Years March On

Five years.

That never ceases to shock me, knock me to the floor.

He was capable of cheating and lying and outright deception for at least five years.  And look himself in the mirror, and do it again.  And again.  And again.  And only used his bad feelings to fuel his fun.  Never, never, did he really consider coming clean, being honest, fixing what was broken.  He knew how.  He knew about the tools he could use, therapy, counseling, honesty.  But he was capable of such total deception and disrespect and damage and abuse for years.

A mistake.  A couple of times and then realized it wasn’t stopping.  But no, he was capable of years.  Wasting his life?  Wasting my life.  He was having fun.  He was enjoying his little sex secrets and his whore harem and his orgasm orgy.  He only needed me to make it more exciting, to help him not feel like the loser he was living.  I was just a tool in his addiction.

And his behavior remains that of a secretive, deceptive, lying addict.  That is so sad.  The years of lying destroy my hope and my belief in good things in this life, or any.  The fact that he still lives that same way just makes me so sad, for his future, that no one ever really changes.  Maybe that is just more fantasy, more movie BS, that people can become someone so much better, truly see their errors and grow up and fix things that they totally destroyed.

My wicca teacher did that.  She was a drug addict and decided not to live that way, and changed her life.  But she was much younger.  He has been lying his entire life.  He has been practicing grinding addict ruts into his brain for most of his life.  That will never change.  He will never stop lying, and as long as he is comfortable lying, he will always keep his secrets and his addictions.

And I must spend two more years in this hell.  I watch my life dying behind me, stretching out like an empty, sad, lonely desert.   I look ahead and see only more years of loneliness and pain and emptiness.  Maybe I just have no idea what a real relationship is like.  Maybe I would be just as terrified if I were offered one because I am so used to being lonely and taking care of my own needs because no one else knows how to either.  Maybe I would feel threatened if someone insisted they be that deeply involved in my life when I like some privacy and I like my own space and don’t feel it is wrong for someone else to want their space, too.

But ‘their space’ ends up with deceit and cheating and lies.  I was willing to chance an affair to let someone have a fuller life beyond this single marriage relationship.  But I only wanted someone who cared enough about the relationship, and me, and themself, to be honest when things went awry.

I hate this city.  I wish I had never allowed myself to think that this marriage was worth leaving a town that I loved for this hateful, ugly, destructive, lonely place.  I wish I had any idea how horrible this would be and I never, NEVER, would have come here. 

I want to go home.

Reboot.  Reboot.  REBOOT.

I must take this as a positive.  I must look at the opportunities for spiritual growth here that I might not have had otherwise.  I must find the golden lining and not wallow in self pity.  I must not regret what has happened for there is no changing it and getting stuck in the past will only stop me from moving forward.

That is so easy to say.  So hard to do when everyday I must face this pain and cannot escape.  I feel like a rat living on the shock pad and can never get relief.  He liked living in that hell of  shame and self hate.  It felt right, it was so addictive and he made sure he could keep it going.   I hate it.  I wanted someone to make good new memories with.  Now they are all blasted to hell. 

All that time. 

All those years.

Oh my fucking gods.

Is this really what I wanted?  Is this really what I agreed to in this life?  How do I get better than this piece of crap?

I am better than this piece of crap relationship. 

I give better than this I am being given.

I am better and better.

I am.


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