Oh my poor, neglected blog. It’s been awhile since I last wrote. Why do I do that, just leave my blog hanging with no updates? I like writing. It’s therapeutic. It clears my head. Note to self: keep writing, Courtney, keep writing!
Do you know that awful, anxiety filled, butterfly evoking feeling when you are waiting on someone to answer an important question or provide important information? Ugh. I had a moment like that this morning. I hate those moments. It’s like when you finally get confirmation that someone has cheated on you, lied to you, or stolen from you. It just about knocks the wind out of you and often makes you wish you were dreaming and not facing reality.
Perhaps all those anxious feelings led this overly analytical head of mine to do some extra pondering today. …Unfortunately, many of us have experienced the absolute devastation that cheating causes. I know I sure have, not just once, but twice. Lucky me. Not! It’s completely unfair that the cheater typically walks away with the least amount of consequences and emotional damage. It’s the betrayed person that has to attempt to pick herself up off the floor. She has to attempt to look in the mirror and talk herself into believing that she still has value and that she’s not an unwanted, unlovable, undesirable, wretched, old troll.
She has to lie down at night and try to sleep without her head being bombarded with images of the unthinkable. She asks herself and her Savior…why, why, why, why, why???? She can’t focus at work, at home, or anywhere else. If she’s like me, she becomes 50 shades of pissed off. While there are moments of utter sadness and depression, deep down anger seethes through her veins. Understandably, she becomes guarded and untrusting. She doubts the words of those she once fully trusted. She becomes cynical, suspicious, and sarcastic. That once bubbly gal now sees the glass as half empty with no available refills.
More than just about anything else she wants to sleep or at least lounge in bed watching Netflix until her eyes turn heavy and she finally drifts off to some much needed sleep. She eats like crap and stops exercising. Whenever she gets the chance she stuffs her face with junk, feeding her pain. Although there are likely still some great things in her life (children, friends, etc.), her spirit is crushed and both her self-worth and security have been destroyed. She feels hopeless.
She has no motivation to do anything. Her head is her worst enemy – – the thoughts eat away at her. She feels worthless. She might have enough clothes to outfit a small village and yet she feels hideous in everything she owns. She becomes highly critical of herself. She hates her body, her skin, her hair, her face. She has convinced herself she’s not good enough and that’s why the bastard cheated.
There she is…broken; a completely broken woman. But the thing is, life continues around her. The kiddo still needs taken care of, the dishes still need done, the groceries need purchased, the trash taken out, the mortgage paid, the appointments kept, the holidays celebrated, the job done. If she would like to attempt some type of normalcy for those around her (in my case, my daughter) she doesn’t really have the chance to just stop, catch her breath, process, grieve, heal and move forward. Life doesn’t stop because of her pain.
So what’s her option? Give up? Deep down that’s exactly what she wants to do. Surviving one affair is bad enough, but two? Seriously, maybe it’s time to officially throw in the towel. Being an old cat lady wouldn’t be so bad, right? It probably involves a lot of junk food, sweat pants, a bath robe and plenty of TV. Actually, that sounds sort of appealing. Even the meanest cat out there, my late grandmother’s cat Andy, wouldn’t claw my heart to shreds.
If I didn’t have the bluish/green eyes one of impressionable little girl looking at me as her role model, I’m not so sure I would have found the drive to get back up and keep going. And truth be told, that girl has seen the worst of her mama – grouchiness, moodiness, depression, anger, bitterness and straight up bitchiness. She’s seen me scream and yell, get vindictive and mean, cuss, cry, and try to sleep it off. But what she hasn’t seen is me completely give up. She knows I’m not perfect and sometimes my emotions get the best of me (the same thing happens to her too). I guess what matters most is that I have sincere, age appropriate talks with her where I fully admit that I’m nowhere near perfect, that nobody is, and that when I’m hurting deeply it’s hard for me to put a smile on my face and stay positive. Admitting my faults to her is not always easy, but talking through the mistakes and the hard feelings provides such an important life lesson.
I’m writing like the affairs just happened a few days ago. They didn’t. However, just sitting here and thinking about everything brings those heated feelings to the surface. The emotions are still powerfully painful. Hell, I tend to think that years and years could pass and those feelings will still be extremely raw. That’s what happens when someone you trust betrays you.
There are probably countless negative childhood and teenage memories that I’ve repressed – – something like getting picked last during gym class, being made fun of, being embarrassed, getting cut from the cheer team, getting dumped, the list probably goes on and on. And yet…the times I’ve felt the most worthless and the loneliest in my life were the times I was cheated on. To have someone who claims to love you and claims to be committed to you do something so heinous, it’s simply incomprehensible. It doesn’t make one fucking iota of sense. Oh how many times I’ve thought, “I hope she was worth it.” The thing is…she wasn’t. She could look like a super model. She could have a so-called banging body. She could be a dime. She could be a flipping rock star in the sack. She could be loaded with cash. But in the end does that shit matter? Nope! What matters is that you, you big liar/cheater, threw your integrity in the trash the moment you crossed the line. The moment you had that deceitful thought, sent that text, made that call, did the deed…in that moment you might have been sexually satisfied but it came at the cost of your character. Let me be real…ain’t no booty worth your character and your integrity. If you would have actually stopped and thought about the long-term consequences of your selfish actions, perhaps you would have made the right choice. But you didn’t. When you cheat you think about nobody but your rotten fucking self (and I suppose the whore you’re fucking).
If I had magical powers, I’d probably use them for good. Overall, I’m nice like that. Okay…nice with a potty mouth. Sorry, but cuss words help to drive home the point for me. Back to those coveted, mystical powers – – if I could, I’d blast the private areas of cheaters worldwide and with a vengeful giggle I’d place a twisted little spell that would prevent the cheaters from ever having sex again (or at least enjoying it). Ha…how do like that? It would serve them right. Enjoy that last orgasm fucker, cause once I wave my wand, your days of sexual glory are over. Or maybe I’d shrink his penis to the size of I don’t know…a peanut. Ha Ha Ha…yeah, I like that idea even better because he’d be miserable and nobody would want him. Then he could feel just the way I did. That’s karma.
Whew…it feels so good to write and get these feelings out. Since I can’t really go around throat punching every male I see, this is a much more suitable outlet for my emotions.
I fully acknowledge that this post is filled with a lot of intense feelings. Believe it or not, I’m actually doing pretty well. Today the feelings welled up. I did a lot of reminiscing. If feels good to write and process. I might not ever fully heal from the cheating, but at least I’m not afraid to jump head first into the pool of emotions and attempt to make sense out of a completely senseless situation.