Valentine’s Day planning. courtesy Redbubble.

So, you married an asshole

Rest assured you are not alone. Although, if I’m being honest — I wish you were. I wish you were the only woman on earth to have had the misfortune of cleaving unto an asshole. If it were only you, then it wouldn’t be me.

Asshole spouses come in assorted varieties. There are the controlling assholes who dictate every breath you take. There are the abusive assholes who make you question your next breath. There are the cheating assholes who simply take your breath away and leave you gasping. My particular asshole was a combination of all three — but I tend to focus on the cheating. I put up with everything else from him, and — since I was the one doing all the putting up with, I find it spectacularly unfair that he went and had sex with someone who had to put up with none of it - someone who bought into his poor me schtick. I’m deeply offended at how he represented me and our marriage in order to gain enough of her sympathy to get in her pants. I’m humiliated by his choice of fuck buddy and the fact that his entire family knew to some degree what was going on and neglected to tell me. So, yeah — that, pretty much takes the focus away from the controlling and abusive aspects of my particular asshole and shines a laser light on the cheating part.

Maybe it’s just me, but marrying an ass hole was infinitely easier than leaving that same ass hole. He cheated on me. He cheated on me with his (now former)best friends wife. His (now former)best friends wife is vile, crass, uncouth and ignorant — and yes, this has always been my opinion of her. Her being my husbands fuck chum didn’t change anything — well, it added a few more negative traits to my assessment of her. She has always been someone I chose not to associate with. This was not a couple we hung out with as a couple. The friendship was solely my husbands. Silly me to think that my husbands friendship with her husband was their only connection. I really should have known better, him being an ass hole and all.

Anyhow. Back to the difficulty I’m having in separating myself from my ass hole.

I’m not so far up my ass holes’ ass hole to fool myself into believing I’m staying because I love the ass hole. I don’t. I actively do not love the ass hole. I hate the ass hole and what the ass hole did to me, our family, our marriage. I don’t trust the ass hole or believe a word that comes out of his mouth. I question his judgement when he claims we are out of bananas and running low on milk. I don’t believe him when he says he loves me — there is a ‘but’ in there…an invisible, unspoken ‘but’. (I cheated on you, but I love you. I lied to you every single second we were together for at least six months of our marriage, but I love you. I love you, but I sought this other person out for sex in disgusting places and put you at risk for any number of diseases and other unfortunate outcomes that you had no way to protect yourself against because I was actively lying to you.. you get the picture). I don’t stay because I think I will get over this in time. I don’t stay because I’m concerned about what not having an intact family will do to my children. Until recently I think I was staying based on ‘sunk cost’ logic. I had invested so much of my life in him, it seemed unfair that that time was essentially wasted because of his dicks need for some strange (and nasty, and well worn…) I’m getting over the sunk cost logic as I type this.

I married him with eyes wide open to the kind of guy he was. I didn’t think he was going to change, I didn’t tell myself that home and hearth would settle him down. I had thrown myself into his life. I was going to make whatever changes I had to make to myself to ensure I was the kind of girl this kind of guy wanted to stay with. I went out all the time. I stood in corners at house parties by myself while he mingled. I stood alone at bars while he mingled. I waited at home by the phone for him to call for an early morning ride home after too much to drink at the party and bar without me. I didn’t complain too much or too insistently. I let him be the ass hole he was and made sure there were no consequences to his being an ass hole.

The one thing my ass hole couldn’t do, was cheat on me. We had discussed this. Every time one of our friends cheated and got caught, or got cheated on, he would say to me: I will never do that to you. I will never put you through that. I believed my ass hole. After all, he did countless ass holey things without apology — here was an ass holey thing he was preemptively telling me was beyond his caliber of ass holieness. But he did it. Why did I think an ass hole would make a promise, unprompted, not to be an ass hole in one very specific way, and then proceed to keep that promise? It’s what ass holes do for crying out loud! Of course he promised he wouldn’t, he’s an ass hole. Of course he did it, he’s an ass hole.

I’m still with my ass hole. There’s some reasons why — not good ones, not ones I feel good about, but there’s reasons. How do the reasons for staying with the ass hole measure up to the reason’s for marrying the ass hole in the first place? I haven’t given that much thought until this actual moment. I almost said marrying him had more reasons, but in my gut that doesn’t feel right….and it’s something I might have to come back and spew out on here some day — once my gut agrees.

In conclusion: I haven’t yet been able to leave my ass hole. Plans to do so are abundant. Fantasies about doing so are plenty and fantastic.

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