“This is not the end of me. This is the beginning.”

And then it hits like a huge brick thrown off a building right onto my head. And I’m wondering what the hell just happened? Why do I suddenly feel like wind will blow right through me again? What happened to my substance?

Haven’t I come far. Haven’t I moved on and become.

And then I remember. The way I always remember when I’ve thought I forgot. That this week last year, my dearest husband of 8 years told me he had an affair.

The truth is, even though that may have not started the divergence of paths, I loved that fucker with all my soul. With everything I had. With everything I knew how to have. And that might not have been what he needed or what I needed. But it’s what we had.

I knew something was wrong before I knew. So this one friday, we took Koy skating. And I was excited because I thought we would connect, me and my husband. Because I knew there was a misconnection somewhere. Because my body knew about the affair the moment it happened.

And then, he started flirting with me but looking at this other woman there. Like his showering me with attention was for her pleasure. Like he was flirting with her.

And she responded exactly how I’m sure many of the women responded that I never saw.

How I thought he should have responded:

“I’m so flattered but see this lovely gal right here? She’s my beautiful wife and I’m totally taken by her.”

“Don’t you know who Jessie Mother Fucking Pocock is? Well if you didn’t know — now you know.”

“I’m sorry to have mislead you. See this gorgeous gal? I’m all her’s.”

“In case you haven’t heard, my wife has a bit of a history with fiercely beating the shit out of people, so I’d be careful because, even though she’s really sweet, there is still some serious fire in that soul.”

But instead, he went into the bathroom to hide. Yep, till it was time to go.

I must not be worth the fight.

He got so mad at me that night. He got pissed because I cried and he couldn’t fall asleep. That is how insignificant I let myself become. He was annoyed.

I broke out in a hive. All over my body. And I tried to cuddle him and love him and promise I wouldn’t be cold anymore. That I would do a better job at being interested in him. Loving towards him. Attentive towards him. I’d have fucking sex for fucks sake. Even though he never came into my body through my heart. Even though I always sensed that he wasn’t interested in entering through my heart.

And I said I was going to get tested for STDs even though I trusted him because these hives were crazy and I had this feeling…and he told me.

And then I cried. For an entire year.

Now, like many days before, and I guess many fucking days in the future, I cry as hard as I’ve got. And I’ll shower and wash it off of me when I’m done. And I’ll wonder how the hell I am going to work with a room full of sophisticated strangers. How I can give anything when I’ve got nothing.

But, I’ll go. With the morning raw covering me. I’ll remember that life just started. Its another first. And I’m great at slaying firsts.

If you liked this show some ❤️💛💚💙💜 by clicking the ❤️ below so others can find it too. Share, love, commune, cry, write, repeat.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.