I had another post written out, full of beautiful words and long sentences. I thought, okay, this is pretty good stuff, it's helping to get everything out and then I realized - it wasn't me.
Most who know me know that I only talk "large" or "eloquent" when I'm fired up. I can throw down a beautiful phrase with the best of them however, those phrases tend to not jibe with how I am internalizing. Basically, I truly enjoy reading a well written phrase/post/book and it stops there. Please read: I like your work, whomever this is offending, I just don't like the style on me.
Therefore, stop reading Right Now if small talk gibber isn't your source of enjoyment. In fact, run away from the blog.
A long, long time ago in a life I barely recognize, there was a man. A tall, handsome, intelligent, gainfully-employed man whom caught my eye and likewise.
Myself, in my early to mid twenties, thought that this man was the epitome of what success could be and promptly fell for him. Hard. Without realizing him for the gigantic P.O.S. he truly was.
Ohhh betcha bottom booty I'm still angry. Which doesn't make sense does it? I'm happily married and what's more have a guy who would never cheat. I shouldn't make an issue out of nothing there. And why even bring it up at all?
Because I'm like that. Because everything stated above is all good and fine and makes daisies bloom and therapists smile and - it's simply not who I am. I dwell, I gnash of the teeth, I sink into depression and pull myself up out of the muck but most of all these things, I dwell.
When I go down a street close to where he lives I freeze for a brief second, remembering the cold rush of disgust and panic. Who's he with tonight? He called but is he home?
Sex Addict. The addiction to sex. Something I am not nor would I want to be deigned. There was a time when all things dark like sex addiction just didn't make sense. Why would anyone care about this and if it was a problem, why stay?
2:30 in the a.m. and there you lay, wondering, "If I just love him more....", "If I just lost a little more weight he wouldn't need anyone else", "God I hope he isn't out whoring".
Sound bites into a mind that knew for chrissake what this man was doing around town. Knew that when he came home that one time, frantically explaining how cold it was and rainy and there was a woman walking by herself OUT in the rain Rachel, knew that he was whoring.
He had to pick her up, it was the gentlemanly thing to do and who the Hell was I telling him whom he could or couldn't give a ride.
Prostitute? Noooo, that's ridiculous, she was wet and cold and it had to be done.
The moments I gave up for this man are mind boggling - just thinking of the time wasted sickens me to this day. The grays in my hair quickened, the constant stress, the crying jags that lasted for weeks. Lines on my face that Do Not erase you P.O.S. Thanks for that.
What hurts more than all else? That I allowed myself to endure all that he dished over to me. I sat in his home, a dog kicked in the gut too many times to care any more about the mental mind trip. Waited for him to show me love that I thought I so desperately needed from him, and only him. He was successful and was going places.
My co-workers would laugh when I said I didn't care if he stopped by - the damage was right there in front of them and they knew I would fall apart.
Whores calling from ghetto motels in the downtown area, old girlfriends and his trips that coincided with the area in which they lived, not caring if we kept our date nights and lack of concern in general with anything other than the way I looked.
He was happy to have sex with me, loved it even. I was incredibly fit, smaller than I had been in years due to not eating and overexercising. Rants from a deranged woman still make me wonder - the ones wherein I wailed on and on about being fat and disgusting. No wonder he went elsewhere, my body jiggled for Gawd's sake!
There were denials that I accepted, phone call/caller ids that were seen and ignored - don't want to be one of those snoopy women, gifts and cards that were never received but ohhhhhhh, how those who he courted to fuck. Now those ladies got the goods.
He was caught once and forgiven. Out and out caught. Over at a girlfriends house in the early a.m. I drove home and took my nightgown, the one that cost more money than I had any right to spend on and Oh My God how it showed the pronounced curve of my back and hips, and placed it on his windshield, under the wipers. Attached was a note, saying something to the effect of "Caught Ya, Call Me"
Forgiven.
One phone call and frantic pleas that he would stop. He would stop because didn't I know! Didn't I know how much he loved me. What a mistake he had made and how brave of me to confront it head on. No no no, she meant nothing to him.
Forgiven.
Rolled over. Like a dog.
I would become pregnant with his child, taking him to the doctors to confirm and watching his horror stricken face as the positive was announced. I was willing to let him go then, not ever wanting any child of mine to see such disgust on their father's face.
Free, happy and then.....then I miscarried. I broke into a billion pieces, turning to the only person I thought could ease my pain. The one I was willing to walk away from for the sake of his own child. He took me back but only briefly.
The finale, wasn't so short, caught - with a pizza and a woman pulling up to the house just as I pulled up to surprise him that night. My words, "Are you cheating on me?"
Are you kidding me?
His, "Yes"
The end, sort of. I would sleep with him twice after that, once walking out with the last woman waiting at the door for him. Her expression of sadness or whatever she held in her heart shown only briefly. She spoke nothing and sat down on his stoop waiting for him.
Like another dog. Only she was addicted as he was - two sex addicts finding each other. Ohhh, how lovely for them.
In my hurt and deranged state I walked out to my car and laughed.....told him thanks for the good time.....and drove away.
I would kiss him one more time after that and tell him that he did not own me. He had not broken me, despite my saying likewise one sunny afternoon, collapsed on his living room floor clutching a small bear, sobbing and asking him "Why?"
He may not have broken me but he did make me gun shy.
Fear of the other woman always around the corner, even when the good guy sleeps next to me in bed. Nothing to fear.
Except....
The good guy is gone now. He's out there and trust has to be maintained and it will because he's the good guy. But I'll always wonder. And he'll understand and work with me as I work my way through it. I owe him that.
There is too much dwelling in the past in this household. Therefore, the past will be dealt with, spewed out on these pages over the next few posts. As they come to me and my mind tries to ease itself of burdens it holds far too dearly. To be that person that dwells here....and now.
