Let me start by saying this: this is my 7th draft that I have started tonight.
The first 6 were abandoned because they didn’t feel real, or honest or just … enough. They offered a very inadequate, some what glib look at a snapshot of my last few days/weeks/months and all felt as inauthentic as bad botox- in order to keep the peace and be polite everyone will pretend they didn’t notice, but get real Monica Geller- your eyebrows didn’t move after season 7. Nobody is fooling anyone.
So here I am. Promising to tell the truth, when the truth is ugly, and complicated, and not necessarily the same truth that anyone else has or even the same truth that I’ll have tomorrow. I’m still not even sure I know what the “truth” of this whole mess is, because I’ve spent the better part of two and a half years subconsciously doing everything in my power to protect myself from the truth.
At some point, the truth became my biggest fear and my mortal enemy.
Tonight I’m refusing to let myself hide from the truth any longer. Pour yourself a glass of wine, light up a smoke, or just hunker down, because the truth is too real to be pretty.
The truth is that I loved a man that was sleeping with what I discovered to be no less than 8 other women over the course of our relationship.
The truth meant that I loved him with all of my heart and no matter what anyone says and no matter how it looks, I know he loved me with all of his.
The truth is that his love is dark and twisted and selfish and broken and slowly destroyed me.
The truth is sometimes I look back at all the awful things I said and did, and the heinous bitch I was to him during The Dark Days, and I think I deserve everything I got and more.
The truth is there are no less than a thousand moments that I look back on as pivotal chances to be more calm, gracious, beautiful, quiet, supportive, loving that would have saved us from ourselves.
The truth is there’s no use in praying and pleading to change the past.
The truth is I’m not sure anything could have saved us from ourselves.
The truth is the same day that he told me that he wanted only me, he slept with someone else- not even 24 hours passed.
The truth is I never for a second doubted his faithfulness.
The truth is after I found out about the first 6 girls all at once, I told him I would forgive him of anything but he had to come clean- had to tell me all of them and he swore on his dead father’s life that I knew about all of them.
The truth is there was one more.
The truth is when I asked him why I didn’t just tell me about her then, he told me he “forgot.”
The truth is that after I found out the first time, I told him I wanted access to our shared phone account and he wouldn’t give it to me.
The truth is that after he refused, deep down I knew it was still happening but did everything in my power to keep that voice medicated and meditated so that it wouldn’t wake up.
The truth lead me to drive my little beat up Corolla like the mother fucking bat mobile to San Antonio in the middle of the night because something in my soul woke up for a brief moment and told me that I couldn’t lie to myself about what I saw with my own eyes and that I had to, GODDAMNIT I HAD TO LOOK HIM IN THE EYES SO HE KNEW I KNEW.
The truth is I prayed the entire 3 hour drive there not that I would come home to him alone, but that I would come home to them in our bed so that I could finally set us both free.
The truth is he tried to lie even after he was caught- even after I saw him leaving the hotel room that was under her name, he tried to deny it for a solid week.
The truth is that I wrote that infamous Facebook post because I knew I would forgive him; it was the insurance policy I took out against myself to make sure I didn’t go back once I calmed down.
The truth is I sometimes wish I never wrote it so that I could back to being his favorite, if not his only.
The truth was I didn’t want to walk away, and sometimes I wish I had never found out.
The truth is sometimes I hate myself for wishing that.
I’ll throw my hat into the ring at an attempt at funny or witty again another time. But the truth is today, I have emotional vertigo; I don’t know which way is up or down or back or forward. I don’t trust my own instincts anymore and my truth morphs and changes and in the same second can go from damning to freeing to damning again. People keep giving me advice and comfort but it’s like when you’re so drunk at a party that you can hear your friends all talking about and around you while your head hangs in the toilet, and you kind of wish they would leave you alone to slowly die in peace, but you’re also so thankful they’re there because you’re literally not sure you would survive without them, even if they do keep trying to stick their fingers down your throat when you just want to sleep. Yes, I know I’ll feel better tomorrow if I get it all up now, but also I’m not sure I’m ready.
*Pours self another glass of wine.*