New Year, Same Love

Eleven minutes into the New Year. He called. It took me completely off-guard (I hadn’t expected any contact until at least Monday), and I have been half hysterically laughing and half crying ever since the 8 minute, 31 second phone call ended.

It was Mr X that wished me my first Happy New Year,  his voice. The forbidden call. I am still reeling from it. His proclamation of a difficult journey on this vacation. His knowledge that he shouldn’t be calling, but his  admission that he could not stop himself. He needed to know how I have been faring.

It was so magical for me. For once, I didn’t mince words. I told him exactly how I have been feeling. And he was so receptive. I hesitate to use the word “impressed,” but that is the impression I received. He seemed fascinated by my demeanor. Shit, I was too. Who knew I could come off simultaneously as assertive and coquettish. Generally, I fall all over myself trying to find the right words to say. But tonight, language was on my side.

That’s all, really. There is really no change in circumstance, other than the confirmation that Mr X is still caught between his vows and his own heart (at least that is my interpretation). But it is certainly enough for me to begin this New Year with hope.

 

And the Heart Came Back. The Very Next Day.

No sooner than I hit “publish” on my last post, did Mr X show up at my door. To wish me a happy Christmas vacation. To reassure me that he cares very deeply for me, but is trying very hard to do “the right thing.” To warn me that she knows who I am, and to please be careful about what I post on social media. To steal a tight embrace and a candy cane from my tree. And to carelessly and foolishly return a barely beating, battered and bruised Heart back into my chest.

I tried to send it back with him. But his soft way and loving words left me holding Heart closer than I ever have before. Here I am, days later, nursing her back to health – and pushing my recovery back farther with each increasing beat.

There is nothing that Mr X has done that has guaranteed ANYTHING. Yet here I sit, reliving the moment of surprise over and over again. He still came to me. He didn’t have to. He could have let all of this boil over, then cool off. I know that I am being kept on his back-burner on purpose. Why don’t I mind? What on earth is wrong with me?

There has been no contact since that moment, and yet I know that there will be contact in the coming days. I have been mentally preparing myself for the eventual conversation that will occur. Heart could swing into a (temporary) complete recovery, or be thrust into a sudden paralysis. Either scenario will inflict damage, either immediately or over time, so I’m honestly not sure what to root for. I’m just so tired of thinking about it.

There has also been no sleep. I think about everything, all the time. At most, I am half-invested in a conversation. The other half is reliving a memory, or laying the framework for the next conversation, or wondering if she has posted anything new that could give me fresh insight. There is no escape from thought. But try to pin just one thought down and my mind jerks into defense mode; fragmenting itself and spiraling into so many different directions that I can’t make sense of anything. Just when I think I have a solution, I find myself trapped – inside myself – all over again.

I can’t seem to gather my own thoughts quickly enough to lay them into this blog. Everything that I say feels wrong. It’s as though I’m so distracted by the feeling of anticipation that there isn’t enough energy left to care about the words I write. So nothing makes sense.

And here Heart is, still barely beating, but conscious enough (delirious) to know that it was her Love that carried her back to me. And that is enough for the fool to stay smiling through the lacerations that Mr X himself inflicted. But does she remember that? Of course not.

I find myself once again shaking my head and wanting to apologize for the crazy that this post is offering, but I don’t think I will. The ship that held intellectual and poetic intent for this blog has sailed long ago. You enter my rabbit hole willingly at this point. And I’m sorry to say, we have only just brushed the surface of my crazy. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

 

 

 

Left for Dead: Extreme Lessons in Tough Love

I have been trying to figure out why I am having such a hard time with this. With letting it go and at least making the attempt to move on. Today, while driving home from church (insert irony here), I think I laid my finger on it. My epiphany is this:

Since Heart is no longer capable of beating on her own, anger has taken over. Betrayal. Now I am the one betrayed. Such an old tale. There is zero shock factor, and here I thought my presence in the world was unique somehow. Now I learn that I am simply another woman scorned.

When Mr. X came clean to his wife about the affair, he lied to lessen the blow. In doing so, he has made 16 months of my life seem cheap and unimportant. An admirable accomplishment, since we were already bottom-feeders by allowing an affair to occur. He has made the most revealing and intense moments of my life seem like a waste of time. And for what? To prolong the inevitable demise of his marriage? I say inevitable because stacking lies upon the truth does as much damage as the original lie, so it seems to me that he has more to hide. Eventually, she will see.

I went back to the beginning today. I wanted to leave Heart for Mr. X in a place that felt protected. I wanted to feel safe leaving her somewhere familiar, so that she might die in peace. This secret place holds the most beautiful memories. It is where Heart decided to leave the protection of the fortress that I had carefully built around her. Where she callously knocked down all of the brick and mortar, bent the steel bars and even built a damn bridge to allow Mr. X an all-access pass. The fool never listened to a word I had to say in protest. I’ll bet she’s sorry now, all dying in the dirt alone.

It was overcast today, but warm for this time of year. It was haunting to sit on the same rock where I confessed my secrets to a man who claimed to only want to hear my voice. That he was fascinated by me, and curious to know all he could. He listened so intently to every word, and never once made me regret spilling my soul to him.

Until now, of course.

Now that the end has come, like every other mistress in history I’m sure, I find myself questioning. What was I thinking? How did he fool me so effortlessly? I’m no open book. I’m damned near impossible to reach. What did Heart connect with inside of this man that made her unabashedly bare my soul without thinking? I was fully aware of his circumstance. I knew he was married. Hell, at the beginning, I was married too. The difference between us was that I couldn’t continue to betray my spouse, and my marriage should have ended long ago. Mr. X had a higher tolerance than me, I suppose. He also had no intention of ending his marriage. I knew that, too. But I didn’t care. It was just so wonderful to spill my soul into someone who I shared such a deep connection with.

I felt safe with him. Comforted by his understanding and desire to know more. Always wanting more…

But the betrayal that has now occurred has set fire to the memory. His lies to cover up his true feelings and actions have not only caused Heart’s untimely demise, but has ensured that the rest of me that lives will never again be deceived.  There is no soul that I will allow close enough to inflict damage. And that should be simple, since Heart has been left for dead on the surface of a rock that knows everything.

Simple. If only.

Needless Update: Still Broken

It has been six weeks since Heart was ripped out of my chest and knocked to the ground and left for dead. Six weeks of pure Hell. If I am not trying to keep myself from jumping off a bridge, I am trying to see just how much pain I can take. My last post did not do what I had anticipated. Though many read it, none responded. Nobody chastised me. Nobody called me a whore, a homewrecker, a wanton slut. I am past the point of needing that now, although disparaging comments are still welcomed. I have challenged myself to loftier goals.

While Heart lies bleeding out (there are no visiting hours, and I have no prognosis, leaving no way to know her progress), I have done some detective work on her behalf. What I have found is discouraging, which in turn could become positive towards moving on for me. And now would be the time, while Heart isn’t around to interrupt my escape. But who am I kidding? I’m not going anywhere.

Mr. X, shall we call him? Not very original, but neither is the scenario. He, on the other hand, is quite the conundrum. While he told his wife about the affair, he only told half-truths (don’t worry about how I know this, I told you I’m a detective). So he lied about the truth. The truth that HE decided to tell on his own. Why? Why not just tell it all and deal with the repercussions? Why lie about anything at this point? It makes no sense. He is setting himself up for failure and I can’t begin to understand why.

But maybe I shouldn’t care at all. There has been some communication between us, and most of the time I have felt like a mediator for Mr. X and his wife. Explaining to him why she might feel the way she does, or giving him insights to her reactions. That’s insane. He has called on occasion, stopped by a couple of times, and sought me out in other ways. Each time his claim has been that he wants to hear my voice. That he needs to know how I am doing. What is that? Is it not enough to say goodbye to me once? Must he do it over and over again?

I am in a constant state of anticipation, although I can’t figure out what it is that I’m waiting for. Something to change, I guess. The other shoe to drop. She believes that our relationship lasted for much less time than it did. She believes that it was only physical. She is a fool. But, again, so am I.

I function daily as a parent, as a worker bee, as a friend, as a responsible adult. But ask me about my day and it is Mr. X who consumes me. Even when he has not physically been a part of it. My day to day life is still carried on with him in mind.

Everything else stands at the ready. For when I can finally crawl out of my own way. There is progress on the horizon just begging to be touched. And all I can do is wait it out. I shall spend the rest of my life waiting, it seems. Forever locked in The Other Woman status.

There are times when I feel very much like showing my hand. Confronting him, or her, and going all Glenn Close circa 1987, minus the stovetop. I’m not a complete psycho…

But I wouldn’t. And it’s not because I lack the intestinal fortitude. It’s because I cannot run the risk of jeopardizing my future with Mr. X. I am ever-mindful of how my actions now will serve me later. Christ, that’s even worse than dead bunnies. Could I be any more self-serving?

So there’s my update. I had to post something. My writing is suffering because my thoughts run too swiftly in and out of my head. By the time I put pen to paper, I’ve lost the poetry. Writing is the one thing that lessens the tension inside of my soul, and it has been nearly impossible to compose anything lately. So I forced this one.

 

An Open Letter to my Former Lovers Wife.

I am ready for the consequences of this post. This is the only way to serve my Penance.

He will never be completely honest with you. I will. At first, I didn’t think of you at all; not as his wife. The fact that the actions I was taking with your husband had been done with some other woman and mine at one point in time did not phase me at all. I gave almost no thought to the fact that you were innocent in all of this. You didn’t do anything to deserve a cheating husband, or a callous homewrecker. I thought not of you at all, even though years ago, I was in your exact position. I was ridiculously happy in my marriage; lost in a bubble that felt iron-clad. Until the day I realized that my bubble was only water after all, and it burst. Another woman had made my husband weak, and he faltered. And from that moment on, nothing was the same.
I never would have thought that I would wreak that kind of torment upon another soul. Another woman. Another mother. I am sorry to you that I fell in love with him. I am sorry that he could not stop himself. I couldn’t stop. By the time my sense of morality kicked in it was too late for me. After that, you were simply competition to me. I had gone from not thinking of you much at all, to kind of hating you. Even though you didn’t know that I existed, or that most of my mornings were spent with your husband and stolen time, or that I could feel his love for me when he looked into my eyes, it was I who hated you.
I am sure that has changed now. Now I have all the reason in the world to love you, and it is you who I am sure harbors hatred. I don’t know how much you know. I don’t know what you have asked of him, and what his answers have been. But I do know that you do not know it all. And you should. If you ever want to be happy – whether with him or somebody else – you need to know the whole truth. I know this from experience. I also know that hearing anything from me will only make your blood boil, but that he will never tell you what you desire to know as a woman. It is vicious.
I am vicious. I tried to share your husband. In truth, I could have shared him with you without your knowledge for longer than I did (over a year), but his guilt finally got the best of him. For that, I am grateful. That seems a strange thing to say, grateful, but I say it with the satisfaction of knowing that he is not totally without morality. This is a selfish sort of gratitude; one that justifies that the married man I fell in love with is not without values, meaning something good on my behalf. I’m completely twisted.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I found out that he told you about us. I have felt anger towards him (because I wasn’t warned beforehand that he was going to tell you), anger at you for not figuring it out for yourself, jealousy because you have the option to forgive or not – whereas I was not given that luxury, and pity for the disgusting emotions that you are feeling. I know those all too well. The anger at him, and of course at me, but at the same time needing his touch now more than ever, and yet cringing at the thought of his skin touching yours after he has touched me. The knowledge that you are sure that he hasn’t told you everything. He hasn’t, I promise you. The onset of panic when you think of leaving him. What will you do without him? How will your future be? How can you protect the children? Can you forgive him enough to stay? Even though you know – and you better know – that things will never be the same. You will never fully trust him again.
Yes, he is sorry. Yes, he loves you. Yes, he should have never let it get this far. But the bell cannot be unrung. He carried on an affair for over a year without your knowledge. Will he do it again? He will tell you no. But he told you that he would honor you once upon a time, too. I can’t tell you if he would or not, but I can tell you that you will never feel secure with him in the same way. That doesn’t mean that you can’t be together, but that you must modify your marriage. You must become stronger. You must hold yourself to a higher standard. You must, if you decide to stay with him, take control of the reins. Do not allow your guard to lower. Love him, honor him, eventually put trust back into him, but never allow yourself to be blind again.
And here I am, giving you advice (as if you even want that from me) on how to continue a marriage with the man that I love. But why do I even allow myself to love him anymore? He has chosen you. Perhaps even just the knowledge of that will help you to forgive him.
I do not want your forgiveness. I am not asking for you to understand. I went into this affair knowing that he was married. Knowing that he was harming you, even if you weren’t aware. I didn’t care. His words and his actions swept me up and pulled me in. Even when his words would tell me that he was going to leave, his actions always betrayed him. I am sure that he will blame it on me. I tempted him. I didn’t let him go. True. True. But he always had a choice. And until he came to you with his confession, his choice was to return to me.
I only write this for selfish reasons. My guilt. My sorrow at what I have done to you. My wish that I could speak to you in person, but knowing that I am too much of a coward to come forth. But I hope that you contact me. I hope that you can find peace somehow. I hope that your future is still bright somehow. With or without him.
I am sorry for the pain that your husband and I made you feel. The anguish of deceit, the sorrow of innocence lost. This sin is mine to bear, and I am positive that He will serve me justice on your behalf, not only in this life, but for eternity.

Reality Rears Its Ugly Head. WARNING: This Is Not Poetic.

This last week has been increasingly difficult to endure.

First, it was the third consecutive week of extended shifts at my job. I enjoy working – mostly because it serves as a distraction from my horrible life, but its role is duplicitous (yes, you read that right) because it also pays the bills. As much as I value the busy work, by the end of this week my body was in agony.

Somewhere in the middle of the week (I’m not exactly sure when since my sleep cycle is set to “haywire”), my middle child poured his angst out all over me. I am the root cause of his anxiety and depression whilst simultaneously being his one saving grace. I’m not sure how I manage, but I have never felt so inadequate a parent. He laid out the last year and a half of torment that he has suffered in silence to my utter dismay. My eyes are now opened to his strife, and he feels better by simply letting go of his silence, but it is a tough pill to swallow.

Heart has had a rough go of things. Her week started off on a high note; she was comforted by her Love several days in a row. That is, until the object of her desire began to pull away again. And proceed to explain the reasons why it can’t work. And then come back again. Heart is exhausted and needs time to mend.

But even Heart takes a backseat to the final dagger into this awful week.

My dog. My dopey, graceless, slobbering, careless mutt bit the daughter of my new roommate, causing skin to break. I have already had so many issues with this new living situation that this is just more than I can bear. My mind immediately tells me that I need to find him another home. Obviously, I cannot allow him to bite anyone, let alone a member of our household. But God help me, I am frantically trying to seek an alternative to allow him to maintain residence with me. I would rather break my lease agreement than lose my furry companion, but I have children to consider. And schools. And finances. And I am about to crumble under the weight of this last straw.

The roommate situation has long since lost any appeal – not that there was much to begin with, other than splitting costs on a nice house – and it has only been a little longer than a month. I have never had a roommate before, other than significant others and my sibling at one time. It is a lifestyle that I cannot possibly imagine anyone enjoying. Perhaps my frustration comes from not being a slob. If I were, then it would matter not that the house is in complete disarray. I just wouldn’t care. Unfortunately for me, I am not a slob. I care that the floors are clean. That food is not left out on pots, pans and dishes. That dishes are washed after use. That general respect is shown for the members of the household. That after six weeks, you stop moving in and put your shit where it’s going to go. That kind of stuff.

All of these problems should have been handled before now. If this second “adult” and I had spent 45 minutes talking about how the household would run or some kind of general rule system, I might not be in this position. Tragically, it matters not at this moment. I now find myself without a leg to stand on now that my dog has crossed the line. One thing is for certain; the dynamic is about to change.

I find myself apologetic for this horrible entry. What’s a Heart for today? Tests. Resiliency.

Still beating?

Yes.

Okay. Next challenge.

Blood of my Heart on my Hands … and There She Goes Again

I have to assume that eventually my unrequited roller-coaster ride will have to end. This is all self-inflicted; I can’t seem to let the wound ever fully close. I thought I had it last week. Something was said that even Heart could not ignore. The words stung, but it was crystal clear that it was time to let go. I found strength that I didn’t know I possessed and I used it to lock Heart in a state of anger and frustration. She had been blindsided and I seized the opportunity. There was almost no struggle at all; that’s how upset she was. For days, Heart sat alone. Indignant. I held my head high. Steadfast in my mission to let this love go.

But who was I fooling?

And then Heart caught a glimpse of her desire. And this love took full advantage of a small bend in one of the prison bars. Love slipped Heart out of the cage within seconds, and she forgot about the very valid reason she was there to begin with. And I’m here with the blood on my hands screaming at the top of my lungs. I WAS OUT!!!!!

All the effort spent trying to stitch her wounds, and at the first test, Heart jumps ship on me. Heart was uplifted by indications that she might be satiated by some much needed time with her love. She was convinced that something had changed. Once again, Heart took the reins and I followed blindly. Her argument was not strong at all, and I could counter every false point that she made, and I still accepted the collar and leash when she reached it out to me. How very disappointing.

Can we all guess how that promise turned out?

Pretty much exactly.

Heart has since gone into hiding. The damage is more severe than she expected. I am trying to take full advantage of her absence and repair the walls of her cell before she returns. I have to wonder why I am allowing myself to be treated this way. Eventually, there will be no amount of patchwork that will heal Heart, and she will bleed out. I cannot allow that to happen. Somehow, I need to take control and stop the bleeding. But I need to do it while Heart is not looking. I need to find her a distraction. But will she be fooled?

What’s a heart for? Today, a heart is for awareness. I know that I am alive because Heart is in pain.

Clogs in the Sand

I have been stuck in a certain limbo for a few weeks. Not really coming or going anywhere. Just waiting. Impatiently. Tapping a heeled shoe on the marble floor of an empty room in high anticipation. The echoes inside my head are overwhelming. As the time draws near to act on the next stage of life, my eyes are locked on the sand falling. Grain by grain, I have to wonder if there is a clog somewhere.

When the last grain does finally fall, it will be chaos. The timing of my next move couldn’t come at a more inconvenient date. At the beginning of the school year, my children and I will once again be moving. This time into a home instead of out, which is positive. But the start of a school year coinciding with a household move is stressful. It feels like eternity since the children and I have lived under the same roof, and I can hardly wait to begin the next chapter of our lives together. That being said, the move itself is going to be bananas. New schools, new friends, new house, new rules. Change. Sadly, fear and panic of change is a trait that I have passed on to them. But they all seem anxious to start, so I am hopeful that the disruption will be dimmed by the excitement. Until then, we will continue to wait.

And then there’s Heart.

Heart has been locked in suspense during my hiatus from progress. There has been very little satisfaction given as far as Heart is concerned, although she has cherished the morsels that have been received. Few and far between, I have made efforts to allow Heart a quick fix. It hasn’t been easy for me, given my current living situation, but Heart has a way of digging in her heels. As is always the case, though, Heart needs more. From within, there is nagging and prodding. I’m not sure how, but Heart managed to get a hold of a tiny blade, and has been generous with the pokes. I have tried to explain that there is not much I can do at the moment, and to just please be patient, but Heart will hear nothing of it. The little drug addict.

I would like to say today that Heart is for patience. But the minuscule holes inside my chest are evidence that it is not. No, on this day, Heart is for devotion. Waiting may not be her strong suit, but she is nothing if not 100% devoted to her love. And the waiting is necessary. The waiting comes with the territory. There is nothing that will stop the waiting until the time is right. Heart has no control over the time and she knows it. That doesn’t mean she embraces it. But she is fully aware that time control is not one of her powers. The clogs in the sand mean nothing to Heart. They only add more time to the already endless wait. And what difference does it make if time is extended on infinity?

Lesson One: The Heart Wants What It Wants.

This pulsating thing that pumps blood inside of my chest. Why does it attempt to multitask? I find myself led by it far too often, and it aggravates me. I am busy enough with dealings of children, work and household duties than to attend to Hearts’ every whim. But no matter how many times I try to explain this, it seems to have its’ own agenda to destroy me. Fair enough, Heart. You have an axe to grind. Challenge accepted.

I have been in love with someone for a year. Unrequited, of course, although sometimes I can convince myself otherwise. No matter how often or how hard I try to push the feeling away, it refuses to budge. Heart always gets the last word, and it is always convincing. This is a summation of how our conversations often go:

Me: It’s time to let go.

Heart: What are you saying? There is no other. This is the one.

Me: How can you say that? We just keep going in circles.

Heart: Exactly. We keep coming back to each other. There is no end. We were meant to be.

Me: But I’m torturing myself when we’re not together.

Heart: And the moment we are together, it is Heaven on Earth. You can’t argue the magic that exists.

Me: No, of course not. But how long am I supposed to wait?

Heart: We will wait forever.

Me: Yes.

And just like that, Heart wins. Every single time. I can’t fight it.

Fail. Me:0, Heart:Infinity

Often times, these conversations stretch out over the course of days. With layers of depth and examples. But always the same outcome. Heart has trapped me, and even if I wanted to escape (most of the time I really don’t), Heart has made it impossible. There is lava and poison gas dripping from the ceiling of my escape route. Even if I could get through the iron bars, there are flying, fire-breathing dragons that hover at the windows. And then there is this love that is unimaginable; something so intense and perfect that waits in the darkest dim of my prison. Panic sets in the moment I think I’ve lost it. And so I creep ever closer to the comfort of my love, and Heart stays content.