I got so low yesterday I had to pull to the side of the road and call my therapist’s office. I left a sobbing voice mail for her, I’m surprised she could even understand me. Then I promptly took two ativan, which was one too many, but took away my agony.
She called me back later and we spoke for a bit. She was as shocked as everyone else is about this turn of events. Funny how my STBX thinks he’s done nothing wrong, but everyone who witnesses what he’s doing to me thinks otherwise. He’ll never realize it though, because he’s a supreme narcissist.
I told her I was back to having nightmares about him with the other woman. She said an exercise for that is to write down the dream in as much detail as I can, and then write a new ending for it. I plan to give that a whirl in the morning.
She said this is all on him, not me, and I don’t need to blame myself and feel shame. I know that on one level of course, but then again I don’t. I drive around Eugene which is getting darker and wetter and I think I’m here, alone, always alone in my car, driving to charity shops, interacting with no one, and he’s in London with my stepdaughters doing god knows what. London. My London.
He must feel like quite a big shot. The only good news is that I recall when I flew to London the first time to meet his family and I saw the street they lived on, and the neighborhood. I wasn’t impressed at all. And, like many Iranians, the inside was all spotless and pale Persian rugs and frilly white French furniture and not one place in the entire house to get comfortable. And clear plastic furniture covers were on everything. My god. His mom is an ultra clean freak.
But there’s nothing impressive about them. She complains constantly about her aches and pains and he will sit with the family for dinner and then go off to watch his news. He has nothing to say. And it doesn’t take much for the family to get into a knock down drag out, but perhaps they’ll all be on perfect behavior due to Heather being there. Fucking cunt.
I hope she enjoys it when they’re all speaking Farsi around her. But knowing my husband, he’s found a woman who is excited to learn the language. I was that way once.
It’s not that I just wish he hadn’t cheated and we were someone still together, I actually don’t want that. It’s just that he had enough qualities to make me find him fascinating and stimulating that made me wish he could have been that man more often, and less like the monster he could be. I realized I loved him, but our life was so hard that I got to the point where I rarely showed him.
I was a monster too, but that last year he beat me hands down. He took his abuse and neglect of me to a whole new level.
I guess I find it sort of funny that he can leave me for being nervous and “fighting about money” when he’s caused me to be bankrupt and has never been able to provide for the household in any way. Hysterical, isn’t it because I don’t think I’m that abnormal to freak out over losing everything and being unable FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY ENTIRE LIFE to pay the rent.
I just didn’t think he had this in him. He was always so loyal if nothing else. Over and over I tried to break it off with him, and he begged and pleaded until I caved in. “You’re my wife!” Yeah, so I guess that ended up meaning zilch. Because someone who wasn’t freaking out about money came into his life. I got down on my knees and begged him to take me back before I knew there was another woman. I did what he did to me, but he was as cold as a block of ice. I don’t even know how I lived through that now. Well, in a way I didn’t live through it, I attempted suicide twice in a month.
I’m remembering the night just a couple of weeks before he told me to leave when I met him downtown for a drink. I got there at 8 p.m. because I had been visiting with my parents. His friends were there (college students). My STBX seemed annoyed that I was late because he was expecting a friend he knew I didn’t like. A man who has loan him money before. He knew I would not want to see him. I remember trying to be friendly with his friends and they looked panic stricken. They were obviously freaking out that she’d show up while I was there. She is more than likely a friend of theirs, possibly a fellow student. I only had one drink and then had him walk me to my car.
I remember how I held his arm because my foot hurt so bad. I was so fat I was having trouble walking. He went back and had his evening with his friends and her. Nothing was ever the same after that. Now that same coat, which I could not get to cover me, is far too big. Thank god.
So why do I feel like a fool when he and his friends did the thing that was bad?
My therapist’s office called today to tell me she had an opening tomorrow, so I’m going in to see her, thank goodness. I’m hanging by a thread.
I’m even back to condemning myself to a spinsterhood with my insane mother for the rest of my life, and oh, yay, we can’t even afford to stay in this house so we’ll have to rent a smaller place together. The mere thought makes me want to kill myself. I suppose I should shave fucking thought of that when I was deciding I couldn’t handle the mall job.
I hope I can get out of this funk soon. But all I have to do is picture them having fun in London and my heart skips and stomach turns over. Fuck me. Fuck them. Fuck my life.
He could be so clueless sometimes. He would talk about how boring this town was and how there was nothing to do, while I’d complain that all his friends were thirty and it was weird meeting in bars at our age. I told him, “Look, if we had a home, we’d be entertaining people, we’d meet people with jobs and interests. We’d plant a garden. In this dumpy apartment we can’t do anything. We are simply not exposed to the “better” people due to our circumstances.”
But he’d just continue on, trying to impress all those 30 year olds with his wit and wisdom and designer clothing. And the couple of dollars in his wallet that he took from me every night. Fucking bastard.
Every night since that first night when I hacked his email I have wanted to go look again, but I haven’t. I especially don’t want to have surprises like that at nighttime again. I don’t want to know because I don’t want to harm myself any more, but if I could get a fucking clue if he’s taken the money or not, it would help me a lot. If his mouth is moving, he’s lying.
I miss the him that could be so attentive, but that was several years ago now. He can’t go on with me now that I know he is a fraud. He has to start up with someone else who doesn’t know. I just wish I’d never met him, I really do.
Now I think about how many times this year he lied and said he was with Ramin or Ali or so and so, when he was just with Heather. He’ll tell you he lied to protect me, but that’s not so. He lied to protect himself.
I’ve never known a person who lies before. I know that sounds odd, but I haven’t. In all my life my personal relationships have been with people who, except for some little white lies, are pretty honest and straight. This is a new and awful experience. Being on the receiving end of a liar is a terrible thing.
The humiliation, hurt, and shame is overwhelming me. I don’t want this to be my fate.