Physical violence. It felt more painful than any beating I’ve ever taken.
My wayward was a really close friend. My first partner died in our bed. I plummeted into survivors guilt cause I thought I should have been able to save him. I was literally starving myself to death because I felt so guilty that my dead partner couldn’t eat anymore. 6 months later I was on the verge of an involuntary hospital commitment (5’9” and 92lbs) and my “friend” showed up to help. Two months after that I was pregnant and married. I felt guilty for loving him. Guilty for feeling guilty for loving him. I defined the term hot mess. I know, I know.
6 years later I found out he cheated at every opportunity, with anyone that gave him the slightest interest, and even some that didn’t. Emotional affairs within two months of marriage. Physical affairs with hookers and free whores before a year. He acted out the entirety of our marriage up to Dday. Including on my first birthday as his wife, most the holidays, etc... He was desperate and had absolutely no standards or ethics.
So when he told me, it felt like physical violence and I described it as such. I needed a friend and got a monster. Every kiss to some skank was a sucker punch to my face. Orgasmning into some strange whore on my birthday was the same as slamming a ball bat into my chest. Kicks in the head, punches, slaps, choking.... I likened every act of infidelity and gaslighting as the most brutal sorts of physical violence, cause that’s how it felt. I described it in the most vivid detail I could and told him that I would have preferred he beat me, cause then I could at least see it coming. I could dodge the hits or fight back. The lying and gaslighting I likened to him snapping my spine and paralyzing me so I couldn’t escape his abuse.
On top of all that, Dday threw me right back into the original grief that I’d subverted. I cried for my dead husband. The one who had loved me sooooo much. I missed him so badly I would have tore my skin off if it meant I could talk to him again. But then I felt guilty and disloyal to my husband for grieving for the dead one again. I felt like a cheater to both. ....sigh
All together, it made him vomit. He went pale, turned to our yard and vomited in the rocks. He did it a lot those first few months.
It remains to be seen if the horror of realizing one was a predatory, exploitative monster can initiate profound personality change. Unfortunately, it seems as if he’s forgot the way he felt about himself those first few months after Dday. Pretty sure he’s forgiven himself. I don’t think I have yet.
[This message edited by LongSigh at 2:58 AM, June 26th (Wednesday)]