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.
What's A Heart For 