Going Home

Our plane landed in Vegas at 9:15, Pacific time. By the time we got the rental car and were on the road to Utah it was 10:30. Rock Star slept most of the 3 hour drive and I couldn’t figure out how the radio worked so I drove in dark silence. As I drove I thought about our upcoming trip in June. The one the mobster is coming on with us.

I thought about all the different restaurants and hangouts I want to share with him, all the places I want to take him to. I began thinking about the beautiful scenery in Logan where my son would play hockey once a season. I was a bit disappointed that I couldn’t do that because it’s a 2 hour drive one way, and we’ll only be in town for a long weekend. Then I thought about how Picasso no longer gets to play hockey, thanks to CF and his selfishness. And then another thought hit me. One that almost knocked the breath out of me for a moment.

This is the first time I’ve been back since he imploded our lives. It’s been almost three years now. Granted, I’m not back in our city; we’re actually about 3 1/2 hours south of the town we called home for eight years. Still, it’s the first time I’ve been back to Utah since the bomb dropped on us. First time I’ve been back since my husband cheated on me and left me for his cousin. First time I’ve been back since losing everything and watching our standard of living circle the drain. First time I’ve been back as a divorced woman. First time I’ve been back living this new, foreign life.

It shook me. In all honesty what led to this was me thinking about how sad I was for Picasso because he couldn’t play hockey anymore; then I imagined myself dissolving into hysterical sobs as I thought of all the discarded parts of my life that I had loved and had left behind. For him. How it was all gone now.

I imagined myself showing the mobster all of these wonderful places and introducing him to my fantastic friends, and in doing so, realizing how much that selfish sonofabitch took from us.

I let myself feel it all for a moment. It is a big loss. We left it all behind for this supposed “better life” only to find out we had been mercilessly conned.

After allowing myself to feel the sadness, the anger, the heartbreak, the fury, I gave myself a pep talk.

Yes, Sam, you had a great life out here. It’s a shame he didn’t leave before he moved you and the kids 2000 miles away. Unfortunately, that life is over. Here’s the good news, though. He didn’t take it away completely. You and your kids had eight fantastic years worth of memories. You can come back whenever you want and hang out at all your favorite spots. Your friends still love you. You continue to have relationships with them, even 1500-2000 miles away. You and the kids are loved and missed, and welcomed back with open arms. He couldn’t destroy that. He couldn’t destroy you.

Just like that the sorrow left. I smiled in the darkness; as I passed the sign welcoming me to Utah I shouted out, “I’m back!”

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!

Trying To Make Sense of the Nonsense

 

March 2015

Let’s see them hack into this!  There is more than one way to skin a cat. At this point I switched over to journaling on my computer.

I’ve been thinking.  A lot.  Mainly about Jezebel and her comment, my favorite, about how he deserves so much better than me.  About my husband’s comment to his other sister, how it’s been 2 years and why can’t we just move on? About that sister and her snide message to me about me worrying about the house and then turning around and booking airline tickets. About being grateful.  About accepting reality.  About moving on. About pain shopping, which dovetails nicely with moving on.

OK, we’ll tackle moving on first.  It’s very difficult to move on when your husband doesn’t do the few basic things you’ve asked for in order to reconcile.  I told him that 1. He needed to send Harley a text and end things with her.  I wanted to see the text to prove that he actually sent it, and he was to have absolutely no contact with her after that. 2. He was to give up all passwords to me and remove the passcode from his phone. 3. We were going to attend marital counseling. 4. He was to never discuss our marital issues with Jezebel again.  What did he do?

Well, instead of sending her a text and ending it, he says he called her and ended it.  That’s nice, but that’s not what I wanted.  I had a purpose behind wanting you to send a text.  I wanted to see it in black and white.  I wanted to see him write:  My wife knows about you.  She gave me an ultimatum.  I choose her.  We’re done.  Don’t contact me ever again.  Did I get that?  No, I got the replay of his supposed phone call to her. And then I got her text which makes it look like he actually chose her and she ended it.  Furthermore, his response to her was based on not wanting to hurt her.  He felt bad for her.  Her- the mistress of 3 1/2 months.  Not me, the wife of almost 19 years.  I got a reply about honor and duty and obligation.  Not love.  Not choice.  Am I supposed to believe him without proof when I vividly recall asking him if she was worth losing his wife and kids, and he replied he knew he didn’t want to lose his kids?  Am I supposed to believe him when he would have sex with me and then turn around and walk out our door and text her good morning and then precede to talk to her on his entire 30 minute drive to work every.fucking.morning?  That is some strong faith, and if I’m not there yet so be it.  I figure I mainly believe him.  I only have doubts some of the time.  It’s been 2 years?  Nah, not really.  We’re coming up on 2 years of your half hearted confession where you couldn’t even admit you were doing something wrong, or that she was your whore.  You tried to make it sound like she was one of many and it was just a little texting.  No, it wasn’t.  It was her, and only her.  And you were telling her you loved her and you were telling other people you loved her and she made you happy and you were going to marry her. On top of that, you two were talking about sex and what all you were going to do to each other, and you were talking about a future together and she was sending you naked pictures.  It’s been 2 years since you tried to confess and pull the wool over my eyes at the same time.  It hasn’t been 2 years since I discovered the truth.  We’re at about 18 months for that.  18 months since I found out the extent of your lies and betrayal.  18 months since you told me you didn’t want to lose your kids.  18 months since you told me you hadn’t been happy in years.  18 months since you admitted that you two talked about sex, and how much you loved each other, and how much you wanted to be together.  18 months since you told me you two really really liked each other. 18 months since I received The Saint’s FB message asking me if I had gotten a good lawyer yet.  And we’re at 16 months since I discovered you bragging to your nephew about marrying her, after insisting to me that you two had no concrete plans.

So that’s part of the not able to move forward movement.  I don’t know.  I don’t know what their plans were.  I don’t know what all they talked about.  I don’t know how far into the planning it got. I don’t know that I was his first choice. I have no proof of that. Again, for all I know he called her up right after he got off the phone with me and told her I knew and I’d issued an ultimatum.  And then he told her she was his soul mate, his one true love, his very best friend, and the love of his life and there was no way he could give her up.  For all I know he told her, “I choose you, Harley!”  And Harley, being the manipulative, deceitful cunt that she is warned him that if I got wind of his choice that I’d probably run.  Maybe she even reminded him that I already had airplane tickets to fly to my home state in 2 days.  “If you want to keep your kids around, then you need to make sure she thinks you chose her.”  And then the good little whore proceeded to tell her husband she was leaving.  And her husband said, “Fine, but you’re not taking the kids.  They’re all disgusted with their whore of a mother.”  That’s when Harley finally realized she and my husband weren’t going to be forming their own version of the Brady Bunch, that there might be bumps in the way, and that the path to true love was not going to be a smooth one.  Maybe her kids gave her a ration of shit.  Maybe the two oldest told her they weren’t going to live with her.  It was at this point she decides it’s just not going to be worth it and that’s when she sends her bleeding heart text to Zack.

Is that really all that crazy?  Why is that version any less believable than the one he told me about?  At least in the second version I have her text ending it. It would be lovely if, instead, I had a text from him ending it.

What else did he do?  Well, he did in fact give me his passwords and take the code off his phone.  And to his credit he did recently offer to have my thumb print be one of the prints that could open his phone.

Marriage counseling?  He went but he didn’t really participate, and our counselor told us that is was pretty much a waste of time after 3 or 4 sessions. If we ever went again I think it would be interesting to hear his side of everything that happened.  It seemed to be mainly me talking because he didn’t much participate. I’ll give him credit for going when he didn’t want to, but I’m not giving him credit for anything else.  He didn’t participate and I don’t think we got much out of it. At this point in time I’m tired and I’m not willing to go again so I guess he’s safe.

And not discussing our marriage difficulties with Jezebel?  We both know that one went completely off the rails.  He performs a fucking Shakespearean soliloquy when he’s telling everyone all my faults and everything I’m doing to him, and I get a fucking one line reprieve when he pulls his head out of his ass.  I know that’s not a kind way to put it, but it pisses me off. And upon looking up how to spell soliloquy that’s not really the best description.  That’s what I perform on a daily basis when I’m raging!

That brings me to another point- the concept of the man in the middle. There is a poster on a board I like to read and she often says that many times you can look to the man in the middle as the source of conflict.  I’ve thought about that a lot and I believe it’s true, even with this.  He throws me under the bus to Jezebel, goes on and on and on about how horrible I am, and then says, “Oh, my bad!”  Is it any wonder she hates me?  He doesn’t tell her the good stuff.  He’s too busy getting his head patted when he’s the poor, oppressed little brother married to the evil, awful wife who uses him as a handyman and a paycheck. Man in the middle.  Have no doubt, I’m still not pleased with her encouraging him to leave me when he was fucking around.  And I’m definitely not pleased with her latest round. But he poured gasoline on the fire, and he did something I told him not to do ever again.

His mom and stepdad are another case in point.  I told him in therapy I didn’t like how Pastor Fake was gushing over Harley’s picture.  It was hurtful.  His attitude was, “I can’t control what he does.”  Then shortly thereafter his mom gets online and tells her she’s sooooooo pretty.  I unfriend them (they were sharing an account at the time) and probably blocked them at the time.  Undoubtedly unfriended them from my daughter as well, and blocked them.  I know she must have asked about it but instead of coming to me and saying, “Hey, what happened?  My mom says she’s blocked on both your and our daughter’s page,” he acts like he can’t control anything.  I keep thinking that if he had only pulled his mom aside in the beginning and said something along the lines of, “I know I created this mess, but if the two of you want to have a relationship with my wife and kids you’re going to have to distance yourself from my mistress.  It is upsetting to my wife to see the two of you acting all chummy with the woman I cheated on her with.  We both know we can’t control you and you can both do exactly as you want.  But I’m here to tell you that there is no way you can have Harley in your lives and have my wife and kids in your lives.  So you’re going to need to make a choice.”  Or even a much shorter, condensed version:  My wife can see you two gushing all over Harley, joking with her, telling her how pretty she is. You know that I cheated on her with Harley; therefore, she has no desire to associate with anyone that wants to be a part of Harley’s life.  It’s that plain and simple. You can have a relationship with my wife, or one with my mistress but you can’t do both. (Believe me, I tried! ba-dum!!!).

I think that’s part of not being able to move on, as well. I think I have made tremendous progress in accepting the fact that his parents will never turn their backs on Harley.  They will always be kind to her.  They will always compliment her.  She will always be around.  And I, in many ways, am forced to accept that. I’m forced to accept the fact that I will never be around for any family events because I don’t know if the whore will be there or not, and I don’t want to be there if she is.  I’m forced to accept (and I know this is morbid) that when his mom dies I’m going to be going through 3 levels of hell.  I’m going to have to deal with Zack and his grief, I’m going to have to deal with his bitch of a sister, and more than likely, his whore will show up. It’s very difficult to move on and forget about her when she is front and center all the time, or at least it feels like that.  She was praying for my husband last month.  Praying for him!  She has a front seat into the window of our lives.  Anything my in-laws post on FB about us, about my kids, that bitch can see. How do you move on from that? How do you move on from your in-laws thinking that your husband’s whore is a swell person?  I keep expecting her to show up at Thanksgiving and for them to offer up the use of their bedroom so he can fuck her.

I read about pain shopping yet again yesterday.  It’s not so much that I want to do that, it’s more I don’t want to be ambushed.  I guess when you don’t feel safe or confident you continue to look over your shoulder.  I don’t know that I was his first choice.  Hell, I don’t even know for certain that he’s not back in contact with her again.  I don’t know that someone won’t throw facts at me, facts of which I have been completely unaware of for over a year, which might result in my own downward spiral. I don’t look on her page that often.  I check every now and then to see if she’s got a new profile picture up.  I occasionally check my in-laws’ pages to see if she’s commenting or liking certain things.  Of course she is!  Good ol’ Harley can’t fade into the background. Oh no!  Look at me!  Look at me!

I know I’ve said it before and I will say it again.  Not knowing the bitch is being welcomed with open arms by all who know about her and Zack doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.  And closing my eyes and pretending like as long as I don’t see it everything is ok, is just living in a fairytale.  It does no one any good.  Eventually, you wake up and you discover the truth and you feel betrayed.  I’d just as soon get it out of the way.

I guess what it boils down to is can I accept what happened?  Sure.  I can accept it.  Doesn’t mean I like it.  Just like accepting who my in-laws are.  It hurts me very much knowing they can embrace the woman that almost tore my life apart.  But, I accept that that is who they are. When I am with them I enjoy being with them and I love them.  However, I will never have a close relationship with them again.  I simply cannot do that, not when they are still in contact with Harley and act like she has done nothing wrong. I will never be willing to go out of my way for them again. I don’t call.  I don’t confide.  I let Zack handle it. Honestly, I prefer to keep my distance because I’m afraid I’ll be sucked in if I get too close.

Can I accept the fact that I’ve been moved 2000 miles across the country to live in this Godforsaken town where I know almost no one?  Sure.  It’s reality.  I can pretend I don’t live here but what good would that do? I can pretend that we can go back to our former state but I know that we can’t.  Whose job is he going to take?  Especially when they just got a new GM and a new PM less than a year ago.  Where will we live?  Are we going to ask the new residents of our home to kindly move out because we’d like our house back?  No. If I’m being perfectly logical most newcomers to the area head over to two up and coming areas.  Our kids wouldn’t be going to school with their old friends; they’d be at a new school.  My daughter could go back to her old gym but she would be competing as a Level 8 once again, more than likely, and all of her former teammates would be 9s.  My son could play hockey again but he’s lost a year and he already started late so he’d be behind as well.  No, we are stuck here, at least for 7 years until they both have graduated from high school.  Then my husband can yank me away from my new life, and at the rate I’m going now that won’t be a bad thing. I’m so tired of hearing, “You need to get out there and meet people!  Volunteer! Take classes!”  Um, I’d love to meet people but that’s a little difficult when you’re 46 and not in school and don’t have a job. There are no classes to take. Quite honestly, I’m sick and tired of being the new person.  And volunteering?  Where would you suggest I volunteer?  The PTA?  They don’t seem to have many opportunities.  I’m supposed to go tonight for an after prom meeting where I will know no one and the woman in charge is going to ask me to solicit donations, which is something I absolutely hate to do. HATE IT! This gets me thinking that if everything PTA does needs to be funded with business donations I want no part in it. Oh, I also found out that I was sent an email to see if I wanted to volunteer at the book fair for the middle school.  It went to my junk mail and I didn’t get it until after the book fair was over. Lovely. I could go to a PTA meeting but again, I’m tired of putting myself out there.  I’m tired of being the new person.  I’m 46, for crying out loud!  My life should be settled.  I shouldn’t be scurrying around trying to find a whole new set of friends.

I tell myself to think back on all of our other moves.  OB was easy.  I had just turned 29 when we made the move. We went out with all of his co-workers.  And from that I became friends with some locals and they introduced us to other people. In the next state I started out by participating in an online group.  I got very lucky and those people met weekly.  I put myself out there and I joined their group. Gradually, other people joined in as well. Then, right before my daughter turned 2 I started going to church; when my son was an infant I volunteered to help in the nursery. A few months later I became a team leader in the nursery.  Gradually I did more. I became a small group leader.  I joined the meal team. I think when my son was around a year I joined MOPS.  I became part of the hospitality team with them.  I started a MOPS group at our church. I was there 6 years and it was gradual, but my calendar filled in.  Plus, it helped that I had family only 2 hours away. I think I found my online friends within the first 6-8 months. I was 31 when we moved back to State #2, just under 2 months before my 31st birthday. We moved a few months before I turned 38. In State #4 I think it began after I volunteered to join PTA.  It was about 5-6 months later.  The following year my daughter was competing so I made some friends that way. PTA just became a huge thing for me.  I met a ton of people that way.  And I met some people through my kids.  This time it just doesn’t seem as easy. I was 45 this time when I left. I’ve been here coming up on 8 months.  They have been the longest, loneliest 8 months of my life, I think. I don’t have online friends.  I don’t have a church. I don’t have PTA; it’s pretty much non-existent.  I certainly don’t have MOPS. My daughter competes alone most of the time. This next meet all of the girls meet together.  But here’s the thing:  most of the girls are young, like 10-11.  Their moms are young.  I don’t want to hang out with them.  I don’t need to be overrun with 30 somethings while I’m nearing death. I do have some parents I can sit with at the high school meets.  That’s nice.  But that’s it.  I know a few people on sight.  I’m still shocked when I run into someone I know at the grocery store because it happens so infrequently. I am grateful for the outpouring of support from the few people I do know when Zack was in the hospital.  Our neighbor called and offered to help with whatever we may need.  S offered to take my daughter to gymnastics.  C prayed for us and checked in on us, offering to run errands or bring a meal.  D took my daughter to gymnastics and grabbed food for both of my kids.  I felt very fortunate to have that help and those offers.

So, this is my reality.  I’m far from family.  I’m far from friends.  I’m not fitting in or finding a niche.  I really really hate it here.  I’ve booked tickets for me and Rock Star to go see the state gymnastics meet back in our former state at the end of the month.  I’m looking forward to that.  Can’t wait to be around friends again. Can’t wait to see all those cute little gymnasts that I get to cheer on for the first time this year.  I’ve missed this.

I’ll save Jezebel’s asinine comment about him deserving something better for later.

I’m Gonna Harden My Heart

December 2014

I finally figured out what it is that bothers me so much. I’ve been trying to put it into a short, concise description for over a year now and I think I’ve finally got it. It was never that I thought anyone would turn their back on Zack and tell him they were choosing me. I never expected that to happen. It’s more of an overwhelming sadness to realize I loved these people; I considered them to be just as much my family as my actual family. I drove to see them. I wrote checks out to them. I bought the gifts, made contact, talked to them more than he did. And yet, when he decided to trade me in for a different model, let’s call it the whore model, none of them gave a shit. None of them remembered my name or all that I had done. So, I’m sad and I’m disappointed that I was tossed aside so easily for that whore. I’m sad that I was so abruptly reminded that they are NOT my family. I no longer love them. I no longer consider them to be my family; they are strictly Zack’s family. I am indifferent to them. I do not wish ill upon them; I just don’t care. When bad things happen to them I do not mourn for them. When good things happen I do not celebrate with them. I’m meh about it all. And to a certain extent that makes me sad because, as I said, at one point I really loved them and I enjoyed being around them. I loved the fact that I got along with my in-laws so well. Now that’s over. They showed me that once Zack was done with me they were, too. Nothing I did mattered. So now I figure why bother? I didn’t think he’d cheat before, but he did. I’d be an idiot to believe he would never cheat again. And once again, they wouldn’t know my name. Let’s just cut to the chase and forget pretending you care about me. We’ll be cordial. We’ll be civil. But that’s it. I’ll never make the mistake again of claiming any of them as my family. I’ll never again make the mistake of thinking they give a damn about me.

Present Day Sam Says: You better start calling me Prophet Sam! Did I call that or what? I’d be an idiot to believe he would never cheat again. D’oh! He did! He did cheat again. Good thing I never fully trusted him or believed he would never do that to me again. And once again they wouldn’t know my name. Double d’oh! They have completely replaced me and forgotten about me. Well, I’m assuming I’m forgotten unless they are telling him how awful and unreasonable I am. I’m sure there’s a healthy dose of that going on.

I regret softening and beginning to ease back into a relationship with them. I wish I had cut them out completely and held fast. But I am proud of myself for never trusting any of them again. None of them were worth it.

Life Rollercoaster

Is this about over? I swear, every time I start to be a little more optimistic I get knocked on my ass. I was just thinking about how working two jobs has allowed me to have a tiny little bit of breathing room, that maybe I’m not so completely poor and that maybe I can provide just a tiny bit for my kids.

Then life comes along and says, “Not so fast!” I’m not sure what it is I’ve done to deserve all this hell being heaped upon me. I don’t sleep with married men. I don’t steal. I don’t beat my kids. I’m generally a very kind, giving person. I like to think I have a good sense of humor and am a good friend.

“What happened?” you may be wondering. Let me tell you. First, I open the letter from my attorney (who needs another 3 grand, btw). Jackass has got an expert witness lined up to testify that he’s unable to work because of his supposed PTSD. Great! An expert witness who will tell the judge that poor little sweetie pie can’t work because he’s suffering from the trauma of war.

You wanna know who should have a fucking PTSD diagnosis? Me! I was moved 2000 miles away from my entire life to make him happy only to find out he would never be happy. I put him and his happiness above me and my kids and our happiness only to be shit on repeatedly. I trusted that cousin fucking piece of shit and he turned around and spent an entire summer looking me right in the face and lying.

I’ve gone from being in the top 2-3% of the socioeconomic population to the bottom 5-10%. I’ve lost my home. I was forced to move out of the state. I was forced to move in with my mom or be homeless. I had to get rid of almost all of my possessions. I had to tell my kids we had to move. I had to rip their lives apart again. I’ve gone from being a stay at home mom who lives for her kids and does everything for them, to being a person who works 2 jobs, 55 hours a week, 6 days out of seven, who farms almost everything out for my kids and who dreads having to go to another event when I’m already so damn tired and my days are already so fucking long. I hate my life. I have absolutely no joy in it. I pray every day that I will die early so that I don’t have to do this shit anymore. But you don’t see me getting a fucking expert witness to testify that I’m just way too fucking fragile to work.

You know what I do? I scream and cry and cuss that sonofabitch out all the way to work. And then I pull myself together, dry my tears and go to work. Why? Because unlike Cousinfucker I don’t have a fucking choice! I don’t get to ignore my kids and pretend they don’t have needs because hey, out of sight, out of mind!

I’ve been doing this all along, with no one by my side telling me how wonderful I am and how horrible he was. I get up and I GO  every single fucking day. Every morning I wake up at 3:20 in the fucking morning. While the rest of the world sleeps I’m up and getting ready to go to my first job and stock shelves and toss boxes around. It’s not glamourous. It’s not easy. It’s not fun. And it pays for shit.

Then I come home, get ready for my second job, and I go to work and I smile and I joke with customers and I’m all happy and cheerful while my life is spiraling down the drain and I continue to go through this divorce from hell.

That’s what I do. Meanwhile, Cousinfucker finds himself an expert witness to testify that he can’t possibly work.

But that’s not all. Because Cousinfucker refuses to work and pay support I have been forced to work two jobs so that I can pay the bills and feed the kids. My second job doesn’t pay for a boat. It isn’t paying for a luxury vacation or three or four. It doesn’t allow us to go out and go on shopping sprees. No, my second job means I can buy food. If either of my kids needs something for school I can probably buy it. It means I’m not down to $1 by the time pay day rolls around.

My daughter works as well. She works so that she can buy a car because her dad decided he’d rather go fuck his cousin instead of sticking around and helping to raise his kids. She works so that she can buy the clothes that I can no longer buy her. She works so that she can help to pay her car insurance because I’m not sure I can take another $100/month hit. She works so that she can go out with friends, buy make-up, grab something to eat, and just have spending money in general because her father refuses to pay support, which in turn means I can’t do any of those things for her. Or her brother.

Guess what it also means?

It means between the two of us we now make too much for me or my kids to qualify for Medicaid. Yes, I got that lovely bit of news as well. The program that I was once embarrassed to need I am now crying over. No doubt due to the fact that I will now need to get a third job to pay for the medical insurance I will have to purchase through work. It’s $185 every two weeks and it’s a high deductible plan. I have to pay out $2600/person before it kicks in a dime. Isn’t that wonderful? Or I take the tax penalty come next April. Awesome! And with my luck if I don’t carry insurance on them then some catastrophe will hit one of them. Then again, I’m broke anyway so who cares if I have to declare bankruptcy because of medical bills?

If I quit my second job then my kids don’t eat and there are no tiny extras, like Easter baskets or money for school sports. Or, my retired mother has to shoulder even more of the burden of the three of us. If I don’t quit my second job then I need to get a third job. I guess I’ll find something where I can work Saturday and Sunday. I’ll work 14 hour days on Saturday and Sunday will be my light day where I only work 8 1/2 hours. I’ll get two of those a week and those will be my official “days off”. Doesn’t that sound fair? I work three jobs and Cousinfucker works none. I never show up for anything for my kids. I’m never around for my kids. All so that I can support them. Because Cousinfucker won’t pay child or spousal support. And because he’s very busy playing Daddy of the Year to the whore’s four kids.

I’ve been going through old entries, mainly because I deleted a bunch of pictures and realized when I did that I lost my images on the posts. Duh! But as I was reading I realized I kept saying that maybe in six months things would look better. Maybe in a year things would look better. Maybe I was wrong and I would get an amazing job and my kids would do wonderfully here. Maybe this and maybe that. But you know what? None of it is any better. Picasso and Rock Star both are doing well but I’m not. I work two shit jobs for shit pay and that’s cost us our free health care. Their father is doing everything he can to get out of having to pay. I have no new and better life. I have, like, three friends here and I rarely go out with any of them. They all have lives of their own and very little time for me. I have no life outside of work. I’m too fucking tired to do much of anything after I’ve spent 13 hours at work. I have days where I fall asleep sitting up in a chair around 7:30 because I’m so tired I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. I feel horrible even admitting this but I dread the days I have to go to something for either of the kids because it means that I no longer get my 2 hours of down time. And then I feel bad if I don’t go; I feel bad that I don’t want to go. Because I have always wanted to go and support them. I have a life that I am desperately hoping ends sooner rather than later. I try and I try and I try some more. I work my ass off. I desert my kids. I try to be positive and I try to look on the good side of things and it comes around and kicks my ass. Every. Goddamn. Fucking. Single. Time!

You know what’s funny? No one believes me! I mention I hope I die of a massive heart attack and people think I’m joking. Someone once said to me, “I hear you work a second job.” I told her that, yes, I do indeed work a second job. I work from 4-7 am most days before I come into Job #2. She told me she didn’t know how I did it and how I managed and I replied, “Well, I cry every day.” Her response? “You’re so funny!” No, seriously, I cry pretty much every day. No one believes me. They think I’m hysterical. The funny kind, not the crazy kind. And lest anyone gets all worried I’m not suicidal. I wouldn’t kill myself but I’m not looking forward to staying alive most days either.

I really don’t think I can do this anymore. I’m so over all of this shit. I’m so tired of getting knocked down. I’m so tired of feeling just a tiny bit of hope only to have it slapped down hard. So many days I just want to tell him, “Fine! Take it all! I’ll take all the debt. I’ll pay you support. You keep your 401k. You keep your pension. I’ll pay you back for every goddamn thing you think I owe you and you pay me back nothing because everything you took was absolutely positively yours and yours alone. Hell, I’ll pay you half for my goddamn car so that I can still drive it even though you haven’t made a single payment on it in almost 2 years and have never paid the fucking property tax on it!” It still wouldn’t be enough for him. I hate him. I hope he dies. I hope it’s painful. I hope someone videotapes it and sends it to me so that I can watch it every night as a sweet bedtime story as I fall asleep. It might be a nice change from ID TV.

P.S. I know I said earlier I was generally a kind and loving person. I am. Unless I hate you. Then I hope you die. Painfully.

Inadequate Mom

I like to think I’ve somewhat got this whole working mom thing together. Don’t get me wrong. It sucks and we’re poor but I’m getting it done. I actually made dinner Sunday through Tuesday and then we had leftovers on Wednesday. I think tonight (Thursday) I’m going to make breakfast for dinner because I didn’t have time to get anything into a crockpot this morning between Job #1 and Job #2.

Normally though I feel a great sense of inadequacy. I don’t say this so that everyone tells me I’m doing a great job or that I’m superwoman. I honestly feel like I’m failing my kids at every angle.

I was having a conversation with Picasso, asking him how he liked living here. He mostly likes it. He just misses having friends who live down the street (or right across the street). He misses being able to hang out with friends after school. I told him I would take him wherever he wanted to go.

“I know, Mom, but you’re never home.”

Ouch! And even worse is the fact that even though I’m never home, even though I work two jobs, even though I have to go to bed around 9 pm, like a damn toddler, I still don’t make enough money to really be able to provide much aside from food.

If he misses the bus I’m not around to take him to school. If the school calls and tells me the bus is running late I’m not there to pick him up. I did manage to return a few calls to the school and at one point one of the ladies in the office joked with me, “We know there’s no use in calling you about something because you’re at work and can’t talk on your phone while you’re there. So we know Picasso will just have to sit here and wait an hour until the bus gets here.” Double ouch!

I get cranky when I have to pick Rock Star up from her job at 10:00 at night because it means I get less than five hours of sleep that night before I need to go in and begin my thirteen hour workday. I missed more of the games that she cheered at than I attended. I did make it to the parent meeting for track this week but it’s anyone’s guess how many of her meets I’ll actually be able to attend. We are trying like hell to get her driving test scheduled and that is going to take coordination not seen since the Seal Team 6 strike on Osama bin Laden. It’s exhausting.

I can’t financially provide for them, despite working constantly, and I’m no longer available to do the regular “mom” things I used to do. It is so frustrating. This was never how I intended to raise my kids. If I had known this was going to be my life at age 48 I never would have had them because what’s happening is definitely not fair to them.

What If There Is No Life To Gain?

I wrote this post a few days ago. I actually rewrote it because the first edition was enough to make me want to slit my wrists. It was really pitiful. Believe it or not this is the sunnier version and it’s still not all that sunny. I wanted to post it anyway because despite having a fairly decent weekend, and despite having a more hopeful disposition in the past 24 hours, I spend most of my life feeling the way the post describes. Who knows? Maybe a change is a comin’. That would be delightful. For today, however, you’re left with this.

The motto over on Chump Lady is, “Leave a cheater, gain a life.” I’ve read many inspirational stories about people who have done just that. They’ve received promotions, went back to school, finished Masters or PhD programs, traveled, done fun things with their kids, remodeled or bought houses, got a new family pet, took back their lives, stopped walking on eggshells, found out that life without the cheater was fantastic, etc.  Good for them. Sincerely. These are the questions I’m always left wondering:  Did you have a job when you got divorced? How old were you when this happened? How long had you been married? Did you lose everything when you got divorced? Did you have to sell off all your furniture and belongings and leave whatever you couldn’t sell behind? Were you moved across the country and then forced out of your house, forced to move hundreds of miles once again, or do you still live in the same city? Did you have to yank your kids out of their schools once again and make them start all over? Did you move in with your mother or father or some other relative that took pity on you because without them you’d be homeless? Were you left with nothing but debt? Did your shithead ex quit his or her job after 15 years of making 6 figures and leave you destitute? Did a judge take pity on them and slash their support obligation by almost half? Were you old, fat and pretty much used up when they left for the shiny new whore?

I try very hard to hold on to that inspiration. To this belief that there is a new life out there to gain. A better life. One that will be so good that I won’t miss anything about my old life. But honestly? There is absolutely nothing that I find appealing about this new life I’m living. Believe me- I would love to say those words I just wrote: I have created a new life for myself and it is so much better than anything I lived with Cousinfucker. But the fact of the matter is, despite that 14 part bitch list I shared, I wasn’t unhappy.

I had things I enjoyed doing- Bunko, PTA, Teacher Appreciation, hockey and gymnastics for my kids. I got to travel for gymnastics meets, go shopping and buy whatever I wanted within reason, get my hair colored and cut at an actual salon instead of out of a crappy box and Great Clips. I knew lots of people. I had fantastic neighbors. I carpooled. I had lunch with friends. Hell, I had friends. I kept busy. I was able to go to all of my kids’ events. I drove them around everywhere. They were my life.

My husband wasn’t much of a partner or a father, but the kids and I got along without him. And he did join us occasionally, especially right after he was caught in his first affair. I figured out a way to be happy and fulfilled even if I didn’t have a husband who wanted to do everything with me and be by my side every minute of every day. I liked my old life, especially the one I had before we moved to Whoreville.

Now my life consists of drudgery. I work and I sleep and if I’m very very lucky I run my kids around. That’s it. I work approximately 55 hours a week. I work 6 days out of seven on a regular basis. I begin my day at 3:20 am, leave the house at 3:45 and get home sometime between 5:30 and 6:00 4 days out of 5. I dread pretty much every single day because it’s just more of the same- get up at an ungodly hour, go to work, come home, take Rock Star to school, head back home to get ready for the second job, go to work, come home, repeat. Also, make sure you’re in bed before 9 unless you’ve got to pick up a kid from a game or work. In between getting home from work and going to bed I enjoy the following fun activities: emailing teachers and/or counselors, making sure we still qualify for Medicaid, filing taxes, doing laundry, cleaning the bedroom, shampooing carpets, washing dishes, making dinner, feeding and watering the dogs, picking up Rock Star from practice, taking her and picking her up from work, and taking out the trash.

I know I should feel inspired by the stories on Chump Lady but I don’t. Every time I read them it’s like a kick in the gut once again. Promotion? Career thriving?  Making more money than I ever did when with the cheater? I didn’t even have a fucking job! I hadn’t worked outside of the home since early 1998! My big accomplishment was getting a seasonal part-time job that paid me $10.50-$11 an hour. I followed that up with getting a full-time job that also paid an amazing $11/hour. The kids and I live on approximately 15% of what we used to live on. It sucks. I hate being poor. The reality is he waited until I was middle aged and out of the workforce for far too long before he left. I don’t think I will ever get even close to living the same kind of life. I’m not sure I’ll ever even get to the point where I only have to work ONE job as opposed to two. There are not a lot of job opportunities for middle aged women who are starting over at the very bottom. Plus, we’ve already established that I suck at my new job so it’s not like this is going to lead anyplace.

Traveling? Having fun with my kids? I don’t have any money! Where the fuck am I going to travel? Hop in the car, kids! We’ll take a drive down the road, cross the state line and call it a vacation! Or maybe I’ll take them to Steak-n-Shake and we can get one of their $5 meal deals. No milkshakes, kids; Mommy is poor and Daddy is busy faking PTSD so that when he finally gets a job all of his money can go to his whore and her kids.

I remember one woman saying she created a scrapbook of things she and her kids had done since the divorce. I seldom do fun things with my kids anymore; again, I don’t have the money. Or the time. I also rarely see them anymore. Picasso is usually holed up in his room playing video games with his friends but even if he wasn’t I wouldn’t be around. Between my schedule and Rock Star’s schedule driving her to school and to work are about the only times I get to see her. Thank you, Cousinfucker, for ensuring that the last 2 years that my daughter lives at home I never get to see her. You chose to abandon her. I didn’t. And yet I’m the one that gets to continually pay for your choices.

Remodeling a house? Buying one on my own? Don’t. Make. Me. Laugh. I live with my mother, for crying out loud. If I didn’t we would be homeless. I’m not joking. I don’t make anywhere close to enough to pay rent somewhere, much less rent and utilities.

Finishing a Masters or PhD program? Snort. When exactly would I have time to go back to school between the two jobs and raising my kids? Something would have to give. It couldn’t be the jobs because I need those to pay my bills, take care of my kids, and pay for this magical schooling. Plus, I’m almost 48. I need to carefully consider whether or not someone would be willing to hire someone at my age fresh out of school. Getting discarded in your late 40s holds a few more challenges than being discarded in your 20s and 30s. Not as bad as being discarded in your 50s and 60s, I suppose, but still not a great position.

No longer walking on eggshells? Life being so much easier and stress free now that the cheater is gone? Pshaw! I have an uncanny ability to put up with tons of bullshit. It’s not like we ever walked on eggshells around Cousinfucker. If he was in a mood I just ignored him and left him to his own devices. He was probably sexting whores but I didn’t know that at the time. I just went along my merry way, doing my own thing while he pouted and sexted. I would say that this new life is the more difficult and stressful one.

Someone else said she took spin classes and met up with friends when her child was gone. After already putting in a 14 hour day I’m in no mood to do any exercise of any kind. Not spin class. Not yoga. Not aerobics. Nothing. Maybe, possibly, I might enjoy a good ol’ boxing or kickboxing class IF I can pin a picture of Cousinfucker and Harley on the bag and proceed to kick the shit out of it. Honestly, though? I’m probably too fucking tired to even do that. It all sounds great. Oh yeah, after work I’m going to lace up my running shoes and run 3 miles. Or, I’ll hit the yoga studio. Or, I’ll pretend I’m beating Cousinfucker and Harley to a fucking pulp at kickboxing class. The reality is that time kicks your ass. When you’re getting up at 3:20 in the morning 6 pm rolls around and you suddenly find yourself tired. You’ve been up for almost 15 hours by this time when most people have been up for maybe 12. Hell, I didn’t used to get up until after 7. You’ve put in a thirteen hour workday and you know you get to turn around and do it all over again the next day! It’s not like this is an aberration. No, this is your life.

Plus, Cousinfucker moved me away from all of my friends so it’s not like I have this huge support system and we get together and drink wine or do fun things together. The friends I have from my hometown have lived a life without me in it for 20 years now. Their lives are full and I make up only a tiny part of it. That would be fine if I actually had something to fill my life with outside of them; unfortunately, I don’t. So there isn’t much of a social support network.

They always counsel us to find something we are passionate about, something that we enjoy doing. I had those things. They were all taken away. I have roughly 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 hours each night to devote to “my passion”- if I never want to see my kids again. And if I can afford it. And if I’m not too tired. Or I can take my one day off each week and use that to devote to my unknown passion. Fuck the dishes. Fuck the laundry. Fuck the kids. It’s all about me. Only I’m not like that. I’m not going to desert my kids, especially not after their father has done so. I have so little time and I’m always tired so whatever I end up doing I would like it to be something that I really do love and care about. I don’t want to fill in space just to fill it in. That’s what all these Meetup groups feel like. I’m afraid that’s what church is going to feel like. That’s what I think a divorce support group will end up being.

I don’t know what I’m passionate about. Everything I knew and loved was taken away from me, even before Cousinfucker started fucking his cousin. My life as I knew it has been obliterated. It has been filled with work and poverty and trying to raise two kids while poor yet working nonstop. I hate it. I absolutely fucking hate what my life has become.

There is a part of me that says, “Try to get involved with a theater group. You loved that once.” But then there’s another part that says I’m too old to get any decent parts and yet another practical part that says, “Hey! Plays take an enormous amount of time and commitment. You don’t really have any time to spare. And if you do what’s going to happen to your kids? Are you going to abandon them, too? You’re already down to 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 hours a night with them. If you do this then you’ll really never see them. And who will get your daughter where she needs to be?” So I’m afraid that will be put on the back burner at least until I no longer have kids in the house, and probably indefinitely. Yet another thing I waited too long to reclaim.

I have no joy in my life. I have brief moments where I laugh at something funny one of my kids says. I occasionally will have a day where things are going right for me so I get a 24 hour period of relief. There was the moment my daughter finally was happy. I’m glad for her but I’m not happy. I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again.

For the most part I just exist. I’m numb. Life is neither good nor bad. It just is. I’m just here killing time, counting down the days, the weeks, the months, the years. My life consists of working all day long and then running to and fro for my daughter who doesn’t have her license yet. I don’t really look forward to anything. I don’t even look forward to or find joy in attending my kids’ events because it just means a longer day for me. It’s one more thing on my list of things to do and I’m already exhausted most days. The last thing I want to do is go for another 2 or 3 hours when I’ve already been going for a good 14 hours or more. I dread most days, actually. I can’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve stumbled out of bed at 3:20 in the morning, got ready and headed off to Target and thought, “This is my life now.” There is a certain feeling of defeat when you realize that this is your life and it’s never going to get any better. You realize you are never going to live a good life again. You will never take another vacation. You will never get to travel to places you’d love to visit. You won’t be able to ever take your kids to DisneyWorld. You will never be able to go shopping or buy your kids things just because. You’ll never be able to give them grand gifts or surprise them with something they’ve wanted for a while. You will never own your own home; hell, you may not even be able to afford to rent your own apartment. You realize that you will struggle in poverty for the rest of your life. That you will always be pinching pennies and remembering the life you used to live- the one where you didn’t have to worry constantly, the one where you had a home of your own, the one where you had furniture and household belongings and friends and joy. It was a life I didn’t dread and wish away.

I keep hearing about this new and improved life. I really wish I could create it. Unfortunately, with the choices Cousinfucker has made I now must spend the bulk of my life working for very little money, which leaves very little left over to create any kind of new and wonderful life. I would love to report soon that I love my life, that I’m happy and content. First I heard give it six months. Then I heard give it a year. Now I’m hearing give it two years. Well, I’m a year and a half out from D-Day and I’m no closer to Meh or to a new and improved life than I was 2 weeks after that day. Perhaps I shall begin the countdown anew once we are officially divorced.

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.

The Dream Job Starts To Become a Nightmare

September 2014

I can’t feel too sorry for him because he wanted this but I’m left once again just shaking my head at what is my life. I know he says he wanted this job to feel better about himself, to feel excited about work again. But, I also know they planned on him moving closer so they could be closer. Makes it much more convenient to meet up and fuck when you can lie and say you’re visiting your family when in reality you are driving to meet up with your whore. No airplane ticket needed. I digress.

He is disgruntled, dismayed, distraught. Feeling sorry for himself. I understand. His boss wants them running seven days a week. Zack is pissed.

So, to sum up, Zack is unhappy, I’m unhappy, our son is unhappy, and while our daughter seems to be very happy, we’ve wasted around $25,000 these last 3 years on gymnastics. I’m putting it all on my husband and his dear whore. I probably should hold him more responsible. Afterall, he just had to have this plant. But I figure with her sending him naked pictures and telling him how she’d suck his dick all the time once he was closer he was easily persuaded to let all the powers that be know he wanted it. Wow- his dream job and his dream whore, all tied up in a neat little bow. Only it’s not his dream job and he supposedly dumped his dream whore long before an offer was made. I would love to see her in this position- her Romeo a mess, her kids unhappy. I do wonder how she would handle it. Not exactly what you were expecting and fantasizing about, huh, Harley? As I always like to remind you, you got all the good and never experienced any of the bad.

Present Day Sam Says: <<< Makes it much more convenient to meet up and fuck when you can lie and say you’re visiting your family when in reality you are driving to meet up with your whore. No airplane ticket needed. >>> Did I nail it or what? That is exactly the excuse Cousinfucker used!

My brother tells me I was being a supportive wife, that I did whatever it took to make that jackass happy, so I shouldn’t blame myself. Yet… every time I look back I think to myself, “How could you have been so stupid?” I knew his original plan was to move us all closer to her. I knew he began making noise about taking over the Whoreville plant when he was involved with Harley. I was just so convinced that we were back on track and that he really had chosen me. I thought I had won the so-called pick me dance and that he rejected Harley. I was full of hubris and my children and I have paid a steep price for that.

And the Adjustment Continues

September 2014

Aaaaaand the other shoe has dropped. Took my daughter to a new gym yesterday to work out and see how she liked it. It seemed like everything was going fine but once in the car she said she wasn’t having any fun. So, she’s decided to quit. We aren’t even checking out the other gym. So, Whoreville has taken yet another thing. I have officially crushed my child’s dreams. Six months ago she wanted to compete in college. Yesterday she quit. I’m trying very hard to keep this about her and what she wants. I knew her teammates were very important and played a huge part in her life. I knew the teams out here were small and might not provide the social aspect. I thought she might quit after this season but I didn’t expect this.

I just bought a new car that gets great gas mileage based on taking her an hour away 4-5 times a week. If she was going to quit I could have bought an older car. I didn’t need the more expensive hybrid. I could have bought what I wanted instead of focusing on gas mileage.

On the bright side I’m saving $315 a month in gym fees, $500 in coaching fees, and probably another $800 for entry fees. Plus, a new leo, new warm ups, new bag. Yippee! I’m rolling in the dough. And I don’t have to drive to the whore’s city, even if it’s not really her city, just a city with the same name. I don’t have to drive an hour and 15 minutes to either city.

On the negative side, and yes, I know this is all about me, I’ll never post another video of her doing gymnastics. I’ll never again be able to brag about how strong she is or what incredible athletes gymnasts are. I’ll never again get to say, “Look what my kid can do!” I’ll never see another Yurchanko and she’ll never perfect hers. I’ll never see new tricks and quite honestly, it won’t be long before she can’t do her old tricks. I’m no longer a gym mom or a hockey mom. I get to do whatever I want and not be constrained by my kids’ schedules in a town where I know no one and have nothing to do. The schedule is already wide open and now is even wider.

Gosh, Harley, aren’t you sad you didn’t get to make this move? Aren’t you sad you didn’t get to uproot your kids’ lives and crush their dreams? Cos God knows I live for this shit.

September 2014

Thank you, Whore! Last week my daughter quit gymnastics. Today my son was crying and didn’t want to go to school because he says he has no friends at school. Thank you! If you and my husband hadn’t decided to toss aside your wedding vows and started fucking around this wouldn’t have happened. If you two didn’t stupidly convince yourselves you were soul mates and start plotting to be together he never would have pushed to get the Whoreville plant. We’d still be living where we were. I’d still be happy. My kids would still be happy. My daughter would still be a gymnast; my son would still be a hockey player. So thanks, Whore. Thank you so very much for helping to put things into motion. Too bad you couldn’t have convinced him to leave me for you. Then you could be stuck in this hell hole while my kids and I stayed in our former state, taking a huge chunk of his check for alimony and child support, plus extracurriculars. And he would have given me anything I asked for because he would have felt guilty for abandoning his kids in favor of you and your kids, if you managed to keep them. Again, thank you, you fucking whore.

Present Day Sam Says: I find it amazing how naive I was. The hits in 2014 seemed horrible but they were nothing compared to what my life would be like less than a year from this point. Two years later I would be even lower. There I was all stressed out over gymnastics and hockey dreams ending and I had no idea that two years later everything would end. I would be homeless if not for my mom. I would lose everything. My kids would lose all their new friends. My daughter would lose all the sports at her new school. The hopes and dreams Harley and Cousinfucker took away from them in 2014 were nothing compared to everything they stole from them later on. I hope they both rot in hell. Unfortunately, I think people like that rarely get what’s coming to them.

I also like to look back and see how much I underestimated I him. Guilt? Oh good God, what was I thinking? He has no guilt! Only an endless need for pity. If I had divorced him back in 2013 he probably would have decided he had PTSD back then and quit. Then again, I hadn’t yet made that leap for him yet so unless Harley was on the ball… I can’t even begin to find the adjectives that will be strong enough to convey the disgust I have with him.