Disclosure

It's been a couple days since disclosure. And I'm ok. But just ok. Well, no. If I'm being honest then I'll admit that each day since disclosure my heart has hardened a little more. My heart is not ok. 

Hate and anger have been a constant cyclone around my mind and the debris falls haphazardly around my heart. Piling up. Burying it under some serious weight. I've wanted to write down my feelings so many times but I just couldn't muster the mental clarity. I need some major community clean up to uncover those freshly battered emotions. 

It's exposing. It hurts. 

And trauma robs me of words. So even though I dig up those feelings no words seem adequate enough to convey the deeply felt emotional pain and confusion. These will have to do:

The day of disclosure I subconsciously kept myself busy. I was out and about running errands, taking Jimmy to basketball, visiting with my mom, chatting and laughing and it was all so fake. I remember I stopped for a second and thought to myself, why am I acting so happy?

Subconsciously I knew that if I stopped and processed about what 7pm held for me, then I'd obsessively worry over what I would hear. My imagination would run wild. I'd think the worst. I'd be walking into that appointment as an emotional time bomb. And I wanted to be strong at that appointment. I wanted my mind to be clear and open and ready to digest. I wanted to walk in there ready for the healing to start. 

So I had to fake happiness all day long. Aka denial. Aka repressed emotions. 

The worry and fear didn't hit until I started driving to meet Simon at the therapists office. My heart felt like it had fallen down an internal elevator shaft and lodged behind my belly button. I wanted to clutch my stomach to hold the ache in but I had to drive. I was late. 

I had planned on bringing a blanket into the appointment with me. Something to wrap myself in, hold me together. But I left it in the car. The idea suddenly seemed stupid. And I wanted to appear confident and unshaken. Don't let them see you sweat is my psyche's motto. 

I wrapped my sweater around me like a blanket instead. The therapist had Simon sit opposite of me so I could clearly see him and have him talk right to me. I like the therapist. He knows what I need before I do. 

And so he talked. And there were a few surprises. Mostly high school and college stuff. Stuff that hurt to hear but didn't effect me too greatly since we weren't married during those times he mentioned. But I reheard the big stuff-- the stuff that happened during our marriage. And a few surprises were sprinkled in there also. And you know what? The little things hurt just as much as the big things. 

Simon acted out in many ways in varying degrees of severity. But the moments that he acted out that--seem to me--to have an emotional drive behind them, kill me. 

A one night stand is a one night stand. He left 10 minutes after. He never talked to that woman again. That's where I believe the addiction. It was strictly for the sex. 

A six month affair is a relationship. He invested time, effort, attention to that woman. They had dinner. They watched tv. They went on little trips. They shopped. I know because I've seen the pictures. I wish I hadnt. The point is it had to be emotional. He had to have liked her. Maybe even loved her! 

Simon swears to me over and over that there was no emotional connection. He swears it. He knows it's impossible for me to understand or believe. And it is. It's impossible. It makes no sense. 

Simon knows and admits he made horrific choices. And as terrible as it sounds, he admits that he rationalized to himself that he'd gone through so much effort to get this woman to be physical with him, that it was easier to just keep her around then start with someone new. He told me, I'm a terrible person. I asked, why her? What's so special about her? Simon said, nothing. She just showed up. And he hung his head. 

In that room, when all was out. I felt satisfied. I felt like everything was finally out. I wept a couple times but then reined it in. And then I could feel the anger start. 

Something I realized, and that I told both Simon and the therapist, is that I FEEL LIKE THE OTHER WOMAN. I'm the one who's been strung along and kept on the sidelines while my husband gave so much attention to these other women--on the screen, at the strip club, in the bar, in chat rooms and in their homes. 

He dated them. He worked for it. I tried to think of a time where I felt like he worked for me and my love and attention. I couldn't come up with one. It feels like he was willing to invest in anyone but me. So what do I lack that others have?

The therapist stopped me there and said that was my inner fears and securities talking. He said I needed to figure out why I felt that way. I get what he's saying. I shouldn't feel inadequate. I should have a strong sense of self and remember that I'm pretty freaking awesome. Because I am. 

But hello. You can't NOT have those feelings. If I didn't have those feelings. If I wasn't deeply hurt than why would I stay? It would mean I didn't--deep down--love my husband. And that's where it came back to Simon's efforts to explain that it had nothing to do with me: It's all me. I'm the one that is so messed up. It wasn't about you. 

I thought of You've Got Mail and the "business not personal" conversation:

Tom Hanks (Simon) says, "It wasn't...personal."

Meg Ryan says, "What is that supposed to mean? I am so sick of that. All that means is that it wasn't personal to you. But it was personal to me. It's *personal* to a lot of people." 

Exactly. 

In the back of my mind, I know that everything is a result of the damn addiction. I hate it with every fiber of my being. And I've read enough of the addicted man's standpoint in books and blogs and comments to believe that Simon is telling the truth when he says, "It wasn't about you or what you were lacking. It's about me and the addiction."

But it's still personal. 

Just as I will never be able to fully understand his addiction, Simon will never be able to fully understand my pain and trauma and the annihilating blow that's hacked away at my self-esteem in the intimacy department. 

After the session, we walked out to the car. We talked. Aka I screamed and wept bitterly. Simon sat there and listened. His eyes so full of shame. 

And I just can't write anymore. Not now.