Hurt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Approximately Five Days Before D-Day

August 2015

Feeling better today.  And I’ve made some progress.  Yesterday I finally removed all of her pictures in my contacts.  I had her picture up for his nephew, Pastor Fake and Jezebel still.  Since I was beginning to talk to Tammy Faye more I had already replaced that one.  I kept her number in but deleted her picture and have her in my contacts as Kim.  I started to delete most of my entries on Facebook and then just decided to deactivate that account.  I’m even considering reaching out to Jezebel with a friend request.  CONSIDERING.  It’s not a done deal.

I am finally starting to realize what Shawn the Wife means when she talks about not pain shopping and focusing on your own happiness.  Tracking her down and seeing what she was up to, trying to interpret events (her hair is longer and darker, she’s lost weight- does this mean she’s involved with my husband again? Is she getting a divorce? etc.), seeing how she was interacting with my in-laws, did nothing for me except make me crazy.  Honestly, I know that I have given her more head space than she will ever give me.  I know my in-laws will never turn their back on her and I need to let that go.  Somehow try to find a way to focus on us and our relationship.  I doubt it will ever be the same.  I was re-reading some old entries when I was deleting stuff and I came across the one that finally nailed down what it was that made everything so hard.  I loved them.  I considered them family.  But when it came down to it I wasn’t the one they rallied around.  I was disposable.  I loved them all just like they were my original family and then I found out I didn’t mean anything to them if I didn’t mean anything to Zack. I felt like they were my family; they felt like I was Zack’s wife and everything about our relationship was based on that. So, I think I can navigate some sort of relationship with them while understanding that it doesn’t really mean anything.  It makes things more peaceful at home.

Hell, I’ll even forgive Blockhead and his snooping ways.

As for Jezebel, well, I don’t trust her and any relationship we will end up having will be extremely superficial.  I can be cordial.  I can do holidays.  But I won’t be willing to do things with her on our own.  I won’t confide in her or let her in on my family life.  I can be FB friends but honestly I’ll probably unfollow her because I don’t want to see her bi-weekly profile and cover picture changes or hear about her fabulous life with her very best friend and soul mate.  If the kids choose to be friendly that’s great but I won’t be facilitating it.  I’ll just caution them that these are people they’ll see maybe once a year and if Jezebel and Husband #3 ever divorce they’ll be out of their lives forever.  Enjoy it but don’t get too close.  Oh, and the biggie, remember to NEVER EVER trust her.

This way is just so much more peaceful.  It’s hard sometimes to sustain rage and I’m over it.

Thinking about everything that has been happening lately I realized just how much I love Zack, how entwined our lives are.  I’ve spent almost half of my life with him.  It’s not just about the two of us.  It’s about us and everything that we have built over the last 21 years.  I don’t want to lose that.

I am hopeful that this is the year our anniversary offers up no triggers.  I’ve even been thinking about renewing our vows.

Present Day Sam Says:  Oh, Sam, you stupid, stupid, stupid woman.  You so badly wanted everything to be ok even though your gut was undoubtedly screaming the truth to you.  You were too trusting.

Now that I’m done scolding myself I want to say I always find these later entries so painful.  I was finally over it and just as I recover he goes and does it again, assuming, of course, that it ever truly ended.  I ate so much shit so that everything could go back to the way that it was and it turns out it was all in vain.

 

Oh Sam, You Poor Deluded Idiot

July 2015

Things are a little better, I suppose.  I go up and sit with him while he’s home for lunch.  He’s going to his reunion with Blockhead.  Without me.  And he’s talking about going to visit him in a few weeks.  Again, without me.

He thinks he’s impotent.  I don’t know if I should feel grateful because then he’s not fooling around, or if that’s just an excuse and he needs an explanation for being repulsed by me. It was the excuse he needed to remain “faithful” to his whore.

We’ve messed around some and joked around some and that makes me feel better, but my gut just keeps screaming. Listen to that gut, Sam!

I did notice he left his phone on the arm of the chair when he went to go take his medicine so maybe he’s not as guarded about his phone as I believe.

I’m debating calling his mom and seeing if she knows anything.  Probably wouldn’t tell me if she did. Hell no she wouldn’t! She was pushing for this. She called Harley and urged her to call her precious son because he was so sad.

I’m just so sad.  I feel overwhelmed.  I was feeling good about coming back to BFE.  I was feeling good about me and Zack and our relationship.  I was pretty much done with anything having to do with infidelity.  I was done with her.  And now this.

I wonder if it would do any good to start at the very beginning and tell him I know that Blockhead told him about my Facebook page.  Tell him I read the emails between him and Jezebel.  Flat out ask him what the hell is going on now.  I’m exhausted anymore.  I’ve been back for 6 days and I’m exhausted.  And I’m nauseous most of the time and constantly looking for clues that things are going to be ok.

He skipped another therapy session.  Hadn’t wanted to go anyway and then said he would but at lunch said last time inventory took until 6 so maybe it would be best to cancel. But remember, I was dismissive of his worsening symptoms. That’s probably why he canceled.

And can I just say I’m getting a little irritated?  He can’t go to Florida with me.  He can’t even come and sit out on the damn enclosed porch.  He’s spent 3 months saying we need to get another door for our screened in porch and it hasn’t happened.  But he can drive 6 hours to see his mom.  Alone.  And he can drive probably 8 hours to go see Blockhead.  Alone.  And he can drive 6 hours to go to his reunion.  Again, alone.  He can’t do jack shit with me or with the kids, but he can get in a car and drive off alone and do whatever…. or whomever. He was fucking Harley. He drove to fuck his cousin. Period. And you were busy spackling like a good little wife.

Present Day Sam Says: I re-read these entries and it makes me so sad. And so mad. He played me for such a fool. I was an absolute idiot. I spackled and buried my head in the sand. I didn’t want to believe it. I simply could not wrap my head around the fact that my husband of 20 years could move across the country, buy a new house, a new car, new furniture and put a pool that cost the equivalent of many people’s yearly salary in our backyard and then turn around and fuck a whore. Seriously- who does that?

As I said way back at the beginning of this blog, why the hell couldn’t he have given me the two years I needed to get past what he had done the first time?

Sam, you know the reason.

Yes, because that’s not who he is. It’s all about him. It’s all about being easy and convenient. He wasn’t willing to do the hard work. He wasn’t going to be inconvenienced. He was entitled. He didn’t like feeling bad. He didn’t like discussing his faults and his shortcomings. Let’s focus on the future. Forget about my affair. Focus on other things. Like what you can do to prevent me from cheating.

We never really stood a chance. I knew from experience that once he was done with something, once he had made up his mind, there was no changing it. You couldn’t sweeten the pot and make him change course. That’s why I was so surprised when he “chose” me the first time around. I honestly believed he would never end things with her and stay with me. But maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was all a ruse. He would tell me what he needed to tell me and get his ducks all lined up. Then he could hone in for the kill.

I think we were doomed from the very minute he decided sexting with other women was a viable option. Because of who he is there would be no recovering from that. His mind was made up. I was old news. I was on my way out, no matter what. I think at some level I knew that. That’s why I always prefaced my comments with, “if”. It’s why I never fully rekindled relationships with the in-laws.

Why Would You Need To Sleep With Your Phone?

July 2015

He slept with his phone yesterday.  Said it was because the dogs kept knocking it down and he didn’t want to miss his mom’s call.  Then this morning I noticed the cord running to the chair where he always sits.  I thought it was in the chair with him but he’s actually putting it in his pocket.  He’s remote although he says the drive took a lot out of him and his boss was asking him a million questions yesterday.  I know he’s been talking to Blockhead because he told me this morning that they may go to their reunion.  I am either going to put my phone in his car on record or I’m buying a voice activated recorder to see if he’s talking to anyone on his way to work.  I know that won’t rule out everyone cheering him on to leave me but it might possibly eliminate my suspicions that he’s having another affair.  I wish I didn’t think like this but my gut is screaming at me that something is wrong.  He’s acting like he did back then.  And hell, his drive is only 10 minutes so maybe he wouldn’t even bother with calling and talking on such a short drive.

You wanna know the crazy part?  There are times I blame myself.  If I hadn’t used a public FB page as my own personal blog he wouldn’t be like this.  His other sister said he was so excited about this move, that it was a fresh start. I’m guessing that Blockhead stumbled across the page in December.  And everything has been downhill since. So I take that on as my own cross to bear.  I should have made everything private or friends only.  I could still have used it as my own personal blog but no one would have seen.  I could have made her pictures public and anything about her public and everything else private.  Despite the fact that he cheated and lied I’m the one feeling guilty and like if I had just done things differently then everything would be ok.  Sometimes I feel like it even extends to his family as well.  Not having a relationship with Jezebel causes him stress.  If I would just forget about all the things she’s done and how she helped to stab me in the back then everything would be ok.  And I know that’s faulty thinking.  He’s got to bear some responsibility in this.

At this point my mindset is this: He is not going to uproot his entire family and move us across the country so that he can leave me.  We will work through this because divorce is not an option.  Things are finally looking up in Whoreville and I really don’t need this shit. Maybe once my mom and everyone leaves on Thursday we’ll have a conversation about why he’s been acting so weird.

Present Day Sam Says: Yes, honey, he was willing to uproot his entire family and move them across the country so that he could leave you. He was willing to put a brand new inground pool in your backyard to throw you off his scent. He was willing to lie and cheat. He’s an evil, rotten bastard and you would do well to remember that.

 

Hang On, Folks; It’s Going To Be a Bumpy Ride

I hate him with the fire of a thousand suns. Honestly.

I’m heading out of Arby’s this afternoon, food in hand, when I see I’ve received an email from my lawyer and her assistant. Uh-oh. That can’t be good.

The shit eating chimp and his complicit lawyer are asking for documentation of my expenses. Yes, the lying liar who lies and who has been lying for 2 fucking years or more is asking for me to verify the expenses I’ve outlined. Well guess what, cousinfucker? I’ve got receipts coming out of my ass. That’s how I arrived at the expenses I did. In fact, in some cases I actually cut you a break, you dumb sonofabitch.

Rock Star’s competitive cheer is extremely expensive considering I have to make up all the payments from June-September, minus $120/month. I’m paying $278 a month for the regular month and paying $158/month for the months she missed. I also am paying $450 for the uniform, a $500 deposit fee, and a $40 registration fee. I took the total and divided it by 12 months because the season runs all year long. I don’t actually have 12 months to pay. I have 8. So guess what? Now I’m going to ask for actual monthly fees and not an average. Suck on that!

He’s got joint credit cards that he’s never paid on listed as part of his expenses, along with the damn mortgage for our foreclosed on house!

So now I’m in the process of trying to get 2 year old statements from a closed account from the bank to prove that I have nothing to hide. My lawyer even said he was being a jerk and that he’s further victimizing me. She said, and I quote, “It’s him further victimizing you and making your life hard, and he is an idiot for doing so. He should be busting his ass in the opposite direction.”

I also now have to try to get back statements from credit cards that haven’t been paid in over a year to show that he has not been paying them.

Here comes the fun part. After more than 30 minutes on the phone with my bank I find out that I can’t get the statements from the closed joint account because… Cousinfucker changed the address on the account to his whore’s address. So they can copy them and put them in the mail but they’ll be sent to the whore’s house. Isn’t that fun?

Yeah, remember last spring when I wrote about how he kept trying to change the damn address on my accounts? I kept changing it back but finally after he lost his job I figured, “Why bother?” Well, now we know why.

I’m sure it will be a similar situation with the two credit card companies. One is through the same bank. I’m pretty sure that anything that has both of us listed is automatically going to the whore’s old house. When he moved and left his forwarding address anything that said Cousinfucker and Sam was forwarded to him so I’m sure I’ll run into the exact same scenario with the second card; he’s been receiving the bill since he left back in February of 2016 and yet claims he had no clue how to pay it because he didn’t have the information.

Needless to say, that sent me into a tizzy. Most of a lunch hour wasted on bullshit and then finding out I can’t get what I need to clear my name.

Then after a rather pleasant evening out with a friend who was celebrating her birthday I open up yet another email. Cousinfucker and his lawyer have filed a motion wanting the date of separation to be declared in August or September, instead of February. That’s not all. I was pretty much expecting that. No, the real irony is that Cousinfucker once again begins talking about the money I transferred over from checking and savings into the account in my name only. He is claiming that he paid all marital debts and expenses and that I used that money for my own purposes.

That lying, cousin fucking piece of shit! I am not the one out there buying iPhones for a whore and her kid. I am not the one having my husband unknowingly pay said cell phone bill for the whore and the kid. I am not the one buying engagement rings or puppies or moving into brand new expensive houses. I was buying food and clothing and pet supplies. I wasn’t sending thousands of dollars to my boyfriend and trying to impress kids that weren’t mine. I didn’t authorize a $300 dress for a fucking school dance or over $400 in new sporting equipment, all for kids that weren’t mine. I didn’t take weekend trips with a lover or even take my own damn kids on a luxury vacation with that money. I was a fucking stay at home mom for the past 15 years. Our kids had just been ripped away from everything they loved in their previous life and now, a year later, they’re finding out their parents are getting a divorce. He cut me off financially; he did not give a shit that he gave me enough to pay the bills and that was it. There wasn’t enough money left over for groceries, much less gas for the car, food for the pets, or anything for the kids. I guess he figured I would go out and get some high paying job in a week or two and be on my feet in no time. Fuck the kids. Fuck the kids that already had a tsunami destroy their lives. Now let’s add taking their mother away from them. Let’s toss in making them quit all their after school activities because mom now works and can’t pick up the kids after school; she also has no fucking support network because, oh that’s right, the cousin fucking nitwit moved her 2000 miles across the country and away from her friends who acted as a support network.

I don’t know why his actions enrage me so much. I expected this on some level. But to see in print that I used that money for my own purposes just galls me. He is the only one that has been misappropriating funds. He has been misappropriating funds from the very beginning. The jackass blew through approximately thirty thousand dollars in four months time and not a single bit of that was on marital debts or the marital household. It was all on shit for the whore and her kids. But yes, by all means ask me to explain myself, you giant shitbird! Ask me to verify that I am telling the truth even though I’m not the one who lied and cheated. Oh, and while you’re at it change the fucking address to every statement I need so that you can effectively tie my hands behind my back and I can’t prove you are the liar and I am the one telling the truth.

I swear to God it reminds me of our marriage. I run around doing all the work while he sits back and does nothing. I’m the one trying to get bank and credit card statements from the banks. I’m the one verifying and proving and paying for all this shit! Oh! That reminds me. That’s another thing they would like proof of- my actual legal fees because they are essentially calling me a liar and saying they don’t believe my legal fees are what they actually are. Yep, that’s the kind of thing I’d lie about. My lawyer would willingly lie for me. Riiiight. Refer back to the previous paragraph, asshole. Maybe if you didn’t change the fucking address on all of our fucking shared bills I wouldn’t have to issue subpoenas for everything I need, thereby saving on, you know, lawyer fees! You dumb, cocksucking, cousin fucking sonofabitch!

Why isn’t he jumping through hoops? Why am I the one subpoenaing all the damn records? Oh, that’s right. My lawyer says it makes me look transparent and like I have nothing to hide. I don’t have anything to hide!

He’s sitting back, chilling with the whore and new whore family, not a care in the world. I don’t think his lawyer has done the legwork on anything. She just requests copies from what my lawyer has subpoenaed. Meanwhile, I’m spending my one free hour during the day calling around trying to get crap done and placing frantic phone calls to my lawyer’s office. That seems like the way it should be, doesn’t it?

The fire of a thousand suns, I tell you. I absolutely detest that man. I cannot wait for this shit show to be over.

1dagw7

1cesdu

 

Plenty of Bullshit From CF

This is the kind of mind fucking I got from him. All of the time! I still can’t reconcile how I was his rock, his savior, a saint less than a year before he began his affair with the whore again. Instead of getting mad (or getting a headache!) let’s make fun of his text messages instead!

July 2014

I am a saint and his rock. I am his everything, according to his texts. I try to believe him. He’s willing to do anything for me. So he says. I hope I’m not being played. (I was.)

I will do anything for you. Anything. There is nothing I won’t do for you. Please know that. You are my life. Above anything. I love you to my core. And I will do anything to make you happy. There is nothing I can even imagine that I would not do for you. Nothing. My entire life is committed to your happiness. Just ask. Anything. And I will do it.

Anything, huh? Will you stop fucking your cousin? Will you start paying your court ordered child support? Will you step up and be an actual father to your kids?

Hmmm… maybe I should send this to him and give him a list of my requests! Hey, Cousinfucker, remember back before you conned me into moving across the country and you told me you loved me to the core and you promised to do anything to make me happy? You told me you couldn’t imagine that there was anything you wouldn’t do for me. You’re slacking off here, buddy! I need spousal support, child support, a divorce. Hey, if you could have refrained from having an affair with your cousin that would have been great, but that’s already a done deal. Can’t change the past.

I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t want to burden the kids. If you think it is too much, then I won’t take them to see her. I don’t want to hurt them. I realize you don’t want to talk about this. And I thank you for doing it. I am so sorry for all the wrongs I have done. And I can’t even begin to express much I love you. You have taken all of me. The predominantly bad. And the very little good.

Yeah, I did take the predominantly bad, didn’t I? You don’t understand what you add to my life? Stand in line, Cousinfucker, because I have no idea what you added to my life either. Were you a partner? Nope. Were you a decent father? Nope. Good in bed? Negative. A social butterfly that helped us gain new friends? Nyet. Someone who cheered me on and supported me? Oh good God no! Make good money? Well, only until you started fucking your cousin. Then you decided to quit two jobs in four months and abandon all of your responsibilities.

You know what this really is? It’s victim morphing. I’m so worthless. Why do you love me? I have so little to offer you. And like clockwork I come along and tell him how wonderful he is and assure him that he isn’t worthless and that he adds so much to our lives.

I’m sorry you have to deal with that. Thank you for being a saint and my rock.

Yeah, I was a saint and your rock. Blah, blah, blah. A damn lot of good that did me!

What’s Up?

Good question! Not a whole lot. I’m spinning my wheels and getting extremely frustrated. I applied for Medicaid for myself and my kids last week. That was exhilarating! Oh, to be on welfare after living in the top 5%; it’s quite the ride, folks. I don’t remember if I told you that I also filled out an application so that my kids could get free textbooks since I’m poor. Because the school my son goes to is filled with low income kids I was fortunate to not have to apply for free lunch; everybody at school gets free lunch and breakfast. I could fill out a form for Rock Star but she refuses to eat school lunches so I pack hers. I’m loving the humiliation of applying for free stuff because I can’t support my kids.

I’m currently perusing jobs online. Most of the hospital jobs seem to want my last 7 years of employment history, which I don’t have, and 3 professional references, which I also don’t have. Because I haven’t had, you know, a JOB in the last 17 years. Because I was a dumbass and followed my husband around the country and supported HIM in HIS career. Oh, they also all want FULL addresses and phone numbers of all your previous employers. Again, I haven’t worked outside of the home in 17 years. I don’t know the addresses of my former employers. For all I know, none of them even remember me! I know at least one of the places where I worked was bought out by someone else and is now under new ownership and operates under a completely different name.

Ladies, do yourselves a favor. DO NOT STAY HOME WITH YOUR KIDS! They say the divorce rate is 50%. You’ve got a 50/50 shot at being dumped on your ass and left to flounder in poverty. Don’t do it! It’s not worth it. If you’re going to do it then make sure you have a very marketable degree that will allow you to re-enter the workforce at any time. If it will hold up in court, get a post nuptial agreement that protects you if you give up working to stand by your man and support him in his climb up the corporate ladder. Then pray that he doesn’t fake a nervous breakdown to get out of paying you support.

I should have known better. I should have learned from my own mother’s example. You know what I took away from it though? 1. Don’t marry a cheater. Ha ha ha ha ha! Oh, I thought I had gone in the complete opposite direction of my father but NO! I did not. 2. I looked at my mom and I thought, “She was a stay at home mom until the divorce. She did just fine as a divorced mom. She got a job. She provided for us. She even retired early and had a decent 401k. Staying at home is not a death knell.” Again, ha ha ha ha ha! What I didn’t take into consideration was the fact that my mom got divorced closer to 30 than to 50, like me. My mother was a stay at home mom for approximately 9-10 years. I did it for 17. My mom was early 30s when she separated and then divorced; people like to hire 30 year olds. They aren’t so accommodating to women nearing 50. At 30+ she had a lot of time to advance and make more money. At almost 50 I do not. And even if I do manage to make more money over the coming years it’s not going to do my kids one bit of good. They will be grown and supporting themselves by the time I’m making any kind of decent money. Hell, my daughter tells me once she begins working as a nurse she’ll take care of ME, which is very sweet but also very depressing at the same time. She keeps offering to buy me a Range Rover, which I have no interest in.

What else am I up to besides wallowing in pity? Not much. I got a lovely text from a former neighbor letting me know Cousinfucker and the whore arrived with a moving truck. A friend went over later to see what all he took. He is such a dumbass.

He took the cushions and pillows to the new couch but left the frame. Why? Why would a person do that? It makes no sense. He took both of the coffee tables. Because a brothel can never have too many coffee tables? He took my lovely little oak table that I bought on clearance to even out the dining room. I’ll be honest. They were only there because I hadn’t been able to sell them. He took the refrigerator that came with the house. It is a typical, nondescript refrigerator. Not stainless steel. Nothing new and fancy. In fact, it has a cracked casing, or something like that, which resulted in a leak that dripped through the ceiling in the basement and which ended up costing thousands in repairs (I’m assuming; we had a $1000 deductible). I’m hoping he thinks I paid to get it fixed and then he hooks up the water and ice and ends up with a giant leak in the ceiling once again. That would serve him right! He took the spare fridge we brought with us and that came with our old house. We used that one as a beverage fridge mainly. And he took the deep freezer. Joke’s on him, though. That sucker died this spring. I bought a new one and took that one with me. He took the microwave. He left the washing machine and dryer, which surprised me. It looks like he took all of his boxes from the garage that had been filled with his tools and other such stuff. He never got around to unpacking all of that because he was too busy faking a breakdown and fucking a whore. Give him a break. That takes a lot of time. He took both mattresses and bed frames but left the headboard and the bedroom furniture. I didn’t take it, or try to sell it, because it was a gift from his mom. I didn’t want it. Naturally, he did not clean up at all in the bedroom after he removed the bed. Everyone knows you find all kinds of crap underneath your bed once you move it. He also took the lawn mower but didn’t bother with mowing the damn yard and my friend tells me it definitely needs it. Oh well, it’s no longer my problem. He even left a lot of his clothing behind. I found that to be extremely strange. My friend is wondering if he is planning on coming back. I don’t know. He left all kinds of personal items behind; however, he did take the platinum rose that he gifted to me on our 20th wedding anniversary. I deliberately left that monstrosity behind. I wonder if he plans on giving it to the whore. I hope she enjoys my leftovers. I’m not sure if he took all of the cards and pictures he gave me, but hopefully he can reuse those things on the semen demon as well. I really regret not printing off that picture I made of the two of them. It’s a collage of him during his psych stay and one of her numerous mugshots (the most recent, I think) along with a festive little saying, probably something about being cousins. I really wish I had blown that sucker up to at least an 8×10 and put it in a frame and left it for them.

Oh, that reminds me! I found the perfect wedding gift for them. I was at a festival this past weekend and one of the vendors was selling engraved cutting boards and pans. One of the cutting boards read: Welcome to the Karma Cafe. There is no menu. You will be served what you deserve. For $14.95 I couldn’t find a better gift! I will buy that sucker, wrap it up, mail it from his home state, and not include a card or anything else. They’ll know who sent it.

Yes, I know that doesn’t sound very meh. I don’t care. Some days you have to say, “Fuck it!”, throw caution to the wind, and have a little fun with the cheaters. No, I don’t care if they think I’m obsessed with them or bothered by them. I know I’m not. I’m hoping that my eventual gift will be like a turd in a punchbowl. Unwelcome, unwanted, and really hard to forget once you’ve seen it. Sure, you can toss that turd out but…. are you really going to drink that punch? I don’t think so.

Speaking of turds in a punchbowl, or something like that… Rock Star got her permit. I would say hooray but she’s already had a fucking permit for 9 months. Now she gets to hold one in this state for 6 months. HOORAY! That’s so exciting. By the time she finally gets her license she will have had a permit for 15 months and logged in over 100 hours of driving time. That’s probably a conservative estimate honestly. Probably more like 150-200 hours of driving time. Plus a wasted $200 on behind the wheel training. Let’s give Cousinfucker another shout out. Hooray! By the time she’s able to drive (and let’s get real here- be able to run errands for me!) she will be almost 17. She will be at the end of her junior year of high school. I will have a little over a year to enjoy having another driver in my household and then she will be off (assuming of course that we can afford college). I would say the silver lining is that Picasso will be able to get his learner’s permit 4 months after Rock Star gets her license, but in order to get your permit I think you have to be enrolled in a driver’s ed program. Or maybe you can’t actually drive until you’re enrolled in one. Regardless, they no longer go through the schools here so instead of Driver’s Ed being free and Behind the Wheel being $200, I’m looking at $500 or so. See above. I have no job and once I do have one I’m not expecting to make much more than what is necessary to cover my current bills and pay for food, dog food, household supplies, and utilities. Driver’s Ed is completely out. I suppose I could always make him get a job so he can pay for it himself. Mother of the Year right here. You can have whatever you want, kids, so long as you get a job and buy it yourselves because Mama can’t buy you a damn thing with my shit job. Yep, top 5% right down to the bottom 1%. Okay, maybe bottom 5%. It is glorious.

Upcoming plans include going down to the unemployment office and seeing if they can help this broke, unemployable stay-at-home-mom of 17 years look just a teeny tiny bit appealing. Then I’m off to hit the temp agencies so I can work for $8/hour. Nothing like knowing your teenage daughter makes more money than you. I’ve got a goddamn college education and she hasn’t even graduated from high school but she’s probably going to be making more money than me for a while.

On the plus side I’m no longer crying every day. No, I’m down to about 3-4 times a week. And only when I think about how shitty my life is. And realize that I will never take another vacation. Or that I will never own another house. Or how I will never be able to do anything special for my kids. And when I realize that I’m pretty much where I was 20+ years ago, before I met that jackass I married, only now I have two kids that are depending on me and I’m letting them down. Or, when all those people tell me that life is going to get so much better and I know that no, it’s not; it’s only going to get so much worse. Yep, down to crying 3-4 times a week. So, hey, progress! It’s a beautiful thing.

I hate my life and I wish I were dead. My life is basically over and I’m praying for a heart attack to take me early. Actually, yes, I do hate my life; however, I wish Cousinfucker were dead. And Harley, too, just for good measure. Because I hate them both. Turns out I’m fine with that!

A Year Ago Today (Or Rather Back in 2014)

The title is misleading. It’s referring to a date in May. This is August. However, I am just going in order with these and so far I am only up to entries from May of 2014. Enjoy!

Blast From the Past 40

May 2014

A year ago today my husband told me he had been texting other women. Lying to protect his precious whore. Acting like there were many and she was nothing special. A year ago today, the moment he admitted he knew one of them and he said her name I knew she was trouble. A year ago today my life began a downward spiral and it would end with me finding out my husband either continued his tawdry little affair, or searched her out again after a short period of time because “he missed her”. It would end with me finding out he had been lying to me for 3 1/2 months and that they really really liked each other, and they had talked of a future together and they told each other they loved one another. Eventually I would find out he bragged about marrying the bitch whore. It ended with me realizing how disloyal my husband’s family could be, even after almost 19 years of marriage, and with me distancing myself from his family. We may be doing better as a couple, but my relationship with his family will never be repaired. There are just some things you never recover from, and it’s too bad they don’t realize that until it’s too late. A year ago today he cried and told me he didn’t want a divorce. And then went behind my back soon after and started up with her again. A year ago today really sucked.

Present Day Sam Says:  Dear Sam, Just FYI, August 2015 is really going to suck hard, too! And you can pretty much write off the entire summer of 2016. Love, Future Sam

Puzzles, Tammy Faye, & a Whole Lot of Lies

Blast From the Past 25

March 2014

We were doing a puzzle the other night when his mom called. I was sitting across from him so I could hear parts of their conversation fairly well. Two points aroused my interest.

First, I heard her talking about our text conversation on my birthday and how she had asked if it would be ok if they came and visited after we moved. She told him that maybe once they came out she could talk to me and get “all of this resolved”. I don’t think she comprehends that everything is already resolved, and he is too chicken shit to tell her what the actual problem is. He wants to bury his head in the sand and just forget everything that happened. Gee, wouldn’t that be nice? If only I could just pretend none of this happened. Life would be grand.

You want to resolve everything and get things back to the way they were? That will never happen. They have been changed forever. And the fact that you continue to have a relationship with her will not be ignored by me. How do I forgive that? How do I pretend like it doesn’t matter? It does matter. You’re complimenting and laughing with my husband’s mistress.

I’ve debated telling him to tell her there’s nothing to resolve and I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve debated just leaving it as: Because of his affair I’ve realized that in the end you’re his family; not mine. If we end up divorced I will be the outsider, while you support him and welcome whomever he brings over with open arms. It won’t matter how wrong he was or how devastated the kids or I might be, or if the new woman is a home wrecking whore. You’ll still love her and welcome her. I recognize that and I need to protect myself against that. I’ve even debated telling the truth: Part of it is the fact that in the end you’re his family and you’ll support him no matter what. And no matter how much I may have loved you I’ll just be a distant memory while some other woman takes my place. The other part is you know he had an affair with Harley and yet you and everyone else continue to treat her like she’s some wonderful person. EVERYONE he sees on a regular basis while in his home state have their heads so far up her ass I’m surprised their eyes aren’t brown. Jezebel knew the entire time he was messing around with her and according to him, her only advice was to do what made him happy; he deserved to be happy. And then he told you about his affair with Harley and supposedly you weren’t very happy with him. But six weeks later you’re telling her she’s sooooooooooo pretty. You continue to like her status updates. You or Pastor Fake ask her to make you sausage balls and when she says you’ll have to come visit to get any you reply, “No problem.” When you told her she was soooooo pretty she joked about you being partial and that she had to change her profile picture so people wouldn’t think she had got herself a new man. She’s joking about having an affair with the mother of the man she had an affair with! And you don’t think that’s a little bizarre. You don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. You don’t find anything strange about seeing your son’s wife and your son’s mistress both liking something or commenting to someone. That doesn’t strike you as abnormal at all. In the end it all comes down to the fact that none of you can do what I needed you to do which was to support ME. Not her. Me. I needed to see some kind of a united front, some kind of support. And I never got any of that. I got a half hearted apology from Jezebel months later. And all of you sit around yakking it up with my husband’s whore and then wonder why I’m such an awful bitch that just can’t understand why you don’t want to terminate your relationship with her. I needed to feel that everyone supported me and instead I feel like everyone supports her. I needed all of you to discontinue any kind of relationship with her and none of you did. At this point telling you if you have a relationship with her you can’t have one with me is pointless. You’ve all already made your decision and you decided you wanted Harley in your lives. So, you’ve got her. Sorry I didn’t lay it out clearly enough for everyone earlier; it just was never something I thought needed to be said. I thought it was common sense. You find out your son/brother is having an affair. You know the person with whom he’s having the affair. He tells you he’s made a huge mistake and he wants to make his marriage work and he’s hoping and praying his wife doesn’t leave him. In fact, he’s a nervous wreck thinking she’s not coming home. You say, “I fully support you and your wife working on your marriage. I wish you the best. Let me know if I can help.” And then you remove that other person from your damn life. In an ideal world you even contact that person and let them know, “Hey, due to the fact that I know you and my son/brother have been having an affair, and due to the fact that I know he desperately wants to save his marriage I can’t have anything to do with you. It would cause pain and is extremely disrespectful to my daughter-in-law/sister-in-law, and if I want to have a relationship with her I can’t have one with you.” It’s just that simple.

Second, I heard his mom say, “I’m going to tell you something and you’re not going to like it.” I couldn’t hear what else she said. I know she was talking about where she would go if anything happened to Pastor Fake. Then at the end she said, “I won’t say anything else about it.”

My mind immediately went to Harley. All I could think of was that now they weren’t just FB friends; she was actually calling now. And she’s offering her a place to live. Wouldn’t that just be great?

When I asked him about it at first he said he didn’t remember. Then he claimed it was her sister-in-law she was talking to. I did ask him why she thought he wouldn’t like what she had to say but he brushed that off as her not following his directions to take care of herself and to not go out.

I’ve actually debated asking his mom what the real story is because I’m not completely sure I believe his story. He was still upset the next day and chalked it up to his mom’s illness.

It’s bringing back memories of him freaking out when I asked him to email me the FB archives I had sent for. Today his story is he deleted his FB page because it made him miss home too much, made him see how much everyone else had. I’m calling bullshit. I think he and Harley talked about things through FB messaging and he didn’t want to take a chance that I would find those conversations. I think there is a lot of stuff about their affair he doesn’t want me to know. And then I wonder, why doesn’t he want me to know? Isn’t the worst part already revealed, the fact he was cheating on me, the fact that he told her he loved her, the fact that they were planning a life together and he had told people he was going to marry her? It’s difficult to concentrate on the future when you’re haunted by the past.

Editor’s Note:  I now think that whole conversation had to do with how Harley was contacting Tammy Faye.  He was lying through his teeth.

 

A Letter to My Kids

Hey Kids,

The time has come for you to find out that your mom is not all powerful.  That I am, in fact, human and I make mistakes.  So I want to apologize to both of you.

I’m sorry I picked such a wretched excuse for a human being to be your father.  He has failed you in ways I couldn’t even begin to imagine.  For years I listened to him whine on and on about his father and how he was rejected by him.  But you know what?  He always financially supported him and that’s more than I can say for your own dad.

I’m sorry I chose to be a stay at home mom instead of working a job so that when this time came I could support you without his help.  Don’t get me wrong.  I loved being at home with the two of you.  I loved being the one to take you places and plan school parties and volunteer at your schools.  I loved going on field trips and being here at home at the end of day.  I loved being able to watch you at all of your meets and games, being the one to drop you off and pick you up, being able to travel with you.  I truly did.  In hindsight, though, I never should have done it.  I should have worked.  I should have told your dad that his career wasn’t more important than my own job.  I should have followed my passion and done something with my life aside from being your mom.  I know that sounds like a shitty thing to say and I don’t mean it to be because, again, I loved being here for you.  I still do.  But I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place now.  I’m sinking fast and I’m taking both of you with me.

I’m sorry I didn’t stand up to him more and baby and cater to him less.  Maybe if that had been the case he would have left sooner and I would have more options.  Maybe it would have helped and he never would have done any of this.

I’m sorry I can’t keep you here through graduation, Rock Star.  I cry every time I think about it even though everyone tells me you’re going to be fine.  I’m going to end gymnastics for you forever.  I’m going to take away you being captain for your team.  I know high school gymnastics was not what you wanted and won’t take you to college but it was better than no gymnastics at all.  I’m taking you from a place where you are a very big fish in a pretty small pond and I’m going to turn you into a goldfish in the ocean, if goldfish could survive in salt water.  I feel like I’m ruining your high school experience and I am so so sorry for that, my sweet girl.  Once again, I listened to your dad whine for years about how he was constantly moved as a child and never attended the same school each year.  He never switched high schools though, a privilege he is denying you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t do whatever it was that I needed to do to stay married and give you two a stable home, even if one of your parents wasn’t always sane or even around much.  If I knew what I did wrong, or what I didn’t do that he wanted me to do, I would have taken the appropriate action.  But I have no idea what it is I did or didn’t do that made your dad choose to have an affair.  Honestly, I know  that I can only be responsible for my own actions and he is responsible for his.  I am truly sorry, though, that I couldn’t make this marriage work.

Finally, I am so sorry I agreed to this move.  I am so sorry I tore your lives apart for this shit storm we are in now.  I’m sorry for the pool that we are probably never going to swim in even though we’ve spent a crapload of money on it.  I’m sorry about your friends and your sports and your schools.  I’m sorry about everything that you’ve had to lose and all that you’re still going to lose.  I’m sorry I don’t have a home of our own to move us to.  I’m sorry for all the dreams you have that aren’t going to come true because we have to leave.  I’m sorry for all the plans that you are making that aren’t going to happen.  I’m sorry we’re going to be poor and your lives are going to be turned so far around you aren’t even going to recognize them.  I’m sorry for everything.

Your uncle tells me every time I say that that it’s not me who is ruining your lives- it’s your dad.  I’m here, though, and he’s not.  So I’m the one who is apologizing.  I cannot apologize enough for what is going to become of your lives.  I would say I should have picked better but then I wouldn’t have you two.  At any rate, I failed you both, and for that I’m sorry.  I’ll do my very best to make it up to you somehow.  I promise.

Love,

Mom