The following entry is simply me writing how I feel as I feel it. Working through my thoughts in writing this morning turned my mood around so I’m glad I did it.
Sometimes I feel like I’m turning into a monster, and sometimes it gets so bad that I actively look for signs to convince myself that I still have my humanity, that I still have feelings, that I still care. My anger phase was intense and very difficult to deal with, but this is different. The peaks of anger were something that I could grasp, something I could make sense of. This is different. It’s a slow burn, a quiet hatred that isn’t necessarily directed at my spouse and what she did. It’s like a gradual poisoning of my soul. When I try to visualize what I feel inside, all I can see is a growing cloud of blackness.
How did this happen, I wonder? Maybe the answer is in my own writings over the years, but I don’t feel like going back and re-reading all that again. My memories are enough. Not that I’m a fan of my memories either, but they come up whether I like it or not.
I still see that day. I still feel it coming when I’m driving home, expecting the worse, in spite of the fact that it would be impossible right now with her and the kids always home. It doesn’t matter. I come home from work early and the dread of experiencing that moment starts to creep up inside me, and unfortunately I come home from work early frequently due to the disruption caused by the lockdown.
I see that moment in my head and I feel a muted sting of what it felt like to witness complete, utter betrayal that day. That’s when I decide that it’s okay, she’s not getting away with it. Because one day, I’ll drop that bomb: I want a divorce. No, I don’t love you anymore, never did. It was all a lie, just like what you did to me.
Then I wonder why I am thinking this. Did I not give her another chance? Did I not feel love for her and willingness to try to forgive? What happened? The second discovery happened and that really turned down my enthusiasm for making it work by a lot. But still, I went on. Maybe I felt trapped by that point, thinking of how unfair it would be for the kids for mommy to suddenly be out of the house again, and so soon. Maybe I can’t cope with the humiliation of trying to make it work with someone like her without imagining that it’s all part of a great revenge plot?
But I sat her down, on the stone path, and I told her… it was a moment, wasn’t it sincere? That was long after the second discovery. I don’t feel like that now. I mostly feel nothing inside. That it’s all jokes and goofing off until I’m reminded of the reality of the situation.
I hear love songs on the radio and wonder if I will feel that way about someone. I’m supposed to be with the love of my life, am I not? How could she be so stupid? How I can I be with someone who did something so stupid and have any self-respect?
Maybe that’s what it is. Pride. A lot of people know and the only way I can save face is to leave. No, not quite. That’s a small of part of it. The bigger part is saving face with myself. So, instead of anger when I flashback to that day, I simply think, don’t worry, she won’t get away with it. I don’t need to elaborate. I just see me walking out in one of the various ways, alluding that it was all part of the plan. Then I move in from it. A coping mechanism for my pride.
Very interesting. Writing it worked it out in my head. Now it’s not so confusing and strange. Now the question is, putting my pride aside, do I want to stay with her? Well, first I got to figure out how to put my pride aside.
In case anyone’s wondering, the family (and marriage) has been doing great in quarantine. The wife and I get along as well as ever and the kids are managing well. My struggles within almost feel like a separate beast from the life I’m living. Lately, my creativity and productivity have been at an all time high, and I’ve been doing very well balancing my health, fitness, work, hobbies, and time with my family members.
Until next time,