I was unfaithful.  I cheated myself, my children, my heart, my faith, my hope, my spirit, my character.  Not only that, but I cheated Dave and worse yet, I cheated all of these things from him as well.  I cheated every one of everything that was right and good in our lives.

As with anything and everything, there is certainly more to the story and sometimes in fleeting moments of denial, I can comfort myself with those factual, but sad and pathetic extenuating circumstances, but for the most part, I cannot.

Is it wrong to have thoughts at times which say, “Surely there was something he did wrong before the infidelity…”  I would actually attempt to distort something (anything) he once did or maybe once said even just one single time that was slightly unkind or perhaps alluded to some kind of future abuse or psychosis….


And many have said to me there must have been something?  There had to have been.  You couldn’t have been truly happy or it wouldn’t (couldn’t!) have happened. 

Nope.  Clear as a miserable bell, I know I was very happy.  I knew it then (can’t blame this on hindsight either).  I know it now.

Too happy?  So happy it didn’t seem possible to realistically maintain?   Yeah…frighteningly happy?  Like when you go to a horror movie and the happy music is playing and there’s sunshine, laughter, security abounding and you wait on the edge of your seat, heart beating, pulse racing, and your logic silently screaming, “It’s coming!”   You know any second something horribly tragic is going to explode on the screen.  It must.  You don’t want it to come but something in you knows you really do want it because that’s what you’ve ultimately come to the cinema to see, right?  After all, you’ve specifically asked for this tragedy with the price of your ticket. 

That  kind of happiness.  Scary happy.  Waiting-for-the-other-shoe-to-drop-happy.

Only it never did.  And it surely had to… Right?

So, it seems I forced it to drop.  Was the anticipation too much?  Did the happy part go on and on so long that my heart couldn’t take the wait anymore?  Was logic screaming so loudly at me that I couldn’t relax in that kind of happy?  Had life taught me too well already that this was only possible in fairy tales? My life certainly had never been anything near fairy tale quality.  I was no long-lost beloved princess finally saved from all the evils of the world by my fair prince who had been looking for me all his life.  There was no way this existed on any plane of reality possible for me…

There were no signs of impending doom.  There was no cruel undertone in something he even once casually said in a quiet or controlling voice. There were no sarcastic words; no subtle insults to my character, my appearance, or my intelligence, phrased as a “joke” so as to make it acceptable to keep me in my place or put me down sub-consciously.  …except in my logic.  In my brain and my experiential wisdom there was always this little nudge.  Nudge, nudge – another day full of kindness has passed… another day of sincerely spoken compliments, loving gestures, and sweet-nothings has passed… the music of my logic is getting scarier and scarier… Da-da-da-dum, da-da-da-dum…playing faster and faster.  The bad guy is coming.  The moment of tragedy is hanging in limbo directly over your head.  It’s just hanging there waiting around till you feel so safe and comfortable that it’s definitely not coming…for full, tragic effect, you know…

I might even be able to convince myself that this is only the hind-sight story of a romantic hopeful, the rose-colored version of falling in love where nostalgia and regret fade the facts and amplify the colors of happiness to such a vibrant shade that the bad stuff disappears into oblivion.  Except, I was so overly aware of this unrealistic happiness that I spoke regularly of it to my dad, whom I knew would understand that this wasn’t logically possible.  Whom I expected to point out the tiny ugly realities I HAD to be missing throughout this experience.  And even he couldn’t.  My wise and all-too logical father could only continually remind and reassure me that I deserved this happiness and offer advice to me to accept it or else by looking so hard for the ugly, I would eventually make something ugly happen. 

What?  Make it happen??  That’s not possible!  I’m gloriously happy.  No person desperate for happiness, like me, would ever create the very unhappiness they fear and dread from a gift so pure and beautiful it must be directly from God.  That’s just some psychological mumbo-jumbo!  No one in their right mind, finally experiencing happy without a single sign of impending doom on the horizon would sabotage such beauty, such intoxicating joy of life, such a sense of security and love.  NO….don‘t be silly!

Hindsight does, though, strongly indicate to me that there was another sneaky element going on through this.  One I could never have anticipated or braced myself to handle.  The sneakiest of subtle sabotage tactics, so very tricky that it just hung out in the corner recesses of my mind, innocently playing all alone and not mingling ever with the other thoughts and fears which were obvious enough for me to ask advice from those wiser than I. Quietly gaining power and strength…

I am not worthy…

This sneaky element of sub-conscious sabotage actually came out in the light only once.

Right around maybe the sixth month marker, we had gone for a few drinks away from the crowd of friends, romantically alone, and were laughing and enjoying ourselves.  Having a nice traditional date in out-of-the-way places where we could adore each other uninterrupted by the “Ahh you two lovebirds make the rest of us sick!” And I was loving every minute of this until it dawned upon me.  Maybe this was even the first moment I ever had seen my happiness so very clearly and felt it to the core of my being, minus the what-if’s and can’t-be’s.  And I said to him, “What is this?  I’ve never known anything like this.  It can’t be real, can it?  And if it is, there’s no way I deserve this much.  Here is why….” And I commenced to tell him why I didn’t deserve this…deserve him, deserve genuine love…

And then he said one of the most beautiful things I’ve heard anyone say in my life that wasn’t written in a song, a book, or a movie…

…He said, “Every single horrible thing that has happened to you or me, every single bad choice or mistake we might have made in our pasts, every single thing right wrong, good or bad, has brought us right here right now.  And we have to just be grateful for it ALL and know that this was why it ALL happened exactly as it did.  If not for that exactly, whatever it may have been, we would not be here with each other right now in this exact moment, having this.”

I choked up. A huge lump in my throat developed, my eyes stung and threatened to cry as every horror-movie moment of my past flashed across my mind and I saw every path of it leading me, sometimes even forcing me to this moment with him.  He was so wise and so right.  He could see more broadly than I.  My devotion, my respect, my gratitude, my understanding quadrupled in that moment, with those stunning words of amazingly insightful wisdom.  And suddenly everything made sense.  Everything.  Every pain and every struggle from my earliest memory I could instantly and directly connect to the events (forced or otherwise) which led me to RIGHT HERE, directly to HIM. A million individually ugly tiny puzzle pieces of time dropped at once, snapped into place, and created a gorgeous sunrise shimmering with love and happiness.  And I could think of each one and actually FEEL each and every one of them as reasons to be grateful for it all.

I loved his simplicity…adored it even, amidst my confounding and irritating contradictions.  And it was in this moment that I realized his “simplicity” wasn’t so simple after all.  I saw him in an entirely new light of love and blessings. And it was also then that I began to fully realize that this might indeed be real…that perhaps the other shoe was not ever going to kick me in the face after all.  A most beautiful moment…  Or the beginning of the end?

Less than a year later and ironically while singing his praises, my blessings, and this very theory of deserved, “everything happens for a reason” happiness, I cheated. 

Yes………. I cheated.


When I wrote of craving documentation, I did not think it was a necessity.  It was merely because I am forgetful sometimes, although not typically ergarding matters close to my heart.  Those things seem burned into my memories like permanent fixtures I can’t rid myself of when I want to!

However, it is exceedingly troublesome to be in the position to doubt reality.  I recall reading something about this technique referred to as “gaslighting”.  This term comes from a Hitchcock movie where a woman’s husband wants her to believe she’s crazy.  He tells her things didn’t happen when they did.  He tells her she did things she didn’t.  He tells her she didn’t do things she knows she did.  She gets increasingly confused by this and doubts her own sanity.  This is the perfect setup to make someone believe they’re crazy.  Although it is somewhat easy to dismiss this the first few times as just being mistaken, over time, it really does work to make you wonder…

No one thinks that documenting every encounter, ever visit, every conversation, every phone call or text would ever be necessary in order to prove mundane everyday things.  I think we should all be exhausted if we had to document every interaction with others in order to have verification of reality.  Quite honestly, out of embarraassment for the truth, I have not done that even here…the place where I really “let it all out”.  Why I would be embarrassed about things on a mostly anonymous blog, I’ve no idea, but I have been.   However, I’m now wishing I wasn’t.  Not that it provides any actual documentation or evidentiary proof of anything real, but at this point for my own peace of mind it would be comforting.  And mind comfort is hard for me to come by these days.  So, I’m really wishing I had blogged more concretely in dates and times and events. 

I did not.  And perhaps my embarrassment was what he counts on.  The embarrassment  does help keep things hidden and creates a challenge for me in the event that I ever might have to prove something, either to myself, him, or anyone else.  Although I just wouldn’t ever imagine that this kind of thing would be important to prove  anything other than possibly  a murder case or police investigation.  Couldn’t imagine it would be important to prove irrelevant events that shouldn’t even be up for debate…other than for someone attempting to “gaslight”.

Can I trust that I’m typing this right now?  Can I trust that I’m even sitting here?  I might not be.  He very well may tell me tomorrow that I wasn’t.  And when I attempt to “prove” it, by showing the blog entry with date and time (or some equivalent method of proof), he will explain it away, as though I’m ridiculous to believe that proves a single thing. 

And gosh, why would I ever need to prove such things anyway, right?  I should know if I am sitting here typing this; if I checked my email, if I went to the grocery store yesterday, if my favorite sweater is grey, or my favorite color is green…  shouldn’t I be able to know these things without needing “proof”?  And what kind of freak sociopathic psycho tries to make you doubt these things?  I understand that many things are based on perspective, like what something feels like to another person, we could never know for certain or have thet audacity to doubt their sensations and experience.  But there are concrete, factual things that are not up for debate.  You might think my shoes are navy and I might see them as black and in relative terms we are both correct in our own right, but we can’t deny that I’m wearing shoes, right? 

What would anyone hope to gain other than perhaps a husband trying to get rid of a wife “legally” by discrediting her sanity?  Or acting in terms of self preservation maybe?  If our behavior is so outrageously embarrassing that we need to believe it didn’t exist, we don’t “do that”, or we need to be sure no one else would believe that we did/have done such things? 

This is my favorite sweater.  No, it isn’t.  I have not been tanning in over a month.  Yes, you have. We went to the movies last week.  No, we didn’t.  I’m sitting on the sofa right now.  No, you aren’t.

What???!!??  Why would anyone do this?  How very, very cruel!

Goodbye to the crazy girl!

Hey, when she dies, who will tell him he is partially responsible?  I hate to give in to the melodrama of blame and responsibility…not my thing really… but really….who will tell him?  Will he be held accountable in any way?

Will he get off completely scott-free?  Will they all say goodbye to the crazy girl?  Goodbye crazy girl…you amused us for awhile.  We all anxiously awaited your end,  while we dreaded the end of our fun and games, we grew tired of it all at the same time.  We hated ourselves for hating you…a defenseless, spineless human being trying to spread your love around…weakly fighting off our attacks…although we never really tired of attacking and laughing as we watched you squirm uncomfortably and cry out for help.  We loved how crazy you seemed!  And he will stand there grinning innocently as if to say, “See, I told you all, all along”, with just the tiniest note of a smirk at his hidden success. No one will know because she was always alone.

Target the victims.  No one cares enough to hear them.  No one cares about them even if they do squeal and scream a bit.  They are an easy shot.  Like shooting fish in a barrel!

Even her own attacked her, if she ever had any of her “own”…  Did she?  We think not.  They joined us long ago.  She stood alone…  swimming futilely in circles, actually believing she was getting somewhere.  As always.  The hand that writes the future as though it were the past.  No, she stood alone in her craziness.  Alone for all anyone could see….  Except for that slight sinister shadow in the background.  The shadow that always slips away undetected.  The shadow that claims no idea it is at all sinister.  After all, she is crazy!  At her funeral, her own will have the opportunity to openly join forces with those responsible.  They can commiserate at how difficult she made it all for them.

Maybe he did not pull the trigger…no.  He wouldn’t.  She could never be worth that risk.  He risked once already for her and look at what that brought him.  No.  However, he can nurture the seeds of worthlessness, which her own planted long ago.  He can water them, support them, encourage them, heartily eat the fruit from her tree, until it is barren of any treasure.

He can  hand her the gun, all loaded and cocked,  ready to fire, whisper words of nothingness into her soul and then walk away from the really dirty part.  Walk away from the crime itself.  The obvious crime he wants no part of.  Without that, there can be no blame. No recoil.  No punishment because there was no crime except hers.

If he sets the stage just right and gives all the perfect direction of an award winning director, maybe someday with all his excellent direction, she will succeed at something? 

If so, who will credit him his due?  After all, although the target was so easy, it was still quite the cunning masterpiece!





Just who does the truth set free? And when?

She couldn’t sleep.  Even with him lying next to her and even listening to the comforting rhythmic sound of his gentle breathing.  And that almost always worked…

Tonight had been fun, but a tad disturbing.  She was sure that was why sleep eluded her, even next to him.  She adored him.  She loved the silly way he carried on conversations with her in his sleep.  You would never know he was sleeping.  The conversation moved along with normal banter:

Where’s your car?  It’s in the shop.  Are you still smoking?  Yes, I’m almost finished though…why? Want a drink of water?  No.   We have to catch that fish!  What fish?  What are you talking about…Are you sleeping?  Ahh, yes I think I am….:-)

After he would give in to sleep and lie snuggled around her, he always continued his conversations on his own:  “I don’t know, she’s just gonna do whatever she’s gonna  do.  No ranch dressing for me.  We’ll head out in the morning, okay? (laughter) Let’s see the blue one… Gotta play ball tomorrow.  Get me out of here!”  He always did this.  Usually if she was still awake, she would respond to the first few statements/questions.  Once he started saying completely randoms that made no sense, she knew and would tell him, “You’re sleeping, baby.  Just go back to sleep.”  He would start back up talking in a few minutes, but she’d just smile and listen to him until she fell back asleep.

This time she could not sleep though.  She had tried talking to him about a delicate subject.  One of those issues she’d stopped talking about some time back when she had given in and accepted the madness of it all.  He was surprisingly open to the discussion and prompted her with “What is it?” when she struggled to get her vocal chords to push the words out of her mouth.  AS soon as she said it though, he turned defensive and the conversation took a dive and the effortless energy between them became strained.  Not only that, but it brough up old stuff that he had accused her of a year ago.  Which still upset her when she let her thoughts go there. 

She should have known better.  She did know better, but this was something that had taken a great toll on her over the past few years before and after her radical acceptance of their situation.  For a brief moment, she had thought she was safe to mention it.

Of course, as with most things that brought them to these uncomfortable  moments, it was the  destructive they who kept this type of ridiculous thing going.  “Others she had slept with?”  Are you kidding?  For Pete’s sake, that was truly laughable!  Part of her massive frustration before the surrender, was that she had been practically incapable of having sex with anyone else.  Incapable – as in not able.  She knew he would never comprehend such a possibility.  Being the openly sexual being he was, he was not capable of grasping even the possibility, much less its frustrating reality in her life. 

No, other than a few unfortunate attempts to cross that barrier, she had been only his.  She had never understood who it could be that would even say such things…  Why they would say it?  Or how the topic would ever even arise?  In earlier years, she had dealt with false accusations of men claiming they had been with her in that way, when most of the evening in question had ended badly with her being called a “tease”.  Although it had upset her back then when the stories they chose to tell of those particular evening had a completely different outcome, it really hadn’t bothered her much for years.  Until now.  No, not until now, until him.  Also, she could never shake the absolute amazement that there were still childish little boys making the blatantly untrue claims.  At this age?  REALLY??  You’ve gotta be kidding!  Weren’t we all a little too old for that silly game?  Weren’t men past the point of their reputations as Romeo’s being built on making false claims against some girl they couldn’t have’s reputation?  Seriously, she struggled to believe that there were these anonymous men saying such things out there.  Even with her understanding of the hateful deceitfulness of the destructive they, it just seemed far fetched at this age.  Why would anyone bother to say this?  This created the question in her mind that it was entirely possible and plausible that no one actually was.  She felt certain it better suited his purpose to claim these things were being said, far  more than it made sense that anyone would actually say that particular untruth. 

Extreme discomfort came in at these points and they were the same level of uneasy as they were a year ago.  When he told her this, given that she knew, in fact, of her actual sexual history, then there were only a few possibilities to explain this.  1.  The destructive they really were so immature and childish still as to feel their reputations amped by making false claims.  2.  The destructive they were so insecure about their previous untruths, that they  felt the need to still keep providing further “proof” of their wild (mostly false) accusations from two years ago.  3.  He (alone) needed to make up such accusations in order to maintain his belief in the claims of the destructive they from years ago….or maybe he just needed to tell himself these things in order to ease his own conscience at his own sexual activities, when deep down he most likely knew she was not and had never been “that”  way – “his” way.

She brought this up not to pass judgment on him for his choices (as she had regrettably done in their past), but merely to voice concerns she had hoped they could address and find an easy solution.  His response was instant defensive stance, then turn on a great offense as the perfect defense.  However, any of the rational possibilities were deeply disturbing.  Still telling lies about her after all this time?  Did she really have to carry the burden of being so devoted to him and still be accused of this type of thing? Honestly??  BOTH simultaneously?  How freaking unfair!   Or did he just still feel the desperate need to deceive himself so much and maintain the ridiculous belief that she was sexually loose (as loose as he)?  Again, how freaking unfair!

With this, she understood no matter what the truth ever might be about her life, her choices, her character, her devotion to him, no one would ever know or believe.  Therefore anyone could (and would?) just make her story up as they went along, feeling no obligation to involve the truth or her actual reality.  No life isn’t supposed to be fair, that she had already learned quite well.  But to have to realize that the choices she made for herself and the morals she adhered to would never be associated with her because of this –  whatever this was.  She had no interest in seeking recognition.  That was never the point; these were merely her own personal choices and/or cross to bear.  However, it would be nice to at least not have been accused of doing the very things that she purposefully chose not to do.  I meanm, if a person adheres completely to a strict choice of not eating meat, then for heaven’s sake, they shouldn’t have to carry around the accusation of “meat eater“.  Say anything, say they dress badly, or have ugly hair, or bad teeth or breath, whatever, but don’t cancel out the very thing that they’ve chosen as a founding standard for their life.  What’s next?  Should they run around discussing how trampy the nuns at the school are and tell stories about how they really get around? Does truth really not stand for anything at all?  Does reality truly just not matter anymore?  She had to wonder is this the horrible sense of injustice celebrities felt when looking at the stories in the tabloids?  Did those stories and claims about those poor people in the big spotlight lack even an ounce of truth as well?  If so, she felt for how difficult their lives must be.

People are unbelievably ridiculous.  This demolishes the whole theory that every rumor or lie has at least a tiny source of truth in it.  No, apparently they can (and will) just make things up entirely.  And sadly,  it’s every bit possible that as much as she loves and adores him, he might very well be the most destructive they of all, at least when it came her life.  Too unsettling and grounds to make her head spipn and her heart race with the injustice they apparently were going to force her to endure for as long as she lived among them.  Does anyone at all care anymore about the truth? …and geesh, when in the hell would it finally set her free?