Just wrote a long letter to my wife. I've always treated her well, I love her, but this one wasn't very nice. Writing it was easy, I have eight years of pent up anger. Sending it was hard, because I know it's going to hurt her. Or rather, I hope it's going to hurt, 'cause if it doesn't, that means my suspicions are right. Is that twisted or what?
My room-mate and I were talking about our marriages (my current, his previous) and I realized when we were done what a fool I've been all these years. All the times I told myself she wasn't cheating on me, because we're different, she's different- sure, if every other woman in the world did the same thing, they'd obviously be cheating, but when
my wife does it...
No, he didn't tell me that. It just came like a bucket of cold water in the face. Or in the heart. I think some of you may know what I mean.
She's not cheating on me now, that's not the problem. That would be simple. The problem is, she married me not for love, but for stability, a steady paycheck and insurance. And lied about it the whole way. I've suspected it since the beginning, but I always just... put the blinders on and plodded along like a good mule.
What's so hilarious about this whole thing is that I've been agonizing for months over what to do about my own feelings about the marriage, even wrote a post about it but never posted it because it was a little too personal for me. But screw it now, here it goes. I'm leaving everything in there; there's a part about a soldier who died in our company, and his wife. I don't know why I still react so strongly to his wife's plight (I couldn't even cry at my mom's funeral- don't get me wrong, I tried to find the grief I knew was there, is still there, but...), although I know my reaction is related to my marriage. Maybe I'm just too damn close too the subject. I don't know. But here goes. It's the next post.