Putting it all together...but so much is missing.

Counseling started yesterday.

I saw a post from Caroline Madden, Phd. (Grab her books!  They are a big help!) It said, "Signs he will cheat again: He makes YOU find the marriage counselor"

It was a picture, but I can't find it now.   I DID find the first counselor.  When we sat down, he looked at him and asked him if I could come alone.

Huh?

That guy didn't work out.

So back in July, I told him, "We need help.  We need to be able to learn how to get through this, to talk to each other, to heal.  Will you find a counselor?"  He said, "Yes."

So last week he finally did.

I think it will be a good thing.

I'm angry today, and I've snapped at him through the evening and today.

I want off the ride.

She told me, "Your world as you knew it was rocked.  Your foundation that you assumed was strong, has crumbled.  You love him, so it makes it difficult to just walk away.  You love him, but you fear he will hurt you again, so you don't fully trust the new foundation being built.  You're in constant battle with the fear and the love."

She agrees with truth seeking.  She also agrees he's been dragging it out too long, and it's time to stop that.  I need what I need to heal, and he doesn't get to decide what it is I need.

I have an individual session on Thursday morning.   He has his on Tuesday.

I'm looking forward to working through this all, but I'm also afraid of facing it.  It's not easy, and it sends me reeling.  But I also know in time, it sends me healing.

The timeline is killing me - When he started sleeping with her.

The timeline.  What difference does it make, really?  It's not like I don't know, sitting here today, that they fucked each other, but for some reason, I've needed to know WHEN it started... and it DOES make a difference...possible life changing difference.

It's killing me.  I'm warning you now, I get pretty vulgar as I go on with this story.  There's the warning.  I sort of turn into a crazy cussing maniac.

I'ts been almost two weeks since we talked.  I am still feeling like I'm standing in quicksand.

I still can't stop shaking my head and trying to wrap my head around what he's told me.

I don't know if I ever will, and I don't know if I will ever be able to get the answers I need.  I think that's what I have to come to terms with now, that I will never understand, and that I need to come to terms with it, or make a decision if I can live with it.

I'm fighting with myself very hard, and it's an internal battle of madness.

The timeline.

Sept. 10 - He goes and takes her to lunch.
Sept. 11 - He goes and eats lunch in her office with her.
Sept. 15 - He goes to her house that night, tells me he's going to band practice.
Sept. 18 - He leaves for a trip with our boys, they text all weekend.
Sept. 20 - I ask to see pics of the trip, he refuses to hand me phone.  I know.   7 hours of fighting, he still tries to deny there is anyone else, picks me up out of our yard and makes love to me all night.
Sept. 21 - I check phone records, and take a look at his old iPhone that is still connected to his account...it's filled with their texts.  I contact HER before I confront him, she promises she had no idea and will back off.  He comes home from work, takes me to bed.

 And so it goes, on and on.  Repeat....fight, tear down marriage, finger point at each other why this happened. Tear each other down, begin seeing what was going wrong, start slowly rebuilding.  And of course, drag each other off to bed... it's crazy, heartbreaking, and insanely passionate.  It's exhausting.

We have been together 25 years at this point, and I am realizing that I am no longer that 18 year old girl I was when we started, we have never been like this in our relationship, and it's amazing.

I believed him as he tells me they are not talking at all.  Even though I can see his confusion, I don't see him pulling fully away from us, because we can't seem to keep our hands off each other.

I have asked him since I found out about them at the end of April 2016... "When did you start sleeping with her?"

He has refused to answer.  Just says, "I don't know."

I have always felt like it was that Tuesday night he went to her house.  I've asked, he has repeatedly told me no, they did not.  In my heart... it makes more sense to me that he slept with her that night, and caught some feelings...some excitement... some danger.  So that when I find out a week later?  He is not ready to let go, and that's what led to the 8 month affair with her.

So two weeks ago, I ask again.  After all, he's understanding and witnessing that when he sets something at ease in my head, I can put it to rest.  And I usually do.  So, I ask again.  We are in the barn, getting ready to mow.  This is something we weekly do together, and I have his attention.  I asked him, "When did it start?" He says, "I don't know."

This makes NO sense to me.  How can you not know?  It's a pretty game changing thing to do!  When?  "I don't know"

Yes you do!

He says, "When did you find out?"  I told  him, "Sept. 20th, did it happen before then?" He says, "No, it didn't happen before that."

Ugh.

I say, "Did it happen before your birthday?"  His birthday is Sept. 28.  I'm wondering if it happened that week, right after I found out.

This man actually says at this point, "When is my birthday?" I roll my eyes at him, he's clearly nervous.  I tell him when his birthday is.  He says, "No."

"So it happened AFTER your birthday?"  "Yes"

But in my head, I'm like... no... how?  He was with me almost EVERY SINGLE DAY at the end of Sept, till middle of December when I had a surgery done, and was out of commission in that department for a week or so.   No... in my head, I'm screaming, NO!

So he holds strong to "I don't know" for quite a while.  We start mowing.  I can't even look at him as we pass each other.  I'm furious.  But I have to keep it together.

We stop, park the tractors, and I walk away.

Never mind, I turn and head back.  I walk around the barn and say, "When."

He pulls out his phone.  Loads the calendar.  Asks me a couple questions about things that happened that fall.  He narrows it down.

"Sometime the first two weeks of October."

I'm numb.  I can't figure it out in my head.  I'm arguing internally with myself that it had to be that Tuesday, that it made more sense that he CHEATED BEFORE I FOUND OUT ABOUT THEM..... NOT AFTER!!!  That doesn't fucking compute in my head!

"Huh?"  I muttered.  "First couple weeks of October??"  "Yes"

I don't understand.

I make it through to Monday...but I'm reeling.  Dizzy is the only way to describe it.  I have a program that I can plug my iPhone into, and it will save all texts.  I go to that and pull up our texts to each other during that time... The end of Sept, and all through October.... I'm especially interested in those first two weeks of October... when sometime in those two weeks, he decided I wasn't enough, and fucked another woman.

Our texts during that time are so x-rated, it's crazy.  We would talk about what we had done the night before, or even that morning...he would tell me things he wanted to do that night, I would tell him things I wanted to do, or wanted from him....   I DON'T GET IT.


How can  he do that?  And why am I so upset it didn't happen when I thought it did?

Though no matter WHEN it happened, it fucking sucks, but it still made more sense to me that he fancied himself with another woman before I knew!  But NO.  He decides to have sex with me almost EVERY SINGLE NIGHT and DAY, and sometime in there decides it's time to stick his dick in another woman too??

WHAT THE FUCK.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

My friend tells me I can't wrap my head around it,  because it's not something I would do.  She's right.

But I'm crushed.

I FEEL USED.  I feel dirty!!  I'm disgusted!!

Here's a little back story... I ended up in a foster situation when I was 14.  Without that family, I would not be here.  My mother would have killed me. She was an abusive alcoholic hot mess.  When I was 13, she decided to start hanging out at a truck stop bar near Baltimore.  She brought home a different trucker every other night... they never knew about each other, because they were never in town on the same days. She really liked one of them, and she decided he would help her with me.  Me being a wild out of control teen girl that was angry at the world.  She valued the way he said I should be raised.  Whatever.

He picked me up in his truck one day, minus the trailer.  He said it goes faster.  He took me to lunch at that truck stop, and talked to me about respecting my Mom and doing my school work.  We walked back out to the truck, and when I went to put my seat belt on, he told me not to.  The truck had that sleeper bed thing in it, and he straight up told me he needed to teach me about the real world, and then proceeded to rape me right there in that nasty truck, in that horrible parking lot of that disgusting bar.  When I got home, I told my Mom.  She said I was a liar, and it was not long after I wound up in foster care.

THAT'S WHAT I FEEL LIKE NOW!  Dirty, used, humiliated.  How could my HUSBAND do that?  He was the ONE PERSON IN MY LIFE THAT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HURT ME.  How could he shake the shit out of our marriage, then proceed to take me to bed every day, and then think... Oh, well... I need to have another woman too, and decide to sleep with her?    ASSHOLE.

My husband, father of my kids, the man I look up to, the provider of our family...has made me feel like that 13 year old girl again.  Dirty, used, humiliated, disgusting.

I'm trying so hard to separate the two, they are not the same, but strangely, the hurt is.  The hurt and humiliation feels the same.

He used me.  I ask him, "How?  How could you be OK with yourself knowing you were using me?"  he said, "I didn't think of it that way."

Back in June, during a session with my therapist, I told him about the trucker. I told my story and then curiously asked him, "Why is that time on my mind?  I have not thought about that man in many many years.  But it's on my mind a lot lately.  Almost like I'm pissed that this affair of my husbands has me more fucked up than what happened to me as a girl.  That should be more traumatic."

He looked at me and said, "Both of these instances are extremely traumatic, and you are now associating with a time that you survived.  Your survival instincts are showing you can make it through this one too."

It made sense.  Sorta.  I don't know.

I was surprised I told him.  I have only told my Mom about that day.  She didn't believe me, so I never spoke of it again.

So here I am.  Almost two weeks past him telling me this.  Am I mad it didn't happen like I thought it did?  Am I throwing a huge bitch fit because his affair didn't happen the way I THINK it should have?  That's almost funny.

But I'm lost.  I'm so lost.  I can't think.

I'm sitting here pounding on this keyboard, angry.  Hurt.  I usually feel better after writing and releasing...but I'm so angry that this isn't helping at all.

I'm so lost.

I just can't stop shaking my head about the timeline.  But the fact that he decided that I wasn't enough, and fucked her too?   I can't comprehend.

Part of me feels sorry for her, too.  He used us both.
But then that feeling passes quickly.  She KNEW HE WAS MARRIED.  

 I never thought I could feel hate for my husband... but I do now.  A small sliver of hate has slipped in, and I'm not sure right now what to do with that.

I trusted him.  I trusted him.

Disclosure has finally started...

Trickle truth.

It sucks.

Read two posts back... you'll see me bitching about it.  Follow me on twitter?  You'll see me bitching about it.

I realized I had to change my attitude when I asked him questions.  I realized that I needed to make him feel safe.

Which sucks too!!!!  I have to fucking baby him to get him to talk to me?

But I did.  I messed up, and needed to re-think how to do it so he felt safe.

The first time he went to see her, he popped into her place of work and they went to lunch.  I'm now working in that area, and honestly?  I don't want to go to the same establishment that they went to.  So I asked him, "Where did you guys eat lunch that day?"

Simple, right?  I'm not asking, "how many times did you fuck her in January?"  I'm asking a not so hard one to start!   He panicked, though I was calm.  He said he couldn't tell me, that I can't handle it.  We go back and forth and it escalates into a full blown battle for a week.  After the week went by and things settled, I looked at him and said, "This whole week was the worst fight yet. The longest fight yet...and all you had to do was tell me the name of the restaurant you two went to that first day"

He looked down, and nodded.

So I waited a day or two.  I texted him, in the morning, and asked the same question.  I say, now is best, because then I have the day away to process.  45 minutes later, he texted me back with the answer.  I was fuming, but he didn't know.  I cried, he didn't see or hear.  I texted back, "thank you, this helps me.  Have a good day and I love you". When he came home, I was calm, I no longer wondered if I would ever go into that restaurant, I had processed through that information.  Was able to talk to a friend that day, was able to bitch and moan, and when I saw him that night I hugged him and made dinner.

I positively reinforced his action.  He felt safe.

Or next talk was face to face, and again I remained calm as he explained some of the things she had told me.  I had to walk away at one point, and collect myself, but I remained calm, we talked, we hugged, he even cried.

I gave him a safe place to talk.  He needed to see that he could tell me what I'm asking for, and me not over react.

But now... after this weekend... I'm spinning.  I'm calm though.

I'm furious, but I'm rational.

I am talking to friends about it, I'm trying to process, but I'm sinking.  The further I sink, the more I feel like I'm detaching from him.  I'm starting to look at the future, and he is not in it.

I'm starting to see my future without him in it.

I asked him, because for some reason, I need to know.   "When did you start sleeping with her?"

The clocks...

I'm just sitting here tonight.  House is empty, silent.

There's a clock sitting above my TV.  It has caught my eye tonight, as it has many nights. 

I love antiques.  I spend a lot of time antiquing.  There is an energy, an aura around an antique, no matter what it is,  that I've always been drawn to.

It was Sunday, August 30, 2015.  I had been on the hunt for a 1940-50 fan for a while. Hopefully in working order. I live in a very old farm house, almost 200 years old.  Anything too modern doesn't seem to fit, and I've been looking for an old fan that will circulate some air conditioning throughout the bottom floor.  I told my husband I was heading to the antique mall to browse.

He said he wanted to go.  I was taken aback, he never wants to go.  I think he enjoys my decorating, but doesn't quite care where I shop to pull it all together.  I was grinning when we walked out to the car.  It would be just us.  This is extremely rare, we never do this.

I had a blast at the mall.  Browsing through 100's of booths stocked full of the past, it's my thing.  In one, I was admiring an old camera, and as I placed it back on the shelf, this old broken Big Ben clock caught my eye.  It didn't wind up, and the glass was cracked.  I didn't care, I wanted it. Sometimes I wonder if some of the items I simply must have were possibly in this old house at one time.

I showed him the clock, and he even agreed it was pretty cool, even though cracked.  He held up an old cast iron pan and asked me if I wanted it.  I had, at the time, just started cooking in them.  The older the better, they are amazing to cook with.  I was smiling ear to ear as we checked out, and I was kind of feeling silly as I hugged my old pan and broken clock and tucked them safely away in the truck.  He asked if I wanted lunch.  Yes!  We never do this.  

He held my hand  as we drove to the restaurant, and he held my hand on the way in.  What was going on?  I didn't know, and I didn't care.  I was having the best time with him.  Our conversation didn't even involve the kids.  We just talked.  We researched the age of the pan, and looked for the age of the clock.  We found it, it was created sometime between 1928-1935.  It was going to be a very cool shelf piece.

We had a nice lunch, and when we got home we spent the rest of the afternoon wrapped up in each other and really enjoying each other.

I put the clock right above my TV.  I could see it whenever I was in the living room. 

That Thursday, Sept. 3rd, he took me to a movie.  We saw a movie that was from a book we both loved.  It was amazing, really.  We hadn't gone to a movie in a very long time.  This was so nice. It was unusual, and welcomed.  It was needed.

September 10th, he started his affair.

I found out about them on September 20th.

That clock haunted me every time I looked at it.  All through October, as we hashed it out and tore the marriage apart, I would catch a glimpse of that clock and it was like a punch to the gut.  November rolled around, and as I prepared to cook what I thought would be our last Thanksgiving as a family.  There that clock sat... almost taunting me with memories of that rare day we spent together.

How could he go to another woman?  How could he give me such an amazing day, and then go to another woman days later?  I thought we were reconnecting, seeing that we needed to spend some time together, starting to enjoy moments together that didn't involve the kids.

December started, and we had a morning in the house to ourselves.  I was going to get him to talk.  We had torn me, the marriage and the past 20 years to shreds. Most, if not all, the blame falling onto me. Though, at this time, he was still holding onto convincing me that he was not with her,  or talking to her, that it ended before it started on Sept. 20th.... he told me that morning that he wanted to be with her.  That he had never felt that way about someone in his life.

That he loved me, but wanted to be with her.  Wanted to see where it would go, if she was the one that he was supposed to be with.

I couldn't breathe that morning.  My world was spinning out of control.  He wants to be with someone that he's not even talking to?  (God I was stupid). In my hyperventilating mess, I saw that clock sitting there... I didn't even think.  I picked it up, opened the door and sent it flying into a tree.  I stepped back in and closed the door.

Two days later, I went out and picked it up.   The glass was broken now, the side dented.  I felt bad.  I felt good.  I was a mess.  I put it back up on the shelf above the TV.

He saw it, "What the hell?  Why put it back?"  "Because I want to."  "But it's broken."  "So am I."

It stayed there.  Moved only for cleaning.  I was careful of the glass.  It stayed there.  It no longer taunted me of good memories, instead it seemed to comfort me.

13 months later, after Dday, after an ocean of tears has been cried, a million words said to each other, a thousand fights and make-ups... it stayed there.  There was something comforting about the shattered glass, the dented side... why, I don't know.  But it stayed there.

13 months later, he and I were again browsing through an antique mall, when he spotted another one. Same clock.  But in beautiful condition.  It was clean, it worked like it was brand new.  The sound of it ticking away was comforting.   It was beautiful.   He bought it without a word to me. 

It came home, and was placed where the broken clock sat.  I moved the broken one to a shelf not really seen, in a room we don't use that often.

I can see it now.  Sitting there.  Its whole.  It works.  It's in amazing condition. I can wind it up now and listen to it tick away the minutes.  It's a beautiful old clock.

He knew what that old one meant to me.  He saw my excitement the day he bought it for me. He knew I loved it, cracked and all.  He thought I was insane when I sent it flying into a tree. (I was).  I think he thought it would make up for it when he bought the new one.  

There is so much symbolism in those two clocks.  

I strangely miss the old one.  Why.   Why do I miss that one?  Why do I stop when I enter that room and just stare at that old one?  I miss it.  

I miss it.  I'm much more drawn to that broken, sad clock.

I may have had too much wine tonight.

Just dump the whole thing on me!

I've said this from the start.

Dump the whole bucket on me... Don't slowly fill your cheap water gun from the dollar store, and just shoot me with little drops of water.

Dump.  The.  Whole.  Bucket.  On.  Me.

It's what I want.  It's what I need.

I need to come up, gasping for air, cold from the shock, dry off, warm up and heal.

I don't want little drops hitting me for days, months, years.  I don't want to keep getting wet over and over, and have to continually dry off.

I tell him this.  He looks at me.

I tell him again, he just looks at me.

I tell him again.  For over a year, I've told him this.  He just looks at me.

And is silent.

I have always felt this way.  I'm not a mouse.  I can take a hit.  Just dump the whole thing on me, let me drown a little, and let me sift through the crap.



To be honest?  I thought I was alone in this.  But recently read another blog entry that helped me realize I wasn't the only one to think this way, and that we, as betrayed spouses, deserve the truth if you want to reconcile.

Her entry: Drip, Drip, Drip
Though I'm glad I'm not so alone?  I'm sad that there are so many of us.



I wish he would listen...

It's been a year

It's been a little over a year since that night.

It has not been easy.  There have been some amazing days, weeks.  There have been the lowest of the lows.

There has not been a single day that I have not thought of them together.  I've watched as many videos as I can,  I've read articles,  I've bought and read a million books.  I vent anonymously on Twitter.

But I feel like I'm still just laying in the grass by the creek.

Summer of '16 rolled in, and it found us going to a marriage counselor.  Our first visit, he asked the guy, "So, can she come alone?"

wtf?

He thinks only I need the counseling.  I went alone for 6 visits.  Counselor decided that I have 'abandonment issues' from my past.  From that stemmed how I actually loved my husband, and allowed him to love me.  He was right.  I did spend the past 27 years with this man, behind a protective wall.  I think I was always waiting for him to leave me.  Well, he did.

The 7th visit found him coming with me.  We ended up in a HUGE fight on that couch, and the counselor never returned my calls or texts after that.  Abandonment..  at the pushing of my husband, I found another one about 2 month ago, and I'm still not sure about this whole counseling thing.

I had an appointment this past Monday.  I was seeing him just once a month, but after what I dumped on him this past session, he's trying to see me once a week.  No.  Too much.

I wonder if I could write about what I dumped on him.  I AM anonymous here... I wonder it it would help to write it out...

I feel like HE needs counseling, too.  But he says he's fine, and doesn't need to talk to anyone.

One thing I know, is I need disclosure from him.  I need some details... and he's not willing to do so.  I've given him every article, every video, every blog post I can find, showing him the importance of disclosure. I've given him my reasons that I need them... nothing.

Crickets.  Or, sometimes he will grab me and we'll have sex.  I've noticed that he uses that a lot.  He used that during his affair, too.  Is it deflection? Take my mind somewhere else?

I feel like no matter what I read, or spend on counseling, or watch on youtube, that if he doesn't disclose, I will not begin healing. So how long do I stay in this limbo?

Some don't need details.  I am not one of those people.  I need information.

I have a good friend that has been by my side the whole journey. But she has not been through this.  She will ask me at times, "Why do you need to know?"  Another friend says, "What good will it do you to know now?"  Again, neither have been through it.

I need to know, because it feels like he is still keeping secrets, living that double life, still lying.  Like I am not worth knowing anything of his secret love affair.  But I am supposed to stay with him, because he chose me.  He chose me, but did he?  Or did she dump him and now I'm just the fall back second choice?

Actually... I have gotten a couple details.  I guess I should be lucky?  I wanted to know where they went out to dinner.  I DID NOT WANT TO GO TO THE SAME PLACES.

He told me. (It took him 3 months to tell me)  I processed it.  I had my moments of envisioning them there.  I had my anger.  I imagined he had a wonderful time watching her eat meat. (I don't) I imagined him telling her that he loved that she did.  I had my moments with the disclosure of the restaurants.   I'm processed, I'm through it.  I no longer obsess about where they went.  I know.  I wish he could see that, that talking to me and answering my questions calms my imagination and helps me process.

I also got Valentines day.  This took him literally 7 months to tell me.  Valentines day '16.  "Did you see her?  I woke up that morning, and you had left for work, I didn't see you all day."

He swore up until the night he told the truth that he didn't see her at all.  But he finally came clean, (sort of, I know he's still lying)   "Yes, after work I stopped by and gave her flowers."  7 months of asking, and lying to my face up to the moment of telling me the truth??

Damaging to rebuilding trust, let me tell you.

Valentines Day '17 found me in a complete meltdown from the triggers and contacting the other woman.  Upcoming post. My twitter friends really let me have it for contacting her!  lol!  I'm sorry! #WeakMoment

Have I processed through that tidbit of disclosure?  A little.  I think it's hard, because I know he's still lying about it.  Do I care?  I'm getting over it.   Some of my friends advice is starting to sink in a little, "What good does that do you now?"

And that's it.   That's all I've gotten in a year.  Flowers on Valentines day and the restaurants they went to.

I want to know when it started.  I want to know when it ended.  He has tried to tell me the end, but it changes EVERY SINGLE TIME I ask.  It's like he is still so caught up in his own web of lies, that he is forgetting what he told me.

I don't ask that a lot.  I can count on one hand how many times I've asked.  But I do feel like knowing how and when it ended is important...after all...did it end?  I don't really know.

But during my February meltdown when I contacted her, she volunteered some of the ending information, without me asking AT ALL...and IT DOESN'T MATCH HIS STORY ONE BIT.  I tell him that, and he says, "She's a liar, and is telling you these lies so I will contact her and say something to her."

Maybe?  I don't know.

So here I am, a year later, and still lost, and still confused.  Every day finds me getting angrier at him, for I see him as the one who can release me from this pain by disclosing, and he doesn't.

I think he's ashamed.  I know that when I do ask, his breathing changes, he looks down, he says, "This is not the time or place to do this" even though we may be sitting in the house completely alone or in the car together with no kids around.

How much longer do I do this?  How much longer CAN I do this?

I don't know.

I'm tired.  I'm finding that more and more, all I do is sleep when I come home.  I just want to sleep.

Can I move forward with my marriage, and healing, without him opening up to me?

I don't think so.

He hands me the burner phone

This one is the most insane entry I will do.  Might as well be truthful, it's life.  It's dealing with infidelity.  It's my definite DDay.  There have been other days of discovery, but this is the one.  And pretty much the last one.  This one will have sex, cussing, insanity, screenshots and madness.  If that's not your thing, just move on. :)

It might just be why he does not open up and talk to me now.  More than a year later, there has been no disclosure, and I think it's my fault. I did not handle this night well, and I think it scared him.  It scared me, too.  I've never  been this out of control in my life.  Something inside me flipped.

It was a tough day at work, the day before still running through my brain, little to no sleep the night before, adrenaline has not stopped pumping through my system.  When I got home, I was bottoming out.  I made a cup of coffee and sat on the couch, trying to breathe, trying to function.  He had a meeting that night with our sons, and was getting ready for that.  I laid back and closed my eyes for a second.  I heard him near, and opened my eyes.

He sat down on the coffee table and looked at me.  He looked at me for what felt like years, there was true fear in his eyes.  His voice shook a little when he spoke.

"You've been asking me what app I used to communicate with her.  I just wanted to come clean, it wasn't an app."

He reached into his pocket and handed me a phone.

"I used that."

I held it.  I held it.  I held in my hand the piece of shit phone that held them together.  I tried to hold myself together.  Here he is, trying.  He's trying to communicate and talk to me.  Somewhere in my brain, I realize he is trying. But there is a loud pounding of my heartbeat in my ears, and I also can see he is still talking.  But I don't hear anything he says over the roar in my ears. I don't say anything but, "Ok."

I held it together for maybe 3 minutes.  I stood up, slipped the whore phone in my back pocket and picked up my coffee cup, and walked out the door.

I walk up a hill, I'm crying?  I'm not sure what I was doing.  4 million things are hitting me at once.  The whore phone. He's trying to talk to me. The whore phone cost money, that we didn't really have. He spent money on her by using that phone.  Why would he have that?  Apps can be used?  Why?  Are they sleeping together?  Did they? The only thing that made sense was that they were definitely in a physical relationship for him to be hiding and harboring that whore phone.

I can't breathe as I'm heading up that hill.  I dropped to my knees, hyperventilating, about to throw up.  I see him coming up the hill.  I saw red.  It's not just a saying, it's true, I saw red.  I stood up, threw my cup over the hill, (I miss that cup, I should go find it) and charged at him.  I charged down the hill like a madwoman, screaming "Did you fuck her??!!"  I hit him in the chest with both hands.  He grabbed my hands and tried to hug me.  "No" he said.  "No, we didn't"

We head towards the house, me yelling and repeating "Did you fuck her?!"  With him repeatedly saying, "No!"

But it caused a rush of questions.  I questioned every single thing I've asked before:
Did you fuck her?  No
Did you spend time with her over Christmas?  No
DID YOU SPEND NEW YEARS EVE WITH HER?  NO
Did you fuck her? No! I didn't!

It went on for a while.  He said he needed a shower before he had to go to the meeting.

I was there when he stepped out, hitting him with more questions.  I've lost it.

But before he walked out the door for the meeting, he was promising and swearing that all he had told me for the past month since he came back to me was true.  That they only texted and talked on the phone.  They never met in person, they never had sex, they never took it to that level.

I watched him leave and picked up my phone.  I texted her a meme that I found to be appropriate.  Looks like she was wondering what I was up to today.  Also, notice I asked her NOTHING, she just started spilling information without being asked.

I felt crazy.  She spilled enough that my mind just slipped.  I took to social media - FB, Instagram, Twitter... Calling her out and trashing her.  

Reading back on that?  I called her a twat....um... I don't think I've ever said that word in my life until that night.  Not even sure where that came from.

Anyway, I realized I was slipping... I realized I needed some help.  I called my best friend, and told her I needed her.  I've never asked for help in my life, and haven't since that night.  She knew me enough that that was very unusual for me, told me to get over there asap.

I pulled up into her driveway, and got out.  I feel like my eyes were huge, heart racing, hair wild, shaking... I must've looked like a nut.  I was holding MY phone, not the whore phone, and said to her, "Stop me!  I'm doing stupid shit!"

She sat me down around her fire pit, poured me some wine, and listened while I filled her in.  She told me to take the social media posts down immediately.  That it was beneath me and to cut that shit out.  That I'm giving her power to post the things I did.  

(I did.  I took it all down except one... that will come later.) 

She definitely calmed me down.  She told me to be glad he had tried to share with me, by giving me the phone.  

I had my Find Friends off while I was there.  I'm not sure why I turned it off, but I did.  He texted me, "Where are you."  I didn't answer.  I spent some time there. I didn't want to come home quite yet.  Talking was good.  Wine was good.

After a while,  I drove home and sat in my car.  He's still texting me, and he actually thinks I went to visit his whore.  He thinks we sat around that evening having bash session about him.  I didn't correct him.  So he thinks I was with her, talking to her.

(He should know me... I wouldn't be talking to her, I would be punching her in the throat)

I used that.  I put together what I thought happened, and used the fact that he thought I was with her.

I told him she told me they had sex.  After he admits it, I let him know she didn't.

Oh, the games that are played.  Straight up truth would've been nice.

I got out of my car, and went in the house.  I kicked the door, I stared at him.  I grabbed something, I can't remember, and I left.  I walked.  I walked to the creek and laid down in the grass.  What the hell?  I don't know, but I laid there.  It was chilly, the sky was clear with millions of stars.  I just laid there.

I just laid there.  Do you know there are lightening bugs -fire flies- in the grass at that time?  I watched some slowly glowing, coming to life, and then slowly blinking out.  I couldn't move.

I just laid there.