The spackle of the broken.

I haven’t written a blog for awhile. I’m not sure why, no excuses. God knows I’ve got plenty to say.

I’m in a much better place emotionally and maybe I didn’t want to screw it up with touching on things that might spiral me back down into the mind trap of despair and loss.

I’ve been thinking about (and occasionally using) the term “broken” lately. A little over a year ago I would’ve never associated that term with a human. It was reserved for electronics, cars, tools, dishes, and the occasional lease. Now, people are the first thing that comes to mind when I hear it.

I was broken. She broke me. She broke my heart, my family, and very near my will to live.

But then something happened. Not all at once. Oh God no. But over the months I could feel the cracks being repaired. I like to call it “The spackle of the broken”.

It’s kindness. It’s compassion. It’s empathy. It’s quite simply love. The love of others whether it’s family, friends, church, or the most amazing and honestly the most surprising, the support and love shown by complete strangers online who have come together in some very unfortunate circumstances. These amazing people which we all call our tribe are singly the most important part of my healing. It still blows my mind to think that’s even possible, but we all know it is. We laugh, we cry, we flirt, we poke, we support we advise,and most importantly we listen and we don’t judge.

All these greatest of human traits, love, compassion, empathy, kindness, all of them, are the spackle that’s filling in the cracks of my brokenness.

I was broken., but I’m not anymore. I’m cracked, and they are disappearing as I get back my Mojo and can now truly see what lies ahead. It’s not frightening anymore. It’s still not known, but it doesn’t matter. I’m going to be okay, and it’s all I wish for all of you beautiful people. To be okay and find your Mojo and get back what was taken from you. ❤️

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Human touch.

If you follow me on Twitter, you probably know that recently I had an MRI. It was on my shoulder and I suppose it’s just part of getting older and what not.

During the part where they numbed my shoulder and injected the dye, there was a nurse who was assisting the PA. He would warn me about how I was going to feel a slight pressure, or this one is going to be a little more painful than the others. While he was saying these things, the nurse would rub my calf and reassure me.

None of it hurt. What did bring tears to my eyes was her empathy. And her touch. It wasn’t by any means sexual, and I didn’t take it that way. What I did realize was that I REALLY miss the human touch. I get hugs all the time, but this was different. It just made me melancholy for the warmth of contact.

I miss it, all of it. The male/female hug, the chance to put my arm around someone, spooning before we would fall asleep, and of course the sexual contact that we had for 30+ years. It’s a huge part of all of our lives, and for over a year now, it’s been absent.

My trust issues suck right now understandably, but someday I hope to have the contact back. Not for a day, or a weekend, those I’m guessing are attainable. I’m talking about the kind of contact that literally makes you suck air, makes you shiver, makes you smile and has you thinking about it during the day. It just pops into your head and brings a smile to your face. That’s what I want again.

I may find it again, who knows, but I know that the longer I go without it, the more I miss it.

I was made for the long haul. I just need to be patient and see who is out there that wants the same.

A loss is a loss, a death is a death.

I ran into a woman from my old church last weekend. She was wearing a long winter coat with the hood up and I didn’t realize it was her until she dropped the hood and said “Hi”.

A little back story. Her husband was killed in a freak traffic accident about 3-1/2 years ago. He was a father of three and a great guy. He was 43. He was also a grade school teacher so to say this death impacted a lot of lives would be an understatement.

After D-Day my closest friend who was texting me constantly, keeping my spirits up and generally checking that I wasn’t planning anything nefarious shared something the widow had told him.

She said right after her husbands death, she didn’t think she could handle the waves of grief that were washing over her. But, with time, the waves got smaller and more manageable. They still came, but with much less intensity and frequency.

I’ve seen her here and there since D-Day but we’ve never spoke of it.

When I saw her last weekend we immediately hugged and just looked at each other and I could tell she knew. Not of the betrayal, everyone knows about that. But she knew, she just knew. The pain, the anxiety, the loneliness, the crushing depression, the loss.

She asked how I was and I asked the same. She shared how her Dr. had put her on antidepressants. She’s off now, but if he didn’t, she said she was becoming an alcoholic. We spoke of our children and the need for therapy.

In the end, we both had tears in our eyes and she just said” it sucks, it all just sucks”. I couldn’t speak anymore, so I just said “we’ll talk” and I left.

Most of my family and my stbx’s family have treated her betrayal like a death. It’s the death of the wonderful person that we knew. The wife, the daughter, the sister, the aunt, the Mom.

I’ve always thought to myself that this is worse than a death. Her husband didn’t choose to leave his wife and kids. He didn’t leave that morning and say “I love you, but I’m not “in” love with you, or another classic ” neither of us wanted it to happen”. She has no chance of running into her husband with another woman.

I don’t like to compare my situation with hers because unless you’ve been through it, that comparison seems unfair. But it is fair in my eyes. The death of my marriage, my intact family, all of our hopes and dreams. They’re dead. She killed them.

The waves are much smaller these days, sometimes it’s even calm as glass out there. I know my friend and I will be fine someday. It’ll just take time. And then we’ll talk.

The AP

I’ve been struggling lately not to act on my feelings towards the AP in my story.

A little background first.

My stbx is self employed as a hair stylist. She decided to start giving massages after getting them herself for several years.

My trust in her morals and integrity were enough to let me go along with this idea.

I was wrong.

She met him when she went into a vitamin/wellness shop. She was always quite flirtatious when approaching possible clientele, sometimes in front of me, but I stupidly wrote it off as her way to build her business. I actually had said “whatever it takes”. Oops.

I mentioned he worked in a vitamin shop. A forty eight yr old “man” working in a vitamin shop.

She had known him for a couple years at least before D-Day. I met him. He was quite forgettable to be honest. I didn’t give him a second thought because he was quite effeminate and definitely not her type so I thought. I knew nothing of his background because like I said, I didn’t give him a second thought.

He was heavily into Facebook and constantly posted Christian word salad posts. Lots of memes and such. I’ve never been on Facebook so I didn’t see much except what she would show me now and then. I believe this is where it began.

After D-Day I had several people say “I knew it was him”, he liked everything she posted no matter what”. Side note; if you ever see this, please point it out to someone. It may be nothing, or it may be everything.

Anyhoo, This blog is about this piece of shit.

I’m not under any illusion that she wasn’t 50% of the betrayal, but let me explain how I see it.

I’ve posted about his “past” but I’ll refresh your memories or fill in those who aren’t on Twitter.

He’s a deadbeat “dad” who been married 3 times. His first marriage produced a profoundly handicapped son. In my flurry of investigating his past like we all do thinking it’s going to make a difference, I actually contacted his 1st wife. I asked if she was the one that he got the spousal abuse charge on. She was, and after her initial shock of me tracking her down (Thank you Google and my own late night obsession), she was quite lovely and forthcoming in her answers.

She explained that they had got into a fight one night and she scratched him and he hit her. His drunk friend told him to call the cops and he did. She spent an hour in jail, he spent 5 days. A month later he punched her again and she left. She said he always contacted and flirted with other women and she thought he cheated ,but she never caught him. It was a short email messaging session but she left me with this.

“We had a son together. His name is Preston and he is twenty five years old. He is tube fed and diapered. He (theAP) has made no effort to see him since he was 3 yrs. old. This should tell you everything you need to know about what kind of “man” he is”. She remarried and her second husband raised her son like he was his own.

The AP has a record. 9 small claims against him for non payment, theft from the vitamin shop (which took place the night she left me), and of course the spousal abuse.

This is the person I was replaced with. His online bio says he’s a “life coach” and he also dabbles in other life changing horse shit.

As far as anyone can tell, he has no clientele. I’m not sure how he makes a living since losing that sweet gig at the vitamin shop.

One last thing.

On December 28th 2018, my son and I drove to her shop to surprise her and take her out for dinner.

We were sitting in the parking lot and I could see her massage door was closed so I assumed she had a client. I waited until she came out and I could see her in the window and I texted her and said “you look pretty”. She obviously didn’t see it right away because the next thing I knew, a guy came out and walked right in front of my truck and looked at me and froze. I recognized him as I had met him before. He continued over to MY wife’s car and started it. As it was winter out, I didn’t think twice about it because it was like her to have a male client do something like that.

What happened next I will take to my grave. That Mother Fucker walked up to my window, with our SON sitting next to me and shook my hand and introduced himself. I told him we had met and then he went back inside her shop for a minute and then left.

He had just fucked my wife and then shook my hand…with my son next to me…

Like I said, I’ll take it to my grave.

A Brotherhood/Sisterhood .

I was just reading a post from @betrayedAug3118 on Twitter and all of the responses from beautiful, caring, compassionate, online friends and all of a sudden my mind pictured all of us as one. We were all squished together I guess in a mass of feelings and emotions and empathy and quite frankly Love.

We don’t “know” each other really. Not in a physical/visual sense anyway. We all met online for the same unfortunate, terrible, avoidable reason. INFIDELITY.

I could feel the support that was coming her way as she poured out her heart to her online tribe. Her struggles, her doubts, her heartache, all of it being validated by those that can relate.

I’m not sure how people did it before the internet. Yes, they were probably tougher, maybe more resilient, but they were still human. Did they suck it up? Was their support system bigger, stronger?

I doubt it. I think they just endured in their brokenness. They got up each morning and got ready for their day just like all of us. They slogged through whatever it was they had to do, and maybe they had someone to bounce things off of, but nothing like what we have now. We literally have countries if not continents listening to us.

We’re all going through something, and now we have so many more caring people who have “been there-done that” and can offer something worthwhile, even if it’s just a virtual ((hug)). I speak for me when I say I think that showing support for other’s has been as important to my healing as the support I have received.

I for one am so grateful for the online support of all of my tribe. I’m not sure where I’d be without you all. I would be alive, but I’m not so sure I’d be living.

We will persevere.

We will thrive.

I thank you all for everything you’ve given me and taught me. You know who you are.

We will make it through to the other side together, as a family.

An unorthodox family, but a family all the same. XOXO

A Mother’s crazy love.

When my wife left, she said she was starting her new life. If you read my first post you’ll remember when I asked her if there was someone else, she said “Jesus”.

Jesus turned out to be a fifty year old, thrice married, deadbeat “dad” who has been taken to small claims court a dozen times for non-payment, a spousal abuse charge on his record, and was arrested for theft from his retail job on the day she left.

He is a self employed “life coach” and full time scum bag.

Any hoo, when she left she had no qualms of leaving her sixteen year old son behind to be raised by the heathen writing this.

Her two closest friends,(really her only friends) who are women, confided something with me. They couldn’t wrap their heads around the fact that she left our son. I could see it in their eyes that they truly couldn’t fathom doing that as a mother. One told me if she was in the same situation, I would be the one leaving the house and she would stay with the child.

In hindsight, I always noticed she never seemed to have that maternal bond that my sister or her sisters and female friends had with their kids. I just made up for it and I’ve always been close and bonded with my kids.

She sees our son every other weekend. I would lose my mind if that’s all I saw him. She has no contact with our older two because they chose that. He’s her only link to what she had for 32 yrs as a wife and 25 years as a Mom.

We got some snow this weekend and she chose not to come get him on Saturday or Sunday because of it. She’s got an all wheel drive vehicle. She knows how to drive in snow. Because of MLK day he was out of school today, so she picks him up at 1:00 p.m. and returned him at 4:00 p.m. She left a note for me telling me to remove her name from the school contact list as she keeps getting mail from them.

I guess if I have a question for You Moms or Psychiatrists out there it’s this. Does this sound like a Narcissist, a sociopath, a mental illness, or just a selfish, terrible person who has no regard for anyone except herself? Or all the above.

There is definitely a textbook case of limerence going on also so that should be fun for her when that fog clears.

I had to write this as I worked 12 hrs today only to be greeted by that note. Anxiety is still showing it’s ugly fucking face whenever she’s involved.

At least my son’s home again.

My Happy Place

I was reading another blog tonight (shout-out to Walking TheJourney/ Dawn_ByTheCreek), and she was talking about her visits to Gettysburg, and it basically being her happy place.

Her description of how she can think there and how she can breathe there, made me realize that my running is my happy place.

First a little back story. I’ve been plagued with lower back issues in my past, to the point of emergency room visits, missed work, and walking with a cane for a short time. It runs in my family and it’s no fun. My mornings were started with being careful getting out of bed, and the rest of the day was pretty much the same. I had been running for many years but I have a physical job so when my back kept going out, I had to choose either to work or run, but I couldn’t do both as my back just couldn’t take the pounding. Of course I had a family to support so the running stopped. My back continued to go out and I was diagnosed with degenerative disc disease, otherwise known as old age, and I also have arthritis in my lower lumbar.

I had not run for a few years and put on some weight that I was not proud of but just decided that it was something that was unavoidable (wrong).

When D-Day happened, it was about a week later when I realized that I was waking up without back pain. It made no sense but I took it as a sign to get off my ass and get running again. I felt I had nothing to lose except the weight but I’m not going to lie, I was scared. Scared of my back going out and literally relying on my sixteen year old son to help me in and out of bed or the car since his mother had left.

I started on the treadmill as it was January and I live in the upper Midwest. As most of those who have been betrayed can attest, the weight loss came quickly. I lost forty pounds in about three months. Between loss of appetite and anxiety brought on by the betrayal, it was not the healthiest way to lose the weight but it worked. I got down under my High School weight. I started to force myself to eat and I changed to a healthier diet also. As soon as the weather got a tad warmer, I took to the roads. And that is where I found my happy place.

I live in the country so I have the advantage of not having to deal with traffic or the stops and starts of traffic lights and intersections. With that being said, I searched out a place to run that was unfamiliar and perhaps I could meet someone who also loved to run but wanted a running buddy.

Seven miles from my house was a greenway that I had run on in the past, but it was new so it was very short and disappointing. I revisited it one day hoping for improvements, and was thrilled to find out it was very much improved and was now a five mile loop once I became familiar with it.

I now know it like the back of my hand and it has been my retreat from the demons of anxiety when they come to visit. It seems like they can’t keep up with me when I’m out there, and their voices become drowned out by my steady breaths and footfalls. They don’t visit as much anymore. I think they’re getting the hint that they’ve worn out their welcome.

I like to look back on that day, damn near a year ago, when my back pain went away and think that just maybe God looked down and saw my anguish and how lost I was and said “He’s got a lot going on right now, I need to lighten his load a little bit”. Either way, I thank him every day for giving me another chance at running and at life.

I hope you all find your happy place. That place where you feel most at peace. I have been fortunate enough to have found a couple of them this year. My new church and my running trail and of course the time I spend with my children and family. I have found new friends at church, but I’m still searching for that running buddy.

Maybe one of these days.