Back that ass up

If you don’t understand my silence, how will you understand my words?  ~Unknown

Let’s back this shit show up 4 years.  4  years ago, the boys and I were just moving back home.  Yeah.  You read that right.  Back home.  From a 2 bedroom apartment I rented when I found out my husband had been having a full-blown affair with a legit hooker.  Like he found her on to give her a massage with a happy ending.  Because, apparently, he couldn’t handle that on his own.  Then  they started dating.  WHILE I was fucking pregnant.  But I didn’t find out until our youngest was about 8 months old.

The husband had claimed he was picking up an extra job as a bartender to help make ends meet with the new baby.  Me?  I know nothing about this world so I believed him.  (You’re supposed to believe your spouse, right?)  But I never saw the extra money even though he was always working.  One night, he came home and I asked him to hold the baby so I could pump.  He got so ANGRY.  About holding our child.  “YOU DUMB BITCH!”  Now he’s awake.  I just remember sitting there pumping (like a damn cow) and crying.  This is the first time the insults happened.  After this night, they just kept coming.  I was a “lazy bitch” because after school and a quick workout, I picked up our oldest and got home for my mom to leave.  After dinner and bedtime, I would crash.  “Stupid bitch” , “Ugly bitch” , “Fat bitch”–these all came part of my daily existence.  (So imagine just having had a baby and hearing all these.)

Then.  He came home one night.  I went to kiss him and he smelled, HIS FACE smelled, of her.  Do you understand?  Each woman has a distinctive smell and that wasn’t my smell on his face.  It was in a heartbeat I knew.  I knew there was no bartending job.  I knew there were no late meetings.  I knew.  The next time he “worked” late, I started looking at phone records and they all came back with numbers from craigslist or worse.  I finally got smart/stupid/brave/hell if I know what I got and googled his number.  Boom.  It was linked to an ad itself.  When I clicked on it, there he was.  With her.  In an ad for couples’ massages.  I found out her name was Alexa (and how I hate that name now.)  What got me was how happy he looked.  I mean, they were on a damn date in the picture.  Here I was sitting in a chair with leaky boobs, sobbing my eyes out and he was in a fucking ad.  His response was “Did you think I was going to be around forever?”

Yeah.  I did.

That was Labor Day Weekend.  Every year since that weekend is hard on me.  The boys and I moved out 6 weeks later while he continued his affair.  She even lived in our house for awhile.  He didn’t see us for a month, and when he did, he looked like shit.  He had lost 20 pounds and was heavily drinking.  Thanksgiving passed without him and Christmas was a farce.  He showed up at 8AM with Irish coffee and kept on going.  Somewhere around February, he started to get his shit together.  He asked me on a date and he spent more time with the boys.

I know.  WHY in the hell, right?  Well, he has severe survivor’s guilt/depression.  There have been 14 friends that have died from suicide or accidents.  He questions why he is here.  Before the affair started, another one committed suicide.  He was lost.

In April, I dismissed the divorce (yes, I had filed) because for the first time in a long time, he was who I had married.

But now, here we are again.  Same shit.  Different year.  But now, instead of a hooker leading him around by his dick, it’s beer leading him around by a bottle.

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