Day 1

It’s November 8.

Surprised I knew that.

I usually have no inkling as to the day.

Always know the time.

Anyhow -I call this day one for a couple reasons.

Day one. Day one of writing. Practicing gratitude. Day one of admitting that something is absolutely fucked and I’m responsible.

Just me.

Well, actually; that’s not fair.

But if someone could be blamed, at this point, it would be me.

Let’s start with gratitude.

I am grateful for the ability to see. No. Not with eyes. But with true vision. Sight as to the complete devastation I have caused and more if I had ended up doing what I thought I was going to do.

No one knows me on here. I’m grateful for that too.

I’m grateful for music. Ability to hear. For friends who are willing to drop everything and meet or talk or chat or pray.

For nature. God, today was beautiful.

For no internet. For no facebook. (Shocking but I’ll explain why)

For my original insta to be deleted.

For boundaries.

For hot baths.

For shaved arms.

For cozy but itchy sweaters. They are so damn warm but is the itchiness really necessary.

For books. For magazines. For the written word.

For God.

For real, true, honest feelings from the husband. That doesn’t happen too often. So, I’m grateful.

For three drags of a cigarette. Because I’m totally messed up over here:

For the enneagram which sheds light into why I do what I do. What my fears are. My strengths.

I realize it isn’t gospel. But I also realize it sheds lots of light as to who I am, why and I realize I am not alone.

For the cold. The weather feels quite appropriate right now.

Anyhow, day one in another form.

And this is a little less easy to write.

For four and a half years, I’ve been playing with Fire. No, I meant to capitalize. Or at least didn’t go and change the error intentionally.

I knew he was trouble.

I thought he was a joke when I met him. His cheery smile. His over exaggerated cheekbones, the pitch of his voice.

I think I called him a mastermind manipulator three days after knowing him.

And that’s where it should’ve stopped.

It didn’t.

He gave me his number. Yes, I did say above that I am married. Right now anyway.

At first, I threw it away. Laughed. Rolled my eyes.

He asked me if he should go for a married woman within a week of knowing him. I said “that depends”.

It doesn’t depend. But I guess I was leaving room for whomever he had on his mind. My naive self had no idea at the time he meant me.

Anyhow, I immediately came home and told my husband to please help me.

Pray for me.

“This guy has a power that is unmatched.”

“I want you to just hold me accountable.”

And for six months, crickets.

Not from the guy, but my husband.

No follow up. No questions. No worrying.

At the same time, I was told I was unattractive. By my husband. That he was emotionally unattracted to me.

Whatever that is.

Anyway, I took the number.

I willingly began to converse and share (no pics or anything, yet) over the phone until I came clean to my husband, counselor and some peers.

I left this guy alone almost a full year.

He always reaches out again. It never fails.

He sends me a video of himself. I don’t need to describe what was in the video. We all have imaginations, use yours.I sent immediately back, “Do not send me shit like that.”

Anyway, he was pursuant. He told me all the ways in which he had thought of me. Sexually. This being a very pivotal time where I believed no one , not even my husband, found me attractive.

I liked it. It made me feel desirable again. I felt sexy and wanted and needed. He made me feel like being with him was a need.

Anyway, I believe during that exchange he sent poetry. He told me to take the road less traveled. I sent photos. Nothing too strenuous yet. Maybe my face. That’s it.

I told him finally, I will not be leaving my husband for you. It’s tempting but no.

Nothing again for months.

Pops up again. This time worse pictures are sent. Steamy texts. And a very real attempt at me going to his apartment but then I got scared when me turning my location tracker off alerted my husband.

Ended again.

Pops up again.

Last summer.

Pictures, photos, plans.

I confess to my husband that I sent photos and made plans to see him for coffee the next week. This was after a mutual friend of mine and this guy intercepted his phone and saw me on it. She knew I was married. She confronted me.

I told her that this had been a real, genuine problem for me. That it had been ongoing. That I appreciated her stopping me from making a horrible decision.

Then we both moved on. Seemingly. Not quite. Never quite.

Messages on January 9 to wish me happy new year.

Messages me in March. Moves on after a week. He’s very good at moving on.

Messages in August.

This time I tell him my husband is a good man.

I want to be a good wife and mother.

That no matter how tempting he may be for some reason, I can’t fuck my family up this way.

Moves on less than two weeks later.

Messages October.

Tells me he’s moving.

I think “this is it.”

If anything is going to happen, now is the time. Because he’s moving on. Literally.

But I’m scared.

I am not brave enough.

I literally have two feelings simultaneously. To just go ahead and fuck it all up. And to be a good wife. (That is relative at this point obviously.)

I give him an ultimatum much in the same way he likes to give them. I tell him to meet me. I give him 30 minutes and simultaneously am praying and repeating to myself the mantra that I remain protected.

See how sick this is.

He messages me videos of him making coffee. Being a human.

He sends me himself singing Christmas carols.

He sends me himself packing up.

And it’s contrary to all that he’s ever sent. This time he feels human.

And maybe doesn’t want just the sexual side.

And that feels new and interesting and dangerous.

And I tell him. This has become a problem. Because he’s being so human and real and daily.

And all he ever was before was someone that wanted something From me. And so it’s a new yet scary experience.

And then my husband finds out. Somehow. A search I had made on the internet.

He looks through my photos.

Now, for anyone reading, I didn’t send my breasts or vagina. But just enough to comply while keeping myself “moral.” (Relative again, I know.)

He confronts me. I tell him and show him my phone that has the last month’s messages. And then reality hits.

I have very much hurt someone.

I have done it again.

I have involved my family.

I have not protected myself and my commitment and my husband.

And so now is the silent treatment, the music that is a jab at all my choices, the talking through children, the lack of grace, the punishment.

He wants me punished and pained.

And I apologize. Over and over. And I incur all of the anger and hatred and mistrust. And I don’t retaliate because what does that do ? And I own my responsibility. And I think on and ponder and attempt to explain rather than rationalize.

I call trusted friends, sisters, ask for a counseling session.

Because how can you do this hurtful, damaging thing to someone you love?

And where is the breakdown?

Where am I not believing I am worthy of a love that is real and open and genuine? Why is it so hard for me to keep a commitment? Why the half decade long temptation ? What is it that I am missing?

WHY?

And so I’m sitting here. Writing. Hoping that revelation comes. Asking for him to keep me just for today. Pondering. Writing some more. Asking for grace. Attempting to remind myself that I am human. That I make mistakes. That I am so broken. That we all are. And praying this is the very last time.