Posts Tagged ‘birthday’

The Odd Couple

January 14, 2010

I had an epiphany today.  While I know that MM “needs to work on repairing the severe damage that he has done to his family” and has completely shut me out, I have assumed that everything at home, while a little strained, is relatively normal – they are sitting around their family dining room table, making small talk about their days; retiring to the family room to watch some TV after homework is done, and then, when the kids are quietly and happily tucked into bed, slipping into bed next to his wife, holding her, kissing her and maybe even making love.  Are there any MM reading this?  Any wives of MM reading this?  If so, I would love to hear whether this scenario, as it plays in mind is anywhere near accurate. 

Just to recap – W found out about us 12/9; he went to stay with his parents for a couple of weeks (a/k/a she kicked him out); the last time we spoke was 12/14; the last time he texted me was 12/28 and the last email (“However comma”) was the one I forced (and most likely dictated) on 1/12.  The last time I saw him was 12/4 – 41 days ago – we made love in the morning, had brunch and then he was off to the airport to fly home.  Are they sleeping in the same bed?  If I were W, would I let him sleep in my bed?  In my guest room?  On my couch?  Under my roof?  In a hotel?  In a coffin?  I’ve been re-thinking my scenario and actually feeling sorry for MM.  Don’t get me wrong.  I still want to carve my initials in his face, but am starting to think that his life isn’t so good.  In a concrete “not so good” way.

On 12/4, as we were sitting across the table from each other, I looked at MM and told him that it was time for me to start to move on, to date, to get my life in order.  My divorce is final, I’m not getting any younger (I’m 45), I’ve given 3 years to this relationship and it’s certainly dead-end.  MM had a thing against me dating .  He used to say that I knew he was married when we started our “relationship” but if I were to date, it would mean that I was looking for something/someone else, and we were supposed to be in love. He wouldn’t sleep with me, if I were sleeping with someone else.  What a hypocrite!  Really?  I shouldn’t sleep with anyone and you’re fucking your wife?  No, he would say.  I’m more married to you in that way, than to her.  The last time we had sex was October 2008.  You know the word “gullible” isn’t in the dictionary either.  But that was OK, because it was his W, and I was . . . nothing.  Really what I was, was a whore.  Good enough to fuck, but not to sleep with, or be seen with holding hands or kissing in public.  Hypocrite.  If I went out on a date (which I did, and certainly more often than I would tell him), he would ask me if I told the guy that I was in love with someone else; did I tell my friends who wanted to fix me up, that I had a boyfriend?  That I was in love?  Are you drunk?  Why would I say that to anyone, ever?!?  You’re MARRIED!  And not to me.  No.  I very much wanted to meet someone, be swept up in a romance.  But that didn’t happen.  Because, as the affair continued, I found that I was emotionally unavailable to meet someone else.  I spent too much time comparing them to MM – were they as smart, as funny, as interesting, well read; did they look at me like I was the most extraordinary woman in the world?  Often, they would fall short and in truth, there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world for most of them to even get a good night kiss.

So we’re having this conversation and MM asks me to be patient.  For what?  There is no answer.  There was never an answer.  The books I’ve read about whether a MM will leave his W for his OW say, categorically, that if he doesn’t leave within the first 6 months, he’s not going to leave.  And if he did, would you really want to be involved with someone who is a cheater and a liar?  If he did it to her, what makes you think that he wouldn’t do it to you?  It was a really sad, melancholy conversation.  He told me that he was going to have a lot to think about and decide.  I just smiled.  Decide what?  He asked me whether he should move out?  Get an apartment near his home?  Move to be with me?  I just smiled and told him that I could not make decisions for him.  I could only make decisions for me.  He asked if we would still be able to be friends.  And I said that I wasn’t sure – whether I wanted that or whether he would want that and whether we could really go from the intimacy that we had to something less. 

It was a bittersweet conversation.  One that I had started to play in my head about a month earlier.  The substance of the conversation had been rehearsed a million times in my head.  I said that I wasn’t doing anything now, but that I thought I would.  We kissed, many times, held hands, and told each other that we love each other many times.  We spoke and emailed over the weekend many times. 

On Monday, MM called and was trying to convince me to meet him, the following week halfway between where we lived and spend the day and night together – he was able to work around a holiday party, which is what he was going to tell his W.  The following day he sent me a link to a Romance package that a really beautiful hotel in my neighborhood was having.  He wanted to see me before his family trip to see his parents – after Christmas and his birthday (neither of which we would spend together), because he didn’t want to have to wait more than a 5 days, a week at most, without seeing me.  I wasn’t really sure about what I wanted to do.  I knew that I didn’t want to be alone, but I knew that the time to end this affair was coming.  I thought about how long I could live like this – could I have an affair with a married man for 5 years?  10 years?  20 years?  Could I fall in love with someone else and still make love to my MM?  Possible?  Probable?  I thought about it.  Not really liking the way it tasted.

My girlfriend told me today, that MM committed emotional suicide.  I broke up with him and he couldn’t pull the trigger on anyone but himself.  I assumed (there’s that word again), that the affair would come to a gradual end, like pulling up to a red light.  How wrong I was.  I should have known – when you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.


Holidays, Birthdays and other Unimportant events

December 27, 2009

There are so many things about being the OW that are unacceptable, it makes me wonder how I could have done it and done it for so long.  How many other men and women do it and do it for a period of time that is longer than they ever thought they would.  Birthdays, holidays, festivities that a person shares with a partner, a lover, a significant other are often celebrated alone or on days other than the actual day. 

Valentine’s day has never been a big deal to me.  The year before I got married, my ex-husband put so much thought into the gift he gave me that I was bound to be disappointed the next year.  Which, in the long run was easy – since he then gave me nothing.  I can’t remember his excuse, since he had so many, but I learned quickly the importance of Hallmark holidays versus other celebrations. 

I grew up in a house where every event was a big deal; where giving a gift was a thought filled process and receiving it with great gusto was part of the joy one gave back to the giver.  My marriage changed what I expected from an adult male in my life.  It was quite simply, nothing.  My MM felt differently.  Although gift giving wasn’t something we ever discussed, whatever he gave me was filled with thought.  Thought he put into whether I would like it, whether it was something that had a meaning to me, to him, to us.  It could be something as small as a crossword puzzle, a candy bar, or a magazine subscription to something as lavish as a massage, or a  beautiful dinner. 

This past year, for Valentine’s Day, he bought me a dozen long-stemmed red roses.  They were delivered to my office a few days before Valentine’s day with a card that wished me a happy Valentine’s Day, that he couldn’t wait to celebrate it with me and that he loved me very much.  Of course our celebration was going to have to be a day other than Valentine’s day since it fell on a Saturday and he wouldn’t be with me that day.  I remember the excitement of receiving the flowers, bringing them to my office; lying to my co-workers about who they were from; bringing them home and lying to my children about who they were from.  I feel awful just acknowledging that.  I wanted to tell everyone who they were from and yet, I didn’t want anyone to know.  They were beautiful.  They were an ugly reminder that I was nothing and no one to this man.  I was easily and cheaply bought.  My affections, my loyalties for a dozen roses.  Since when did I place such a small value on myself?  When did that happen?  I guess I had spent so many years in such a shitty marriage, that any sort of kindness was extraordinary.  I was flattered and touched to be the recipient of such generosity.  What the hell was I thinking???  That wasn’t generosity, that was hush money.  When my first child was born, I read somewhere that to child, the way you spell “love” is “t. i. m. e”.  Giving of your time is the greatest act of love you can show another person.  And that was the one thing my MM wasn’t giving me.  I brought the flowers home and they died.  I let them sit in the vase and putrefy.  You know that horrible rotten egg smell of water that has been sitting around for too long with flower stems.  Was that what I was worth?  Now I think that I sold my soul for a dozen roses.

So the holidays are once again here.  And once again, I’m not with my MM.  I can’t say that I’m alone because I’m surrounded by friends and family and for that I’m truly and honestly blessed.  Just like my MM.  My ex-MM.  But he didn’t pick me and I still can’t get past that.  He unceremoniously stopped talking to me, spending time with me.  Does the lack of time equate to the lack of love?  I hope that one day I will stop asking these questions and stop looking for answers that don’t ever seem to be forthcoming. 

I need to throw out those dead flowers, but I’m afraid that once I do, I won’t have anything left.  But if I’m really honest with myself, what did I ever really have?