Hate to Admit

I hate to admit this but I have been thinking – not obsessing – about the whores. I have no idea why I am other than this is just where I am, taking this bullshit one step at a fucking time. What comes, comes. Then I face it.

I am so bothered that they don’t know the work he has done to have a chance to stay with me. I want so fucking much for them to know, that once I found out I was married to the “man” they fucked, that I didn’t put up with his bullshit. I want them to know that he has had to do a shitload of work to stay in this home. He’s had to deal with his own hurt, his own shame and face it. He’s had to take barrage after barrage of questions over the last couple of years from me – a lot of them the same questions. Days, weeks and months at a time. Over and over. He’s taken two polygraphs. He’s told his story countless times to strangers, he’s attended meetings and counseling sessions. He opened himself to the process.

I want to tell those vaginas that I wouldn’t keep the man they knew, that if he was the same man that they knew, they could have him. I wouldn’t have his sorry ass, even if my kids would have to live without him in the home and see him 8 days a month. I want these loser women to know that I’ve survived, that their unimportant relationships with The Player meant nothing to him and didn’t ruin me.

I want them to know they aren’t important to me, either. They don’t consume my thoughts anymore because they aren’t worth it to me. I want them to know I know details about them; what they said, what they tried on my husband that he couldn’t or wouldn’t do with them. He told me about their faults, their insecurities. He told me how he manipulated them into staying interested in him. I’ve read their texts, seen a picture of naked fake tits and their kids and The Player has shared intimate details about them and their lives with me. I’ve read their emails to The Player and he told me details about their encounters. He told me why he believed each one of them was desperate for his attention and how easy it was for them to agree to fuck him.

He’s gone into great detail about how he felt about each of them and it’s not pretty. He’s not talked to any of them post disclosure except for an awkward hello at a conference because it was in front of a group of people and those people knew they were friends and it would have been hard to ignore her. I wish they knew that once he saw how they used each other he felt shame about them, about what he did. He felt disgusted. He felt evertyhing about them was mistake that he didn’t understand at the time until he looked at his real problems, until he looked at himself. When he felt better by making them giggle or getting their attention and flirting back, his feeling better was so fleeting. He thought it would, it never did.

I know they aren’t worth my time, I know this. Yet, I want them to know I’m not a pushover, and that the person they knew was the lying Player, the gross one who went after gross desperate women. Them.

I want them to know that he has done the work that is required to be in my company. I want them to know that The Player considers himself lucky. Priviledged to be near me and to be able to show his love to me. He feels like he can truly be himself and he is grateful for the chance I have allowed him. He’s amazed at the amount of grace and compassion I’ve given him. He told me yesterday he was surprised each morning he wakes up and I am still next to him.

I want them to know these things, but why? I guess so they don’t think they pulled something over on me in the end. That I know it all. I wish I could send them a note and tell them these things, but you know, I don’t want them to know I gave them the 20 minutes in time out of my life it took to write this.