Hell Bent And Heart First Into The Great Long Gone

And I wouldn’t trade that night for a sky blue ’57
By seven-come-eleven we were leaning on the dawn
Skipping past the salt pillars
Where everybody turns back
Hell-bent and heart-first into the great long gone
– Cory Branan

(BTW, I feel so clever for consistently finding song titles and lyrics to go with each post. It feels good because music is such an important part of DH’s world. Also, Cory Branan is one of my favorite people in the world, and an awesome singer, so go listen to his music! He’s on Spotify!)

Watching DH leave for work today, I felt my heart swell in that now-familiar way. I have the best husband in the world. How did I ever forget that he’s the coolest, the sweetest, the most wonderful man I have ever met? The sexiest mischievous smile. The rugged, not-a-care-in-the-world beard. The twinkle in his eye. The way he shapes the world around him, leaving his mark wherever he goes, influencing people and charming them. And the way he holds me up and admires me and loves me, even now. He treats everyone around him with care and respect, but he makes me feel like the center of the universe.

He really is everything I ever wanted, and everything I didn’t even know could be had. How I could have lost sight of that, for even a moment, baffles me beyond comprehension.

So, he felt that my account of the 4th of July was acceptable. Obviously, remembering anything more would be good, but that doesn’t seem likely. That means it’s time to concentrate on remembering the order of that first night, an example of flirting, and — another thing that occurred to him —  why I called TOM three times (never getting an answer or a call back) one night. Earlier that day I’d spoken to him for an hour, and we think that I’d told him that I wanted to stop the physical part of the affair. So DH is really concerned about why I suddenly needed to speak to him so urgently that night.

Does anybody have any advice for recovering memories that you just can’t seem to reach? Especially the example of flirting and why I was calling him that night. I don’t have anything to grab a hold of and build on for those. For the first night, I can retrace my steps and try to picture myself back in that situation, and try to pull out anything new.

Well, actually, even that’s not working so well anymore. The story has become so familiar to me that it feels like I’m just reciting the same thing over and over, and I can’t break out of that rut. I’m getting very frustrated, and I don’t know what else to do to access these memories. I’ve even tried thinking about it as I go to sleep, hoping that I’ll find something in that half-dream state before I’m fully asleep. DH has done research on hypnotism, but the studies suggest that it doesn’t actually work.

I really have to find something. This is so important, and I just feel like I have to find a way. Seriously, if you have any ideas, PLEASE TELL ME!


I’m Not The Man They Think I Am At Home, Oh No No No

What the hell is the point of working so hard to remember all the details of what happened, when everything I remember is fucking WRONG??

I was so sure, so very fucking sure that I was ready to end things the day that TOM and I fucked in the hotel room. Everything I remembered, everything I remembered feeling told me that on that day, I realized it needed to be over, and I had no desire to continue the relationship. I even remembered talking to DH that evening about cutting off contact with TOM and Mrs. TOM, and I remembered feeling like that was a good idea.

Then we discovered some evidence that I was still talking to TOM after that date, but I was so sure of what I remembered, I thought I must have just been foolish enough to believe that we could still be friends. That made sense to me. I thought I remembered trying to still be friends after the physical part of the relationship was over.

Then, tonight, we discovered text messages that DH and I sent each other the night that Mrs. TOM and I showed up at boys’ night. The night that, while the four of us were walking out of the bar, TOM stuck his hands down my pants right behind Mrs. TOM and DH’s backs. And I pulled away, but only because our spouses were right there. I thought it was foolish, but that was my only objection.

And that was almost a fucking MONTH after the hotel. A MONTH!!!! It was in AUGUST!

DH isn’t upset. He figured things were still going on between us at that point. But I really believed it was over. I really believed I’d had a turning point and realized I didn’t want to lose DH and pulled away from TOM.

But apparently that’s all just a fucking fantasy that has no fucking bearing on reality. My whole understanding of how things ended is totally shattered. I don’t even know how things ended any more. I don’t know anything.

What the FUCKING HELL???

Update: Oh thank God, before this post was even published, DH figured out that it’s not true. I thought we only went to that bar with the two of them once, but actually this was the second time, and it couldn’t have been when TOM felt me up on the way out the door, because we didn’t leave together. Once he mentioned it, I remembered (and he confirmed) that when we left, Mrs. TOM was still playing pool with a mutual friend. And the first time was definitely during the time that I know things were still going on.

Oh my God, I am so relieved. It’s still entirely possible that I wanted to be done with the affair by the time we left the hotel room. And, DH thinks I might be correct that I am the one who ended things. There’s a phone call that happened after I thought I had stopped even speaking to him, and there’s always been a question of, did he call to say it was over, or did he call to ask if I was really serious about it being over? And DH now believes that he was asking if I was serious, because there’s evidence that I had been pointedly ignoring him for some time.* I wish I had refused to speak to him — that would have really gotten my point across, and there’d be no question now — but I really think that’s how things happened.

* And we’ve always known that long after things were over for certain, as late as November, he was still sending me the occasional text message to see if we could eventually be friends again. And I told him no.

I fucking hate having such a horrible memory. I wish I could be certain of how everything happened, and not trying to piece it together from call logs and text messages. :( Of course, better if I’d never done anything to piece together at all.

Our Memories. . . Some Are Altogether Mighty Frightening

Our memories
Well, they can be inviting
But some are altogether
Mighty frightening
As we die, both you and I
With my head in my hands
I sit and cry
– No Doubt

(DH, don’t argue the “as we die” part. We died. But we’re being reborn.)

This post is about memories. There are still things I need to remember. DH needs a specific example of something TOM and I said to each other online that was flirting and that I deleted so he wouldn’t see it. He needs me to figure out the correct order of events from that first night, which is still a little sketchy. He needs me to remember the 4th of July, because we were at their house, and even though I am pretty certain nothing happened, there are parts of that night unaccounted for.

There might be other things that he just hasn’t thought about yet. But for now, this is the playlist.

So, since I’ve thought about the 4th of July the least, let’s start there. TOM and Mrs. TOM had a big party, and we were there with all of our kids. I made a big crockpot full of the most delicious buffalo chicken dip. We got there early, and I helped Mrs. TOM set up. I remember standing around awkwardly for a least part of the party. I remember standing by the dining table, just eating chip after chip with my dip. Because of my Social Anxiety Disorder, parties can be very difficult for me, and I don’t really like to drink with the kids around. TOM would always eventually convince me to have a few drinks — he was always so eager to make sure I was drinking — but I do specifically remember being sober and uncomfortable and making nervous conversation with whoever happened to be around.

I remember their neighbor arrived shortly after we did, and she needed some help bringing over food and I think chairs and stuff from her house, so I went and helped her.

Wait, was that 4th of July, or New Years? I remember being dressed up. Was I dressed up on the 4th? I don’t think I was. Oh, but I had to have helped her on the 4th, because she had a crockpot and so did I. I didn’t bring any food on New Years, just alcohol. So maybe I helped her bring stuff over both times.

At some point, I remember TOM and I went to the corner store. DH is worried something happened then, but I remember it. I was still sober, and I was uncomfortable, and nothing happened. We barely even talked. I just made my smiley non-committal comments like I usually do when I’m anxious.

There were photos of me playing cards on the 4th, and I can’t find them now. I wish I could, because then I would know what I was wearing. :(

Speaking of playing cards, we did that. Mrs. TOM taught us a game that she learned growing up, sort of solitaire for multiple people. I remember that I joined the game because I was still sober and it gave me something to do with my hands so I didn’t feel so uncomfortable. I was sitting next to TOM, and that’s probably when he started pestering me to start drinking. When we used to have game night, and we would sit next to each other, he would sometimes put his hand on my knee, or play footsie with me. I kept trying to remember if we did that while playing cards, but I feel pretty certain we didn’t. I think I did put my foot next to his, just to feel close to him.

There were chairs set up in the back yard, and TOM was cooking food, I’m pretty sure. I remember going out there, kind of hoping I could talk to him alone, but I ended up sitting by their neighbor and talking to her instead. She’s a nice lady.

I remember the kids playing with water guns in the front yard, and breaking up a couple of arguments. I remember my middle son running through the backyard with a water gun. I remember one of my older kids keeping an eye on a friend’s toddler so she could join the fun without her mother having to follow her around. I think I forgot to bring swimsuits or extra clothes for my kids, so I just let them get their clothes wet. Mrs. TOM didn’t mind, and they were having so much fun, and not like they’re going to get cold in July, right? Thinking about the great time they had would make me smile if not for the context.

Once the sun went down, they pulled out the fireworks. DH loves fireworks, and he likes for me to take photos of them, but the last couple of years I have felt really burnt out on it. Actually, this is something I hadn’t thought to talk to him about, yet. I’m feeling like my photography is not progressing, and I am very burnt out on taking the same old photos all the time. I am not even sure I brought my camera to that party. I know DH knows some of this, but I hadn’t really expressed to him just how depressed I have been about it. It’s been really, really bothering me.

So I didn’t want to watch the fireworks. I am pretty sure one of our kids was scared, and I used that as an excuse to stay inside and talk to some of the other moms with little kids. Mrs. TOM’s sister was still inside, and the friend whose toddler my daughter had been watching earlier. I think I even watched one of the little girls for a while so her mom could go outside.

The next thing I remember is DH and TOM standing outside on the driveway, arguing about whether we were going home, and whether I was going with DH if he went. If you can’t guess, DH was tired and wanted to go home, and TOM was trying to convince him to let me and some of the kids spend the night, just like we did on New Years. And DH was adamantly against that, because on New Years TOM and I made out in his bedroom.

This is the only time I really remember struggling with myself about the affair while it was still going on, and that makes me sick because a) why didn’t I struggle more? and b) that’s the most I could muster? But part of me really did not want to go home, because obviously I wanted something to happen with TOM. And part of me really did not want to stay, because I didn’t want anything to happen with TOM. I actually felt really torn. And fuck that, why the fuck should I be torn? I shouldn’t have had any fucking desire to stay there with him! It should have been real fucking easy — go home with your fucking husband!!

In case you can’t tell, I feel pretty upset about this.

So, taking the moral high ground, I acted like I didn’t care either way, and told DH that I’d do whatever he wanted. And then I got angry with him for taking too long to decide, and yelled at the both of them to stop arguing and make up their damn minds already, because if I was going home I wanted to enjoy the last few minutes of the party and not be sucked into their disagreement.

Really, I was upset because of my stupid fucking internal struggle about whether I wanted to go home with my husband or stay and fuck my lover.


I remember going inside, and TOM coming to find me, and asking me if I really wanted to stay — because he was trying to convince DH that I really wanted to stay, and that he was ruining my fun — and I told him that if DH wanted me to go home then that’s what I was doing. I was pretty irritated, and I probably sounded like DH was ruining my fun, which sucks because I was actually pretty pissed at TOM for sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong. I felt like, if he would just mind his own business, then I wouldn’t be feeling all this guilt. I’d have just gone home and accepted it and been fine.

(stupid cunt)

Eventually DH called a cab, since TOM had helped us get our rather large family to his house and was now whining about being too drunk to help us get home.

(then maybe don’t get so fucking drunk every night, asshole)

DH drove our truck home with a couple of kids, and I rode home with some more of our kids in the cab. I don’t remember getting home, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that I was bitchy to DH. I sure got good at taking everything out on him when he hadn’t done anything wrong.

That’s everything I can remember from the 4th. I really do not remember anything happening between TOM and myself, but since I don’t know how long any of this lasted, I can’t be sure whether I’ve accounted for all the time or whether there’s stuff I don’t remember. I guess we’ll have to see how DH feels about it.

For Better, For Worse, Love’s A Blessing, Love’s A Curse

She’s an angel, I’m just a man
I’ll always love her, until I can’t stand
– Old Man Markley

DH and I went to a concert recently, for a band we both love, and I really liked the opening band, Old Man Markley. They’re available on Spotify, so check them out.

He mentioned that I hadn’t written here in a while. Since I finished the story, it’s so hard to find things to say. In a way, I feel like I’m not the one dealing with this. I mean, I am. I am in pain all day every day, knowing what I did. But… DH just found out about it, and I’ve known for months. He’s aching for details that I’ve forgotten. He’s accepting what has been done to him. It sort of feels like it’s a process for him, but for me it’s just like being dead and waiting to wake again.

That doesn’t feel like an accurate description. No, I know it isn’t true at all. I’m just trying to understand and explain why it feels like there is nothing for me to say. But I’m failing. Because I know I am discovering new things. I’m discovering the depth of the pain I caused, the breadth of it, all the areas of our life that it touched, all the people I hurt. Because I hurt more than just DH. And I’m realizing just how broken I have been, and all the ways I have been wrong and insane. I really must have been out of my mind.

I’ve been reading some of the blogs of people who are going through what DH is going through. I read about husbands (almost always husbands) who did horrible things that seem so far beyond the scope of what I did, who cheated for years with multiple partners, who gave their wives STDs, who drank and did drugs and stole money and on and on… and I am exactly like them. No cold comfort of, “at least I didn’t…” No, I did. DH is destroyed just as surely. Maybe I did it faster, that’s all. But I still ripped out his heart and risked his life and betrayed our children…

And it’s not like this was a one time mistake. Aside from the fact that it was four times and that the affair lasted months, this is who I always was. I cheated so many times with so many men; this is just the first time DH was the victim. I destroyed other men before him, and I didn’t even care. I felt guilty, but I never hurt for them like I am hurting for him now. I didn’t give a damn, did I?

And all the lies, and all the distance I put between us, long before there ever was another man? All the effort he put into getting through to me, that I rebuffed and wasted and turned against him?

I got more of my tattoo done last week. Did I mention that already? I did much better this time. I mean, I literally screamed through the entire thing, but I sat there and let him finish the outline of the trunk and do the outlines for like 25 flowers. He even started to color one of the flowers in, but that was all I could take for the night. I only took two breaks I think? Next time I’m going to take a Soma and see if that helps. He says I can’t scream next time.

This tattoo has become more the symbol of everything than I ever thought it could be. It’s a cherry tree, that covers my entire back, and was intended to symbolize my family. I wanted it to be a symbol of my commitment, that I am so devoted to making this work that I will etch it into my very skin. And I know that even if DH left me tomorrow (God forbid), I would get it finished, because it’s a symbol of the way that everything changed for me that day when I finally told the truth. And part of it is wanting to finally let go of everything that keeps me to myself, keeps me apart from everyone else, and apart from DH. Part of it is doing something that means something to him — he has something like 30+ tattoos, and I am finally joining him. But now, the way that it hurts more than I ever thought it could, the way that it’s going to take much longer than I expected, the way it’s changing me forever and I can’t turn back now even if I wanted to… it’s everything we are going through. And that’s another part of it, because DH sits there and holds my hand, and he never leaves me, and we’re going through it together.

I won’t post a photo when it’s done. I designed it, and our friend (the tattoo artist) drew it up, and it’s so important to me that it be unique. Every aspect of it means something special to me. I couldn’t stand it if someone copied it. This is my pain, and DH’s, and no one else.

When it’s done, I’m going to get a little swallow on my shoulder, that looks like it’s flying to the tree, carrying a banner with DH’s name. It meant so much to me when he finally got my name tattooed on him, after all those years of telling me he never would. I want him to feel that, too. :)

Crazy, Crazy For Feeling So Lonely

I wrote before about how I spent most of my adult life going from one doctor or therapist to another, looking for help with my severe, debilitating anxiety and depression, and how I was pretty much dismissed by everyone. The first person I mentioned it to was an OB with my second pregnancy. As with everything else I discussed with him, he acted like I was being ridiculous. Everyone gets depressed when they’re pregnant, he said.

Next I tried the pastor of my church, a trained counselor, who tried to convince me that my problem was having too many kids (and I only had half as many as I do now) — and then I overheard the church secretary gossiping about things she shouldn’t have known in the first place. Then another therapist and another,  always telling me that I what I really needed was less stress, and some “me time.” My last one was absolutely convinced that getting out and eating some ice cream by myself would do me a world of good.

I also saw a neurologist, a GP, and a psychologist (that’s the one that gives meds but doesn’t do talk therapy right?) No one helped me at all. I had to figure out all by myself that my depression was really a symptom, and that my root problem is actually an anxiety disorder. I had to figure out that ADHD might be part of it. I had to go around begging for meds, and all they ever gave me were very low doses of light-weight stuff that didn’t help in the slightest.

But DH goes to an Urgent Care clinic last week, tells them I had an affair and the stress is making him (literally) sick to his stomach, and they immediately write him a script for serious anti-anxiety medication. Well, maybe I should have said my tummy hurt, instead of complaining that I was unable to get out of bed for weeks at a time, or that I had paranoid thoughts, or panic attacks, or that everyday interactions with strangers paralyzed me.

I’m not saying that what DH is going through isn’t a big deal. Obviously, it’s the hardest thing either of us has ever dealt with. But maybe if someone had deigned to take me seriously once in the past ten years, maybe we wouldn’t have had to go through this. Maybe I would have dealt with the issues that led up to this, and we would have had our stronger, better marriage without me fucking his best friend.

Fuck therapists, fuck therapy, fuck their meds, fuck the whole goddamn lot of them. Die in a fucking fire.

It’s A Long Way Down / Your Love Is Better Than Ice Cream

I feel worried about whether I am being selfish. Somehow I seem to have accumulated a bunch of things that are about me, and I feel like it’s… I dunno, bad. I’m not feeling very articulate on the subject.

I decided to fast for Lent. I’ve felt very far from God for a few years now. DH has, too, but he says that this affair — at least, the way he’s been able to deal with it – is bringing him closer to God. I feel farther away. I feel angry and abandoned. I feel like I begged God to help me stop sinning, and He didn’t give a damn. But I also feel like my viewpoint is wrong and selfish and ridiculous, and I want to fix it. So I thought, Lent is supposed to be a time for getting your head on straight in preparation for Easter, by fasting and praying and such. That’s the whole point, right? So I figured I’d give it a shot. But it feels like my decision is upsetting DH and making things hard on the rest of the family. And today is only the first day.

Tonight I have another appointment for my tattoo. This was supposed to be something to show my commitment to my marriage and family, something to bring me closer to DH (who has 30+ tattoos himself), something that was a sacrifice and an atonement for them. But now DH is exhausted and feeling like crap today and he has to schlep me across town for a tattoo appointment that will have us getting home two hours after our usual bedtime. He’s going to have to drink a high calorie energy drink when he hardly has enough calories left today to even eat dinner, so he’s going to have to go over his calorie goal. And he’ll have to spend the whole evening not talking to me about the affair, because he doesn’t want his friend the artist to know about it.

We’re supposed to be buying a new car. I haven’t had a car in close to three years. All we have is a pick-up truck that is nearly dead, can’t pass inspection (and I keep getting tickets every time I drive it), that only seats one-third of our family. So we got our income tax return, and we’re trying to save up a little more to buy a larger car and get rid of the truck. But we are having a lot of trouble not spending the money we already have saved, and DH is having to make sacrifices for it that I don’t want him to have to make, and anyway, it’s not like he’ll feel comfortable letting me have the new car to take the kids anyplace anytime soon. What’s the point?

And today DH and I had an argument, when I didn’t even realize I was arguing. I was worried about him, but I may have been telling him how he should deal with his feelings about my affair. Which is clearly unacceptable and over the line and WRONG. And terrible. And I can’t even think of enough negative adjectives for that.

I feel like I want to say, “I give up,” but give up on what? Obviously I will NEVER, EVER, EVER give up on trying to make things right with DH. I am in this forever. I will never give up on us.

But DH is so sad and miserable right now. I would gladly give up anything that would make him feel better. I’d give up everything.

Maybe he’ll feel better when the STD results come back. (God, please be clean!)

You Don’t Know How It Feels

I have been in and out of therapy, on and off of medication, for anxiety, depression, and even ADHD for most of my life. I was first put on anti-anxiety medication at the ripe old age of 13. While I don’t know how many of my varied diagnoses are correct, it’s clear to me that I have a problem. Perhaps multiple problems. And I have struggled for my entire adult life to identify and understand, so that I can correct these problems.

I have heard that somewhen, way back in the dawn of time, also known as when DH was young (ha!), that people dismissed emotional and mental disorders as not being real, and told people who were really suffering that they just needed to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. For the more-than-a-decade that I have been seeking out professional help (as an adult — as a child I hid from those who tried to help me), I have repeatedly encountered the opposite problem. Or maybe it’s the same problem with a new face. Everybody tells me that there’s nothing wrong with me, because it’s normal to be fucked up. It’s normal to be overwhelmed and disconnected and in pain. Worse, they try to tell me that I’m a victim of my circumstances, that it’s because I have too many kids, and not enough time to myself, and too much on my plate. TOM once told me that the cruelest thing “they tell you” is that there’s even such a thing as an emotional disorder, that it’s chemical and comes from inside you. He sees himself as a victim, and his pain is caused by those around him. He doesn’t recognize how much of it he causes himself.

The first person I sought out for therapy as an adult fed me this line of bullshit, telling me that I would be all cured if only I could get some “me time,” and almost turned me off of seeking help at all. (Worse, I overheard one of his employees gossiping about me. She also felt that my problems stemmed from having too many kids.) Then I got the same thing from the next two, and realized there really isn’t any help out there. Yes, being a stay-at-homeschooling-mom is hard. Having a large family can be trying. My kids are not always the best behaved. What the fuck does that have to do with Social Anxiety Disorder? No matter how many times my most recent therapist insisted on it, going out for ice cream without the kids does nothing to help that. And how the fuck did having a family cause me to develop an anxiety disorder years before I even met any of them??

No, nothing is wrong with you. You’re just tired. You have a lot of responsibility. Anyone would feel that way. Yeah, that explains why I have obsessive paranoid thoughts in the grocery store.

No one wants to believe that anyone is fucked up. I struggled so hard for the first few years of parenthood. I know everyone struggles. But it’s not normal to be unable to get out of bed for weeks in a row. It’s not normal to be unable to eat. It’s not normal to be that depressed. Yet every single person I tried to talk to refused to listen, and just tried their best to reassure me that I was a good mother.

No, good mothers get out of bed! And your trite, meaningless assurances did nothing but deny me the help I needed! And “me time” is fucking meaningless for someone who finds talking to people terrifying but desperately wants to get past that to develop actual relationships!

And now, now I get people telling me that problems in a marriage can’t be one sided, that it’s both partners, that affairs don’t just come out of nowhere.

No, they don’t. They come out of 30 years of emotional dysfunction, which my darling husband has never done anything to exacerbate, and has only done everything he possibly could to help me. So don’t you fucking dare suggest that he bears the slightest blame. Because, no, he’s not perfect. Sometimes he irritates me, and there are things he could do better. But what the fuck does that have to do with problems I developed before I ever met him?

It’s No Surprise To Me, I Am My Own Worst Enemy

Cause every now and then, I kick the living shit out of me.

I feel so sick and tired of myself again. Tomorrow I get to go find out if I’ve gotten an STD from my glorious affair, and potentially given it to my husband. Can’t wait. At least, tomorrow I get to have the blood test. I won’t actually find anything out for a few days. And my darling husband gets to pay $219 for the privilege of being married to a woman who fucks other men behind his back.

I was selfish this morning. I was feeling like it was too much of a burden that DH needs me to be available to talk all day long, and to not leave the house without him. I got upset because we’re having trouble finding a time when I can be incommunicado for thirty minutes while I exercise and shower. And I felt like I had to tell him how I was feeling, because getting irritated at him and pushing it down and letting it turn to resentment is part of what I used to do. But as soon as I said it, I was sorry. I just needed to remember that it’s necessary, and it’s all my fault.

He’s having a horrible day. Last night I remembered details about driving to TOM’s house the two times that I did that. DH was hoping I would remember feeling guilty, but I didn’t. He’s having a really hard time, because he keeps looking for some reason why or how I could do this to him, but the only answer is because I was a selfish cunt. I was a selfish, cold-hearted bitch with my head full of stupid ideas like that this desire I had for other men was a legitimate need, and that it was normal and healthy to associate friendship with sex and fantasize about sex with my friends. I thought I needed something that I didn’t, that it was a healthy desire when it wasn’t, that DH was just refusing to give it to me, and that it was acceptable to seek that outside of my marriage, so I just decided I would go for it. Because I was selfish and only cared about what I wanted. Because I wasn’t the good, loving wife he thought I was. I was still the selfish 19yo slut who cheated on my ex. I never changed, I just pushed it down.

DH loves me, and he wants to see me as that good person. But I wasn’t. I didn’t consider him in anything, did I? Ever. I didn’t even consider him when buying snack food. I never gave him the place in my life that he was supposed to have. He asked me to really think about whether I actually loved him then — whether the feelings that I had that I called love at the time really were — and I think I couldn’t have. I don’t know what to call what I felt, but love is a hell of a lot better than that. Love inspires you to actually think about the other, even when he isn’t there.

I hate that version of me. I hate her so much. I don’t know how everything in my head suddenly changed. I told DH last night, it’s like everything I felt before got scrubbed out and replaced with something new. But it happened all of the sudden, and I don’t even know how. And I’m really afraid of backsliding, because I hate that fucking bitch, and I never want to be her again.

Tuesday Afternoon Is Never Ending

Wow. It’s been days since I’ve written. I’m worried about that. I feel like I’ve run out of things to say, but I worry about how that makes DH feel.

I’ve been trying to get things back to normal as much as possible. I know things are still fucked up, and will be for a while, but we both agree that the kids need me. They need school, they need attention. Two of our children have learning disabilities, and one of those has needed a lot lately. He’s really struggling with changes to his medication, and I’m spending almost all my time with him. And today, another one of our children was diagnosed with a Big Name Progressive Disease. It’s not really a change or much of a big deal, since we’ve known this was likely for several years due to family history. He’ll probably live a relatively normal life with a little help.

With all of that, I’ve been trying to spend any alone time thinking, trying to remember more details for DH. I feel like I have to devote myself to that as much as possible, because he feels like it’s not on my mind like it’s on his. That’s an understatement. He feels like he’s drowning, and I’m dipping a toe in the pool when I feel like it. I have to jump in and swim with him; we need to hold each other up.