It’s been a long time since it happened.
Nearly seven years, actually.
I made clear in a previous post that I blame him for this. As with any relationship, I know I have to take responsibility for my own shortcomings, and I do. They pale in comparison to what he did to me; what he did to us.
And why does it still have to hurt so much?
When will it stop hurting?
Without question, I am over him. I no longer love him. I haven’t for a long time. I do not hate him. It would not bother me in the least if I never spoke to or saw him again. (Of course, this can’t happen (and I won’t allow it to happen), because we have Z and M.)
What I am not over is how much he hurt me. He’s not only hurt me, he’s hurt me in such a way as to have a long-term impact on any and all relationships I may have. He’s hurt me in such a way as to have a long-term impact on any and all relationships I already have.
When I need to talk to or just be in the presence of someone the most, I can’t bear the thought of it. I can’t bear the thought of confiding in someone else.
The depth of the pain is too much to bear.
When will it stop hurting?
When will I be able to return to some version of the woman I was before this?
I thought I was getting better. I mean, I’ve told the story of what happened to so many people these past few months, and I’ve done it nearly every time without feeling anything. Like it was just something that happened. That, sure, it was a big deal at the time, but I’m good now. In fact, I told the story to someone today, and I was fine.
I’m not fine.
I came home to relieve him from his childcare responsibilities, so he could go back to his place, and we, of course, got into an argument. He was angry with me about something. I can’t even remember what. Then, he made me feel like hell about all the time I’ve been away from the kids lately (even if I am still with them more than he is) because of work and school.
Then, I was sorting through some things looking for items to donate to the local women’s shelter, and I came across all the e-mails, letters and receipts from seven years ago. (I had them tucked away in case I need them when it comes time to get into all the legal stuff.)
I forgot they were there.
I immediately broke down.
I didn’t even need to read them (and I didn’t).
Sunk to the floor and started sobbing.
Haven’t stopped crying, actually.
I can barely see through the tears as I write this.
And, as much as I need to talk to someone, I don’t feel I can.
There’s no one close by that I either trust enough or is in a position for me to bother with my stuff. And, for the couple of friends I do trust (but who aren’t in a position for me to bother them), when does it stop? Even if I did call them or ask them to come and just sit with me, when is enough enough?
It doesn’t matter how much I try, I still cannot put to words exactly how deeply I feel the humiliation of him telling other people the most intimate details of our life, in explicit detail…so they could spit them back at me or so I could read about them in e-mail exchanges.
It doesn’t matter how much I try, I still cannot put to words exactly how deeply I feel the betrayal…after he managed to break down the walls to get me to trust him; to get me to declare him “the best person I know,” when someone asked why I was marrying him.
I doesn’t matter how much I try, I still cannot put to words exactly how deeply it all hurts.
I often feel like I’ll never fully recover from this.
Why does it still have to hurt so much?
When does it stop hurting?
And why does it make everything else that hurts hurt so much more?