The Discard: Act VII

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Final Act VII:
Barring any unforeseen event, this will be my last post about this topic, as I am really tired. I knew that sharing would be exhaustive, and though there may be some who are surprised by the relative transparency, my question is: what other choice did I have?
 •Option 1: I pretend like it didn’t happen and deny my disgusting reality in the same way that has already been denied by some?
•Option 2: I sugar coat the reality which still denies my own experience by proxy?
•Option 3: I tell the truth.
Honestly, option 3 is the most humiliating, but I refuse to live any more of a lie than I was already unknowingly party to. And really, what do I have to be embarrassed by? In me, he lost a woman who would have given her life for him. Hell, in many ways, I did. Now, albeit charming and handsome, aside from my sanity, in him I lost a lying, cheating, cold man. Our losses aren’t comparable. My shares were by no means a lick-back. I don’t consider any of my entries vengeful or petty, as that might have detailed the more darker details.
Instead, I found it to be time that people are held accountable for their cruelty and it’s time that I held space for myself in real-time, almost 6 months postmortem. It’s time that people who actually have real partners have reason to hold theirs a little closer tonight, in gratitude for the destruction they don’t endure and never will. And its time for women (or men) who relate to this story, but blame themselves or think they just weren’t good enough, understand something vital.
It doesn’t matter how pretty you are.
It doesn’t matter how much you financially contribute to your family.
It doesn’t matter how ambitious, successful or well educated you are.
It doesn’t matter how thoughtful, anticipatory, kind, understanding, or generous you are.
It doesn’t matter how sexual, sensual, or emotionally available you are.
It doesn’t matter how dedicated you are to your own healing and understanding of your personal self.
It doesn’t matter how committed you are to your relationship or how dedicated you are to understanding someone you love.
It doesn’t matter how often you tune into your partner, ask genuine questions, listen, or offer unwavering support.
As a stand-alone ingredient, the bigness of your love does not matter.
It doesn’t matter, and if I’m honest, it’s a lesson I thought I had already learned.
This particular tragedy has taught me one thing.
Willfully unhealed people who refuse to face their shit, do not need a motive to destroy you, nor do they need a single legitimate reason to destroy the most beautiful things in their life. Their internal destruction subtly becomes your own, as they quietly and shamefully project what they refuse to address onto you. Before you know it, you’re bending your own rules for them. You’re neglecting your needs. You’re desperate to bring them back from the brink they willfully chose to accept.
Dysfunction is pervasive like that. It’s delusional. It’s hypocritical. It’s unfair, bias, and sabotaging. Its unpredictable and thrives off of stability mistaken for boredom. It’s hyper-vigilant. Its thirsty for attention and not at all picky about how that comes or who provides it. It’s hungry for substances that make matters worse. It’s the running scoreboard you are not privy to. It’s the rule book with spontaneous amendments and goal posts that move without warning.
No amount of goodness, greatness, or exceptionalism can out perform an unhealed person who loathes themselves, refuses to look in the mirror, and is hell bent on you hating them as much as they hate them.
Shit happens. Things sometimes change. Hell, sometimes people change their mind, and though that reality would have hurt me, it would not have pulverized my outlook on the future, distorted the perception I have of my own self concept, and traumatized me consecutively for months upon months. He knows that, and he was forewarned a few months ago that I would speak openly about this, in some way, eventually. He had hundreds of thousands of moments to decide to go about it differently if this were relatively innocent.
But, that wasn’t the case. Well-adjusted, conscientious human beings do not live their lives like this. I know that much. As he tried to innocently scurry away from the life we co-created, under the guise of being a “nomad”, he was working to maintain a quality image and memory of the person he pretended to be. Had I not personally took it upon myself to dig, I’d still be in the dark. And I’d still pine after the life we had, and that’s very sad.
I am very sad. I still beat myself up over having given him the playbook to destroy me. I did. It turns my stomach to force the recollection of who he said he was and how he described himself: someone who yearned for personal growth and responsibility, someone who deeply loved and cared about family, someone who had no tolerance for dishonesty or disrespect, someone who found joy in protecting and loving me, someone who would forever care for our relationship and do whatever necessary to make it thrive.
The fact is: people who carry those values do not behave these ways. They do not demonstrate moral bankruptcy. So, if you find yourself making excuses for him, I encourage you to check your own moral compass. And if your partner is looking for ways to make any of this okay, then perhaps you calibrate theirs as well. Ask yourself: would YOU be okay with YOUR partner living out this role in YOUR life?
His aunt said it best at our wedding: “We’ve never seen him so attentive and caring. She brings out the best in him.” Maybe so. But that’s the trouble with bringing out anything in anybody: whose is it, really? And how long will it last? And what conditions is it predicated on?
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I’ll try to paint my reasoning:
Imagine you go to a roulette table. And the attendant says all the numbers are ‘00’. Betting on 00, you simply can’t lose. Somewhat reluctant, you take his word for it and bet, but you bet small. And you win. He was right.
Now imagine going to this same roulette wheel for consecutive years, every single day. Each time, you bet a little more. But you continually win at exponential margins each time. Your fear and worry over the gamble naturally falls away.
Then one day, you play again. Except by now, you’re betting a ton. Nearly all you have. You don’t think anything of it, because after all, you haven’t been proven wrong yet right? It’s been confidently guaranteed. They spin the wheel, and it now lands on 28. You’re confused. You were told that was an impossibility. Yet, there’s no one to argue with. You just lost it all and there’s no coming back from that moment.
That is my moment. The moment I relive everyday. Some days easier than others. And in love, we inherently give away the playbook to our heart. It’s always a gamble. IF we are truly vulnerable, honest, empathetic and devoted, we willingly give someone the recipe to destroy us and just hope like hell that they mean well.
It’s what I discuss in every therapy session as my brain functions on a vigilant loop of finding the answers that prevent this hurt from ever happening in my life again. The only reasonable remedy is to lock away some of those mechanisms for a while, because I damn sure won’t become the woman who destroys people as I have been destroyed.
Now, lick-backs? As Taylor Swift so eloquently said, “I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace.”
I didn’t. I don’t. I can’t. I won’t. And still yet, it won’t compare to the bombs that were carelessly detonated in my life and inner being on his behalf.
I’ve received far too many comments, messages and texts to respond to just yet, but the themes are usually the same. “I’m so sorry. I’m hurting so much for you.” I appreciate it, genuinely.
If you care about me, and wish to mourn with me, I urge you to listen to “My Tears Ricochet-The Long Pond Studio Version”, Taylor Swift. I listen to it everyday, and mourn the loss of the life I thought I was living with the person I thought would be my forever home.
Thank you for listening.🤍
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