August 19, 2011
After I called my friend to inform her that I unfortunately would not be flying back to her wedding our conversation became strained. It felt false and distant. Maybe it wasn’t and I was feeling things that weren’t really there. But with feelings of guilt overcoming me, I was emotional, mad at myself, and disappointed for having disappointed her.
As soon as I hung up the phone I cried. I cried because I couldn’t please her. I cried because I feel like I can never please everyone, or anyone for that matter. I cried because ultimately I cannot seem to please myself.
The small choices in life seem overwhelmingly difficult. I cannot seem to find my footing. Or maybe I just haven’t really tried hard enough yet. I don’t know what I want, so I’m not pushing myself in any direction. And by not pushing forward, once again I feel stuck. I know I’m my biggest critic, but it seems I have a lot to criticize.
On the one hand I seem to be treating this time as a vacation from life, a distraction from my thoughts, a hideout from my pain. I’ve only been here a month so what’s the rush?! But on the other hand I feel stressed for not having adapted yet to my new life, for not having already found a job (to be honest I haven’t even started looking) or a study, or preferably both, for not having started living the real world.
I feel failure breathing down my neck. Failure at choosing the career of my dreams, failure at keeping my marriage together, failure at reaching my goals, failure at dictating what those goals are, failure at making myself happy.
I know all the doors are open for me, but somehow I haven’t started stepping in any direction yet. No one to blame for that but myself, my own foolish doubts and my fear of further failure. I know the best things in life won’t come sorted out, organized and served on a silver platter, just waiting for me to set my foot forward. For some things you just need to work God damn hard. Some things are worth it.
February 12, 2011
After writing about my monster in-laws, I guess it’s only logical that I write about my husband, my soon-to-be ex. But although many words float in my head, spinning round and round, I cannot seem to write them down. Words cannot describe how I feel.
I keep wondering about the kind of man my husband was, and the monster that he has become. I think about the kind of love he gave me; controlling, and blinding, never enough. It was an abusive love, bruising and harmful, bittersweet. Knowing now that “the one who loves the least controls the relationship” and seeing how he controlled the younger version of me, I have to wonder if maybe it was not love at all.
On my weak days I hate. I hate him for what he has done, and what he continues to do. For the blame and guilt he let me carry on my shoulders. For the affair and the behavior that came afterward. For not having fought for us. For manipulating others to believe that he tried.
I hate myself for the weakling I have become; without him, because of him. I hate that I let him control me and manipulate me. I hate how I let my relationship sabotage my confidence and my pride. I hate feeling like a failure, ashamed that I was not good enough.
On my strong days I love. I love him for what he was for me and for the 9 years in which he made me happy. I love him for everything that I have learned from him. I love the blissful ignorance which protected me for so long. But above all I love me for the woman I have grown into because of him, without him.
While my thoughts of him still linger, we have long since parted in silence; but tears and pain have not taken away the longing memories and false sense of nostalgia I am left with in the silence of the cold and lonely nights.
January 26, 2011
One of my co-bloggers wrote that “If another woman steals your man, the best revenge is to let her keep him.” While I’m not sure how I feel about this, maybe it is the best revenge. Maybe my husband, his brother and the mistress/slut are on the same level, and therefore deserve each other.
My husband has been looking quite bad lately. Actually I think he looks a bit like a terrorist these days. He’s become super skinny (with no woman to cook for him), he shaved off his beautiful golden hair which I loved so much (most likely to spite me), and he’s grown this long, dark heavy beard (just because he can’t bother to take care of himself and no one else seems to).
Actually I say this, but the fact of the matter is that I haven’t seen him for over a month. I know he comes home sometimes to pick up the mail; but he always does it when I’m not around. I think it has something to do with the guilt. Or at least that’s what I would like to believe.
Last night I heard that it’s over. The brother has dumped the slut and has asked her to leave his house this week. I can’t help but wonder what happened. Has the awful truth finally come out? Did he find out the child is not his? Did he catch her cheating? Has he just had enough of this twisted threesome? And what happens now? Will she keep the baby? And who will take responsibility for it?
I’m not sure how I feel about this all. On the one hand I am a bit upset. Upset because it seems almost a shame that my 10 years have been wasted and are lost, for this one-year, short-lived, and terribly agonizing relationship they had. I want to just scream at both the brothers: Was she worth it? A part of me would even prefer that they would endure this miserable relationship, full of lies and deceit, a bit longer.
But on the other hand I am pleased; pleased that this distorted relationship has crashed in their face, and will be their downfall. That now as the truth comes out, and eyes are beginning to open, this family will be torn apart by their own doing. For so long it has been me who has been falling apart. Finally I can sit back and watch them come undone. I wonder if this is karma beginning to show its face, if this is the taste of sweet revenge?!