess what? ONE of us has to take care of it and that person is usually me. So, yes, I will worry. I will worry for the both of us so he doesn’t have to.

I’ve had to talk to Jezebel. I’ve been talking to his mom. She says he told her I’ve never said I forgive him. I’m so tired of all of this.

And I’d like to send a big old thanks out to Blockhead for telling him about my page because I’m fairly certain that’s what has sent him on his downward spiral. You just couldn’t wait to report on everything you found, but now where are you? Are you here taking care of him? Will you be paying his hospital bill? I didn’t tell him any of that because I knew he couldn’t handle it. I’ve lived with him for 20 years. He wants to bury his head in the sand and pretend like everything is great. And before you run away with that and tell him, “She said everything is shit!” by pretending everything is great I mean he doesn’t want to have to deal with any insecurities I may have, any triggers that may occur. He lied to me. He cheated on me. He told someone else he loved her. He was planning on marrying her. You don’t get to say, “Okay, I’m done with all of that now. You can trust me.” And have that happen overnight.

I can’t even ask him about her because of his state of mind. But I think he reached out to her and she’s reaching back. No, that’s putting it too mildly. I think they’re fucking around again. I don’t think I was ever his first choice. I think he called her and told her I knew and when she asked him what they were going to do I think he told her he was going to divorce me so they could be together. Then I think he texted me and told me he didn’t want to lose any of us so I wouldn’t leave and take the kids. Remember, I already had plane tickets because my stepdad had just died. He was buying time. And then I think she got cold feet and called it off. He then spent his time trying to turn me into her. Well, honey, if she’s the one you want then go get her.

Present Day Sam Says:  I have no idea when they reconnected.  I have no idea when Tammy Faye suggested that Harley contact him.  I don’t know why I suspected they were back in contact; I have no proof either way.  Things were just so bad at this point.  I can’t explain why I believed they were back in contact; I just did. No, actually I think it was because of Harley liking Tammy Faye’s post asking for prayers. I think it’s quite possible that this is the point in time that they reconnected at his mother’s urging.

You want to know the worst part? No one could contact him without a code. I was the one who had that code and gave it out. That means I gave his mother the code so she could contact him and she more than likely turned around and gave it to Harley so that Harley could call my husband while he was in the psych ward. Nice!

A Bunch of Posts With No Pictures

Sorry, I’m still not ready to post pictures of my life quite yet. There are quite a few references to pictures here that don’t exist. Actually, they exist; I’m just not showing them.

July 2014

This is the new corridor that opened a little over a year ago. I have spent many hours driving up and down it when I have been upset.

Present Day Sam Says: Obviously there was a picture here of the new corridor.

July 2014

Ok, this is just a weird, makes you wonder, kinda thing. I got a friend request from someone I don’t know. I’m not quite sure how I know she knows my SIL. It’s apparent now, of course, because once you have a name and then see it around you say, “Oh, that’s where she’s from!” But here’s the weird thing. I said I wasn’t sure how I knew in the beginning they were friends. That would be because I’m not friends with my SIL so she wouldn’t have shown up as a mutual friend. And that takes a lot of possibilities as to why she sent a request to me off the table. A person who regularly makes a friend request based off of a friend’s friends list? Not possible. I’m not on the list and haven’t been for almost a year. Accidentally hit my name when she was intending to hit someone else’s? Again, not possible because my name’s not on the list. Hell, maybe she’s friends with the whore, too. Although this page is open to the public (mostly) and so much juicier than my regular page. She wouldn’t need to stalk me on that to give anyone information. This one gives plenty.

So I’m left wondering how on earth she ever thought to make a friend request. I’m just not visible. At least not through my SIL.

August 2014

Not the best picture, but this is where he would go on weekends so he could text his whore. I thought he was just drinking coffee. Thank God I never asked if he wanted to me join him. I’m sure the answer would have been no (lots of important texting and exchanging of the “I love you’s” and planning for their future and my presence would have cramped their style) and I would have been mortified once I found out the truth.

Present Day Sam Says: Again, there was a picture here but I’m not going to show it.

August 2014

Always new fun things. We think there is something wrong with the A/C. He was in major panic attack mode Tuesday evening and Wednesday morning. Good times. Oh, Harley, look what you missed out on. I’m telling you she never would have been able to handle it. She thought she was getting good times. She was the answer to his prayers and he to hers. Oh, honey…

Don’t get me wrong. I love him. I’ve been doing this for 20 years. But I was under no illusions that I had found my soul mate, my one true love, my very best friend and together we would ride off into the sunset and never have a moments unhappiness. She was, and she would have been bitterly disappointed.

Present Day Sam Says: Yeah, the clues were here all along. Already falling apart and we had been in our new house only a few weeks at this point. Things were only going to get worse.

I should have let her have him before we ever moved.

August 2014

The new car my husband bought me. I’m loving it!

Present Day Sam Says: Guess who gets to make the car payment now? And with no  spousal support either!

A Conversation With Rock Star

“Mom, do YOU think he’s crazy?”

I pause, giving great thought to this question my daughter has just asked.  She has already freely said she believes her dad is legitimately crazy.  She’s not a psychiatrist though so I’m not sure how much stock to put into her diagnosis.  After weighing my words carefully I give her my answer.

“No, I don’t think he’s crazy.  I think he’s living in a fantasy world.  I don’t know for certain where he’s working but I do know his big dream was to work side by side with his best friend.  He once told me he should have taken the job at Best Friend’s plant when Best Friend tried to get him to come work with him and that was one of his biggest regrets.  If I had to bet I would place money on the fact that Best Friend managed to get him a job at his company and they are now working together.  So he thinks he has his dream job and he thinks he has his dream woman.”

She turns up her nose at that comment.  I can’t say that I blame her.  But he does. I don’t tell her this part but he thinks that Harley and her performance are the real thing.  She loves him for who he is and she would never be with him for the money.  Oh no!  That was the evil, awful Sam who stuck around for the money.  Harley is going to be the perfect mate.  She’ll text him every time she takes a shit and let him know all about it.  She’ll tell him how handsome he is and coo over every little thing he does.  Best of all, every weekend it’s nonstop sex!

Here’s the thing.  I’m sure that for a period of time, maybe even a decent period of time, this will play out just fine.  He will live far enough away from her that he can’t live with her, thereby giving him four days to decompress and do whatever he wants.  Then for 3 days (2 1/2 if we want to be technical) he puts on his Dad of the Year/Companion of the Year mask and is all smiles and grand gestures.  When things start to bother him it’s time to return back to his home where he can chill in front of the television, drink some wine, and not have to deal with anyone.  He doesn’t have to help her get kids to activities.  He doesn’t have to help with homework.  He doesn’t have any of the daily grind you have when you actually live with someone day after day.  But eventually the newness will wear off.  It’s also quite possible that he will find out sooner, rather than later, that the love of his life is cheating on him.  Ouch! Again, not things I say out loud to her.

I do go on to tell her that I think eventually his perfect fantasy life is going to implode.  His best friend has switched companies quite a few times and I don’t see them staying at the same company, together, for another fifteen to twenty years.  I also don’t see Cousinfucker taking it too well when and if Best Friend becomes his boss.  I also don’t see Best Friend taking it too well if the situation was reversed.  I think they have this vision of what life is going to be like, them working together, and I don’t think reality is going to play out anywhere close to this dream of theirs.  They are two alpha males and I see them either clashing with one another, or them trying to take down their boss, which probably won’t go over well with him.  Even if my theory that he’s working with Best Friend is incorrect and he’s actually working somewhere completely different the same rules apply.  He will love it at first and then when he doesn’t get to dictate every single thing he’s going to begin pouting and decide he hates it.  Only now he’s stuck.

What I say to her in summation is that once the newness of his relationship wears off and he realizes what kind of a person Harley is, and once he realizes that working with Best Friend isn’t the dream he believes it will be, I think he is going to look back at everything he has given up- his wife of over 20 years, his two kids, a job that he’s held for more than 15 years, and he’s going to realize how severely he has screwed himself.

At this point in my “journey” I’m not sure if I’d rather see that day arrive and smirk knowingly, gleeful at his misery, or if I would prefer to truly not give a damn and just be able to shake my head and say, “Sucks to be you.”  Only time will tell, I suppose.

Is My New Lawyer Psychic?

I saw another lawyer last week.  I liked her and I decided to switch.  I have many reasons for making the switch but key among them would be communication and the fact that I think my previous attorney botched my case.  Not an all out, Oh my God, I’m ruined, kinda botched.  But he definitely did not do me any favors or get me the best deal possible.

First interesting moment of the conversation with her was when she told me that everything in the court order is modifiable.  And there is a lot I’d like to see modified.  The funny part though is due to Cousinfucker quitting his job and leaving the state I now have a material change in circumstances.  Of course, I can be granted anything by the court but it doesn’t mean shit if he’s going to defy the court order or believes he’s untouchable because he’s out of state.  He probably thought he was going to screw me by getting everything excluded from his annual salary except his base pay and then turning around and getting a new job with a potentially higher base pay, even if the bonuses aren’t as good.  He thought he would screw me by promising half of his bonus check and to pay off the pool with that money and then leaving his job and doing neither of those two things.  Turns out the joke’s on him because with him taking this new job I can now go back and ask to have support re-evaluated.  And this time, when he has to throw in extra to cover marital debt my attorney is going to have that excluded from spousal support.  It will show up as a contribution to the marital debt, which it is, instead of as spousal support to me.  And as far as the bonus check is concerned I still have hope that he actually received it before leaving his company, but if he didn’t I would love to drag his ass before a judge and have him explain why he agreed to something only to turn around and voluntarily resign from his job no more than six weeks later.

The second moment was when the lawyer told me she was concerned for his mental well being.  She said there were a lot of red flags coming up for her and she was very concerned that he was going to have a complete mental breakdown, especially when Harley dumps him.  I explained that two years ago when he was confiding in Jezebel about his affair he told her that Harley made him happy and I remarked that according to Harley he is Daddy of the Year and she’s never been happier.  This is where it begins to get really interesting.

She looked at me and said, “Are you really going to take her word for it?  She’s a married woman with four kids having an affair with her cousin.  He’s a paycheck to her, a sugar daddy.”

Wow!  Here is a woman who has never met me, Cousinfucker or Harley and yet she has said the exact same thing that I have said, that family members have said.  I’ll admit that sometimes I wonder if I’m wrong and that she’s not the real love of his life.  I wonder if I say she’s just a gold digging whore to make myself feel better.  But here is a woman who has seen many, many divorces over the years.  She’s been doing this a long time.  And she has made the same observation.  In many ways it’s validation.  I continue to wrestle with the idea that this is not my fault.  Rationally I know it is not.  But in my insane moments (yes, I do have those!) I keep coming back to the old, “What if I didn’t do this?  What if I did that?  Maybe I should have done this.”  This lady put it all in perspective.  I am correct!  He’s a paycheck to Harley.  She’s a desperate, gold digging mother of four who has found a sugar daddy.  I’m hoping to help him run out of sugar quite soon.

The other thing she said that really resonated was I am the one that kept him grounded.  She had already told me how there were a lot of red flags for her when I told her my story.  She then mentioned that he has this nice little fantasy life going on and once things crumble she’s not sure he’s going to be able to keep it together.  She is very worried that he will end up having a complete breakdown and lose his job.  As she put it (and I’m going to paraphrase here):  When things come crashing down you’re not going to be there to help put them back together this time.  And I have a feeling you were that person- you kept it all going, even if he refuses to acknowledge it.  Again, I have to pump my fist and shout, “Yes!”

I was indeed that person.  I don’t think he has any idea how much bullshit I put up with in order to keep things going.  I took care of the house, the pets, the kids, him.  I cooked.  I cleaned.  I did his laundry.  The man never had to put away his own clothes for crying out loud!  I washed them, dried them, folded them, and put them away!  He never had to wash a dish.  He was the pampered king.  When he would freak out over something small and insignificant I was the one being the soothing voice of reason.  I was the one who would take charge, make the phone calls, get the job done, and interact with the people.  When he got sick I was the one taking care of him, calling the doctor’s office, taking him to the doctor’s or the ER, sitting with him, running interference for him.  In short, I was awesome.  He no longer has me around to do all of those things.  I can’t be certain but I have a definite feeling that Harley is not going to do those things either.  She’s in it for the money, the good times, the attention.  She is not going to be eager to deal with the real him and she’s certainly not going to be standing by him if he ever loses his job and spirals down into a heap of self pity.

So now in addition to being left after twenty plus years, abandoned in a new town that he insisted we move to, him deserting his two children, and him quitting his job and moving out of state I also get to wait for the inevitable breakdown.  I’ve gotta be honest here.  I’m kinda looking forward to it on the one hand.  On the other hand, he’s not going to be of any use to me in a psych ward, or as an alcoholic who can’t keep a job.  It’s a real quandary, I tell you.  I’d love to see him suffer (hey, I’m only human!) but I’m beginning to think that if he suffers the kids and I will suffer as well.  What to do…. What to do….

Facebook & TiVo- The Beginning of the End

I remember reading a Sidney Sheldon novel years ago.  I don’t remember the title but it dealt with three women who were all in medical school.  One of them had a brother who was working for the Mob and she became sort of a Mob doctor to pay his debt.  Anyway, that’s not the important part.  This is:  One of the male doctors was a real player and one of the three main characters was a very straight shooter.  There was a bet going on about whether or not the cad doctor could bed the good doctor.  The three female med students made some kind of a bet and the line at the end of the chapter was something like:  They didn’t realize it but they had just signed the death certificate for one of them.

Obviously, this has stuck with me.  It’s been well over 25 years since I read the book.  But that line comes up sometimes when you start to put two and two together and realize <here> was the moment it fell apart (or came together, if you are feeling positive).  For me, TiVo and Facebook were the precursors to the death certificate for my marriage.

Let’s begin with the seemingly benign TiVo.  I bought it for my husband one year for Christmas.  Couldn’t even tell you exactly when except that it was sometime after 2002 and before 2006.  Lost was airing, if that helps.  He loved it!  Loved being able to skip the commercials.  Loved being able to record things that he would miss otherwise.  Loved, loved, loved it.  As far as gifts go, it was a good one if the recipient’s joy is the only measure of a good gift. In looking back, however, I can see that it was the beginning of the end.

You see, when he got TiVo, television became more important than the family.  We used to eat together, even if we watched tv while doing so.  Once he got TiVo he ate his meals downstairs in the finished basement.  I would bring the kids downstairs to see him (and they were at most preschool and toddler age), perhaps even try to eat with him, but he would complain about how he couldn’t watch his shows because of the kids and the noise they made.  Shocker- toddlers and preschoolers make noise!  I remember several times he would pause the tv, look at me and say, “I’ve been trying to watch the last five minutes of this show for the last twenty minutes.  Do you think you can take them upstairs so I can finish this?”  Of course, Your Majesty!  Care for a quick blow job before I head upstairs?

The kids and I began to live our life on the main level, more and more, while he lived his life, alone, in the basement.  He even took to sleeping in the guest room downstairs so that I could have the queen sized bed with the kids, instead of continuing to sleep on a twin sized mattress and a trundle bed.  He slept down there, showered down there, took his meals down there (remember, I would fix his plate and bring it to him every night!), and lived his life down there, i.e. watched tv.

I cooked and cleaned and watched and interacted with the kids.  I fed them; I bathed them.  I got them ready for bed and I got them ready for preschool.  I didn’t watch any television until the kids were asleep because I didn’t have TiVo; I knew I would end up missing half of what was being said if I tried watching anything while they were awake.  My TV viewing didn’t begin until around 9:30.

In other words, I lived life with my kids while he was stuck in front of a TV.  I didn’t have a partner.  My kids didn’t have a father.  We had a live in roommate.  I did the adult stuff, the parent stuff, and he did whatever he wanted.  He says we grew apart after having kids.  I say, “Hell ya, we did!  He never grew up.  He just wanted to be one more person I took care of, instead of him stepping up and being an actual partner to me and helping out with the kids.”  To be fair (and I am nothing if not fair!) once I got our son ready for bed, Cousinfucker would rock him to sleep.

Things weren’t any better when we moved.  Instead of him hanging out in the basement, though, he now hung out in his bedroom.  He would come home, say hello and then head to the bedroom where he sat in the bed and watched television all night long.  I again brought him his damn dinner.  Even went in and collected his plate some nights, although to be fair, most nights he would venture out of the bedroom to put his plate in the sink. He did have a brief period where he would play on the Wii out in the living room, but then again, any time he showed any initiative he would get pissed if we didn’t immediately kiss his ass and thank him for his efforts.

This is how we lived.  And of course, by now we have Dish so we both had a DVR!  But again, I was out in the living room.  I was with the kids.  I was present.  I was running them to activities.  I was volunteering.  I watched a whole lot of Disney and Nickelodeon in my day!  Occasionally he would call one or all of us into the bedroom because there was something he wanted us to see, but then we were usually promptly dismissed, especially if the gathering ended up with us *talking* or *laughing*!

It’s hard to connect with someone who has made television his whole life, someone who has decided he’s going to live out his life in the bedroom.  But feel free to blame me and let me know how this is all my fault.  Because that’s his story.

Now, as if all of this isn’t bad enough along comes Facebook. I will preface this by saying there are an awful lot of good things about Facebook.  I have moved many times over the course of my life and it’s so nice to be able to stay in contact with people that I’ve met over the years.  I love seeing all the kids as they’ve grown.  I love seeing the baby pictures and the wedding announcements and all the achievements of my friends and of their kids.  I like the high school graduations and the kindergarten graduations and the puppy school graduations.  I like it all.  But as they taught us on The Facts of Life:  You take the good, you take the bad…  Facebook can be an amoral cesspool of infidelity.  This was my “She had unknowingly signed her own death certificate!”  Only in my case it was, “She had no way of knowing she had just led to the demise of her own marriage!”  For you see, it was I who created a Facebook page for my husband.  He didn’t want one, saw no need for one.  Who would be his friend?  I thought it would be funny to create one for him, propel him into the current century.  Oh, it was hilarious!  It didn’t take long for skanky ol’ Harley to become his “friend”.  Yes, I remember sitting there at Thanksgiving creating the page for him and by April, a mere five months later, they were “in luuuuurrrrrvvvvveeee!”  Ah yes, Little Miss My-Marriage-Isn’t-So-Rosy met up with Mr. I’m-Just-A-Handyman-And-A-Paycheck and it was a match made in Facebook hell.  All those furtive messages, longing to be together, knowing that only the two of them understood one another, the private agony they had both endured in their loveless, non-rosy marriages.  Ah, it was one soliloquy shy of Romeo and Juliet.  Facebook led to texting and texting led to sexting and that all led to phone calls and naked pictures and dreams of a life together.  Funny thing, they never counted on outraged children or spousal support.  Affairs are funny like that.

I got rid of her the first time.  Maybe I should have let her have him then.  It would have saved me and my kids some heartache.  I wouldn’t be living where I’m living.  I’d still be surrounded by a large network of support.  Nonetheless, the facts are the facts.  I got rid of her.  He supposedly chose me and our family.  But Facebook continued to let her have a ringside seat into our lives.  Thanks to everyone in his stupid family who didn’t see what the harm was in continuing a relationship with her she was able to observe us and swoop in.  Hell, his mother was the one who encouraged her to do so.  “He’s so sad!  Why don’t you get down on your knees and give him a nice blow job and make him feel all better!”  OK, quick disclaimer here.  I don’t know that she encouraged a blow job.  That’s entirely made up.  But, she did encourage the whore to call him.  Because he was so sad!  Because his wife (that’s me!) hadn’t completely forgotten about the events that had happened less than two years ago where he had betrayed her with a white trash whore. Because I hadn’t killed all those thoughts and buried them deep where no one could see them.  Because I still wondered and reflected on occasion.  Because I could still be triggered by certain events and names.  And because I still had a hard time forgiving his family for their support of Harley.  However, I had forgiven him.  I had stood by him.  I had fought for him and our marriage.  I had moved across the damn country for HIM and his dreams.  And once I was away from my entire support system and completely dependent on him, I got to deal with all of his issues- his supposed PTSD, his supposed anxiety, his supposed social issues that were magically reappearing, his driving issues.  Oh, and his drinking.  That was a new one.  But what I hadn’t done was I hadn’t forgotten, and let me tell you, that apparently was a deal breaker and worthy of him cheating on me AGAIN.

I know better than to blame TiVo or Facebook for the demise of my marriage.  But I can certainly say they both contributed to its decline. And as far as Facebook goes I did pretty much sign my own divorce decree when I signed him up.  I’m not sure she ever would have been able to get ahold of him otherwise.  Then again, if he’s so easily led astray do I really want him?  No!

Why Do I Feel Guilty Some Days?

I talked to someone who knows him the other day.  Serendipity.  She texted with some information and I ended up calling her and telling her the whole story.  Long story short:  She’s glad I got out.

I do still struggle with the idea that all of this is my fault and I sometimes feel like I need someone who is impartial to be able to tell me if I’m right or wrong. So, I have a therapist I see a few times a month and she’s helping me to work through those feelings of guilt.

This is how I blame myself.  I think:  Gee, if only I *had* focused on the future.  If only I had left well enough alone.  If only I had embraced his family after the huge betrayal and accepted the fact that they would never cut ties with her.  If only I had stopped snooping on her, stopped focusing on her.  If only I hadn’t lost my shit upon seeing my MIL tell the whore how pretty she was, knowing full well that they had had an inappropriate relationship.  That is what sparked the creation of the Facebook page which I used as a blog.  That, of course, leads to if only I hadn’t created that Facebook page.  If only I hadn’t used the name I used.  If I had kept it bland and generic instead of getting snarky I probably never would have been found.  As long as he believed that I was happy and had forgiven him things were good. Hell, I *had* forgiven him; I moved across the damn country for him!  I think it’s more appropriate to say that as long as he believed that I was 100% happy all the time and that I had completely forgotten any and everything having to do with his emotional affair then things were good.  Things were good as recently as Thanksgiving last year.  Hell, I really didn’t know there were problems until after Christmas.  If only I had let go of all the hurt and pain and concentrated only on the happy parts of life.  If only I had made more of an effort to acclimate to the new town.  If only… if only… if only…

I sometimes think that I drove him crazy, or at least to suicidal thoughts.  That if I had forgotten all about the whore and focused only on us and what was going well in our lives then none of this would have happened.

I wonder what would have happened if I had spoken up.  If I had approached the elephant in the room.  Would things have been different?  When should I have done this?  When he was hospitalized?  When he was home?  When he was crying?  When he was having a rare good day?  When?

Was it something I did?  Should I have given more?  Should I have sat upstairs with him in the bedroom? Should I have insisted he come downstairs and sit with me?  Should I have checked on him more?  Should I have been more adamant about him joining in on family activities?  Did I not love him enough?  Was I not sympathetic enough?  Did I not do enough when he was supposedly going through all of his anxiety issues and PTSD?  Was I not patient enough?  Was it my fault because I fell asleep on the couch even though I knew how important it suddenly was to him that I sleep in the same bed after years of being unwanted there because of my snoring?  Was I not available to him sexually enough?  Could I have saved our relationship somehow through plentiful sex?

I sometimes feel like I deserve this.  Or asked for this in some way.

And I know that’s all kinds of fucked up.  Cheaters cheat because they feel entitled to cheat.  They cheat because they have poor character.  They cheat because they are cowards.  I had said soon after the first affair ended that I worried about what would happen the next time he was feeling neglected.  Turns out I was right to be worried.  He did exactly what I feared.  Intellectually I know that no amount of sex would have kept him faithful. No amount of checking up on him or sitting with him while neglecting my kids would have kept him faithful.  Sleeping in the same bed every damn night no matter what wouldn’t have kept him faithful.

He cheated because she was a fresh start- someone who doesn’t see his faults, someone who promises to be everything to him that I’m not, someone who will “appreciate” everything he does for her.  He cheated because he was convinced that I hated him and I was going to leave him.  He was a coward with such poor character that he decided he would strike first and leave me for the mistake he made two years prior.  Why do the difficult work of rebuilding with your wife when there’s a whore willing and waiting?  Why risk having your wife leave you because she can’t pretend you never betrayed her?  Take the downgrade; you’ll never have to worry about her  throwing your affair in your face.  He cheated because he couldn’t face the facts and instead wanted to pretend that he had never done anything wrong with the whore- ever; he wanted to pretend the first affair never happened and that that period of time never existed.  No, scratch that.  He cheated because he wanted ME to pretend he had never done anything wrong.  He wanted ME to forget how he betrayed me.  And when he realized it wasn’t as easy as saying, “Oops!  My bad!” he took the low road.  He pouted and he stomped his wittle feet and he went crying boo hoo hoo to anyone who would listen because HOW DARE I NOT FORGET HE CHEATED? HOW DARE I NOT CONCENTRATE ON HOW INCREDIBLY LUCKY I WAS THAT HE CHOSE ME INSTEAD OF THE WHORE?  DIDN’T I REALIZE I SHOULD BE THANKFUL EVERY DAY THAT I STILL HAD AN INTACT MARRIAGE?  Hmmmph- he’ll just have to go find someone who does!

The truth of the matter is I doubt myself despite everything I have just written because if there is some *reason* he did this, if there is something I did or didn’t do to make him do this, then I could have fixed it, or at the very least I won’t have to worry about doing that same thing with someone else. Sadly, nothing would ever be enough. I know that.

I know he could have talked to me instead of talking to everyone who encouraged him to leave me.  That might have been difficult though and fair, delicate CF doesn’t do difficult.

Hell, he could have left instead of spiraling downward and then starting up yet another affair with the whore.  My 13 year old knows enough to know that’s the proper way to do things.  Leave.  Then start up a new relationship.  It’s not the other way around.

No, instead CF decided he was entitled to cheat on me.  He was entitled to get his new life up and running while I was still thinking we were married and committed.  Instead of telling me he was hurt or disappointed by what he saw, instead of asking me about any of it, he just found and fucked a whore.  And then turned around and gave her a whole bunch of money.  I think that may be the worst part because I knew at that point there was nothing left to salvage.

I’ll let you in on a little secret.  I pretend to be brave.  I know people say, “Oh, good for you for divorcing his lying, cheating ass!  Don’t put up with his crap.”  And I will tell people who ask or comment that yes, I marched my ass down to the lawyer’s office less than 48 hours after finding out, and filed for divorce not long after that.  The reality is I didn’t have a choice.  I had to file in order to protect myself and my kids; I was afraid that he was going to quit his job, take or blow all of our money, and leave the state to be with her.  I could see the writing on the wall.  The first time around they never met up, or if they did they had 2 chances since we lived so far apart.  He wasn’t funneling money to her.  He didn’t have a separate bank account.  This time around, though, he was meeting up with her- every weekend.  They were having sex.  He was giving her money and told her he would pay for her divorce.  He was meeting her kids and making them all sorts of promises of grandiose gifts and treasures.  He was cashing in stock and putting it into his new separate account.  Even if I wanted to stay and try to work things out I know he never would have agreed.  So I filed.  I wasn’t brave; I was practical.

He then turned around and accused me of stealing every dime he makes and told others that I only stayed for the money (Satan talks as though he has a healthy trust fund somewhere).  He once told me that he felt like nothing more than a wallet and a handyman. Well, he’s tossing money around like it’s candy.  He’s reducing himself to a wallet.  Maybe he realizes that’s the only thing he has to offer.

Victim Morphing or 50 Ways to Make Everything About You and All the Wrongs Done to You

I learned a fantastic new term that I think sums up Cousinfucker.  That term is victim morphing and it refers to the way the cheater always manages to turn things around so that he/she is the victim.

I think this goes back to the very beginning.  He pushed people away and then complained he had no friends.  He was the victim.  To this day he whines about no one showing up at the airport to greet him when he got back from the war.  My guess is he told no one when he was coming home.  I know when he got home to his home town his mom had a party for him and he drove around trying to kill time so that he didn’t have to go.  Poor, poor baby.  I remember them telling me the story of bringing a damn recliner across the country to him and after about 3 days he asked them if it wasn’t about time for them to be going back home.  Push ‘em away and then cry victim.

He loses his job while I’m pregnant and it’s all about how he’s feeling down.  He needs support.  I’m crying in the shower and don’t dare let him know how anxious I am about it.  Because he needs me to be strong.

When he began a new job it required traveling.  That meant that I was left at home by myself juggling an extremely high needs infant who thought sleep was optional, dogs, cats, a household, and a full-time, then part-time, work from home job, with no child care.  And yet he was the poor put upon victim in this scenario.

I bundled up an infant every Monday and drove him to the airport because he was too precious to take a cab.  These were always early flights- 6 or 7 in the morning at least.  This was before 9/11 so not only did I drive him there we both stayed with him until he boarded his plane.  Then I would head home and hopefully get in an hour or so of work while the baby slept. The rest of the week I would get up at 7:30 when she would get up.  I would change her diaper, get her dressed, feed her breakfast, and then around 9:00, when she was ready for her morning nap, I would head upstairs to the “office” where I would work in snatches of 10 and 20 minutes (because my child did not sleep and after 10-20 minutes she would start screaming for me to hold her).  I alternated between working and entertaining her all day long, with a break for lunch.  I would generally call it a day sometime between 5 and 6.  I’d go downstairs, have dinner, play with my baby, watch some TV, wait for his phone call between 9 and 9:30 and get the baby down for the night.  Then I would go upstairs and work until around 1 am because I could work for several hours uninterrupted.  I would go to bed and sleep until my daughter woke in the middle of the night to be fed, usually around 3:30.  I’d be up for 15-30 minutes, go back to bed and then wake up at 7:30 and do it all over.  I actually tried to get all 40 hours in before Friday, or time it so that I would only have to work a few hours on Friday so that I could clean up the house before I left to go pick up my husband.  I cried every day.  And then on weekends I would cook for him (because the poor thing had been on the road all week, eating at restaurants and he so missed a good home cooked meal) and do his laundry.  I complained once about the grueling schedule and how stressed I was and he shut me down, telling me how it wasn’t easy on HIM either.  He missed us.  He was up in the middle of the night, too.  Yeah, once.  Once when the damn alarm went off at the plant.  That doesn’t exactly equal what I was going through, Mister.  I was up every night around 3:30 tending to OUR child.  And that was after going to bed at midnight or later every night so that I could get my work done.

Hell, come to think of it, every time we moved I was always expected to realize how hard it was for him.  So hard to be alone and apart from us, even though when he was with us he isolated himself.  Yes, living in a furnished apartment and having to take care of no one except yourself must be hell.  Why, being left with two young children, trying to keep the house picked up for showings, trying to get rid of things and sort through things, keeping up with the dogs and cats and guinea pigs, running around to keep the kid’s lives as normal as possible during this time of transition… all of that was a piece of cake.  You betcha!

He cheats and it’s all about him and how he hasn’t been happy.  Hey, you think I’ve just been dancing the happy dance all these years, so happy to be partnered up with the greatest husband and father ever?  Oh, no, honey, not even close.  But here’s the difference.  I tried to work through it.  Or I figured things would get better as the kids got older and didn’t need me as much.  You, on the other hand, you decided to seek out your white trash whore of a cousin.  And after he’s found out it’s all about what I’ve done and can do to make things better.  He was never remorseful.  He was never willing to do the hard work.  It’s so blatantly obvious now, looking back on it.  HE was anxious.  It was difficult for HIM to look back on everything.  Of course!  Because having to listen to you tell me how the two of you said, “I love you!” and planned a future together, reading messages where you’re bragging about marrying the whore, learning of her plans to tattoo her love for you on her body, knowing that you were telling her horrible things about me… why that’s a walk in the park!  Can’t think of any other way I’d rather spend my time.  So much fun for me, so very difficult for you.  Poor baby.

We moved constantly because he was unhappy.  He wanted something new and different. The new job was always going to be so exciting and wonderful.  The move was always supposed to be worth it.  And then he would become unhappy once again.  Seriously.  He hated it at Company #1 so we moved to a different state so he could work at Company #2.  He got disappointed at the pay raise when he was promoted to superintendent so he left there after 2 1/2 years.  We moved to yet another state so he could begin working at Company #3.  We made friends; settled in, laid down roots.  I loved my life there.  And what happened?  He ended up losing his job at Company #3, probably because he was an asshole.  Went back to Company #2.  Complained about GM #1, then bitched about GM #2.  Got transferred out west, talking about how it was such an honor and a privilege.  “I never thought they’d want me as the production manager for that plant!  That’s their show plant!”  8 years later he’s bored, unhappy, and declaring he’ll go insane because he feels so isolated.  Now BFE is supposed to be Mecca.  Only within 6 months he’s once again whining and oh look, also fucking his cousin!

It didn’t matter if we were all happy where we were.  It never mattered.  He was the only one that mattered.  Yes, I went along with it.  I might have been a spineless fool but he was the breadwinner; we supported him and whatever he wanted to do.  So, even though we were all happy in Utah we moved to Virginia anyway.  I was scared shitless even though I was on board with it.  Get there, fall in love with it, get involved, make friends.  As I said eight years later he’s crying about how he thinks he’s going to go crazy if he has to stay there much longer.  He hates it there.  Oh, he makes noises about learning to love it and deal with it, but he knows I’ll come to the rescue and let him off the hook.  No, no, Cousinfucker, we’ll all move.  We’ll all give up our lives here so that YOU can be happy.

Once again he’s cheating and he again takes the victim route.  With his own kids, nonetheless!  He tells our son we’ve never had a happy marriage.  He tells me we need to forge a new relationship, one based on us both being happy in our new lives.  Hey, dickhead, where’s my new life?  I don’t have a warm body in my bed every weekend, telling me everything is going to be ok and I’m so pretty and so wonderful and that you deserve to be cheated on.  No, I’m doing this divorce thing all by myself.  Well, by myself while navigating two teenagers through it.  Because their dickhead father can’t be bothered.  He even whines about me throwing out all his clothes and all “his memories”.  Oh, fuck off (and take a look around the house, specifically the guest room, instead of whining and maybe you’ll find your shit)!  Tells me we have a history together and I can’t erase that no matter how much I want to.  Well, that just makes everything all better then!  I want to hate him but we have a history together, you see.  Every time I want to hate him for moving me and my kids 2000 miles across the country, ripping our lives apart all so that he could get closer to that low down white trash whore of his, why I just think of our wedding day and I’m filled with peace and love and hope and I just can’t bring myself to feel anything but joy!  FUCK THAT!  He actually whines to our daughter about how he’s unwelcome in his own home!  Oh the horrors!  The best I can come up with is he’s upset that I’m no longer fixing him his dinner and bringing a plate up to him.  Believe me, you don’t want anything I would bring to you.  He totally ignores anything she brings up, instead turning everything around to how hurt he is.  He’s the victim.  He writes letters to both of them, telling them how much he loves them.  Meanwhile, he’s spending a fortune on the whore and her kids, while neglecting his own.  Ever heard the phrase talk is cheap? Or how about actions speak louder than words? That’s you, dickhead.  You can talk out of your ass all you want but they know the truth.  Yet he continually acts the victim.  Poor, poor baby.  He’s unwelcome.  There are BELLS on the door.  The door is locked when he leaves.  I don’t leave the porch light on for him anymore.  He pays all the bills and he’s still unwelcome.  He STARVES while we eat.  He is so mistreated.

Remind me again which one of us is cheating?  Which one of us was taking less than half of the paycheck and paying bills, and which one was taking over half of the paycheck and spending it on whores and hooligans?  Which one of us is ignoring his kid’s texts and refusing to pony up their allowances or buy a yearbook or a fundraising t-shirt?  Guess maybe that $800 you spent on the whore’s kids tapped you out.  Which one of us is taking care of the kids and which one of us is off every fucking weekend to fuck a whore?  Oh wait!  That’s right!  He only does that because he’s not welcome here!

Victim morphing.  There should be a picture of my fuckhead husband right next to the definition!