Allow me to define "Awesome!" for you

Awesome: Going to bed at 12:30am and waking up at 5:00am, and the very second you wake up, you run to the bathroom with dry heaves, your body shaking all over because the very first thing you thought of when you woke up was, "He didn't love me enough to use birth control with his wife. He claimed he was miserable, and said several times how if it were up to him he wouldn't have had the third kid, and yet he didn't have the balls to tell her he didn't want any more kids, so he had a fourth." Then, as you're dry heaving into the sink and violently shaking and now crying, you think, "He was never going to tell me about that kid. And he's still fucking his wife...are they going for a FIFTH???"

Today is not going to be a good day.

[Update @ 7:03 PM]
Today went WAY better than I thought it would. I'm still sick to my stomach (when a fat girl ain't eating, you know something ain't right) but I'm not feeling as bad as I was. I'm pretty much over thinking he's going to do something to harm me, but I'm still a little tense about it. I'm afraid if I let my guard down, something bad will happen. I saw him on messenger last night and asked if I could ask him some stuff; he agreed. He answered everything I asked (like when he had the fourth kid) - some of his answers really surprised me; others did not. I am petrified of being on speaking terms with him and even more scared of never speaking to him again. I have to take this very slowly. This would be so much fucking easier if he were capable of just being honest for a change. Whatever. At this point, I'm surprised we're even talking. I really thought Friday was it. I don't know. Now I'm just fucking rambling because I just got high so fuck this, I'm outta here.

Nauseous or Nauseated?

I never remember which is the right word when I want it.

Crap.

Well, whatever. I wish the insanely sick feeling in my stomach would go away so I could stop freaking out. Stop feeling terrified about what he's going to do to me, and when and where.

I'll also be glad when my shoulders come down from their current location, which is somewhere near the middle of my neck. Tense doesn't begin to describe my body.

It's fucked up, but I haven't cried. Not once. I'm beyond crying. This is the kind of pain for which crying is no use.

Four kids? Motherfucking FOUR?!?! I mean, what does one do with that information? I mean fuck. I knew he was lying about shit and withholding information like a motherfucker, but a whole kid? Fucking fuck! I can't even lie - I was praying his wife was lying about that. I really held out hope that maybe she was just trying to take a stab at me; that maybe it wasn't true. But then he confirmed it. I threw up.

How do you know when you're done paying your dues for shit you did in the past? How do you know when your karma's going to start leveling out?

I feel .... fucking empty. Just empty. I mean damn, there is so much about him that I am still so fucking in love with. A combination of things unique to just him. And it's not a matter of finding those qualities in someone else. I don't want anyone else!! I want him; the one I've invested my heart and life in for the past two years. Where the fuck am I supposed to put those feelings now that I'm not supposed to feel them anymore?

Knowing he wasn't in love with me and wasn't ever going to make a life with me doesn't change how I feel, even though it definitely should.

Knowing those things only mildly provides me with the comfort that leaving was the only choice I had in order to live my life. Not wait for a life with him, live my life myself, right now. But knowing those things doesn't lift this crushing feeling I have in my chest, nor does that knowledge ease the pain in my stomach or calm my thoughts.

When I look at the whole, big picture, I can't decide which mistake I would consider my biggest. I guess it doesn't even matter. It's all gone now; I'll never get it back - not the shitty way it's been for the past 8 months, with those brief, fleeting moments of sheer fucking GREATNESS, and certainly not the way it was the first 8 months, which were some of the best months of my life.

Gone. FUCK.

Anyone with advice...

On how to stop torturing myself, should either leave a comment or hit me up with an email. Please.

This 'sleeping 30-60 minutes at a time' shit has to fucking stop.

The silence is deafening.

Today I don't feel like I did the right thing, and I'm going fucking insane.

Uh, what?

I don't feel like blogging about it yet. I'm still a little numb and caught between knowing I'm right and hating my life without him. It is SO OVER. Not like any other time - I crossed a line that can't be uncrossed. There will never be any contact between us again. Good thing? Some would say yes, and deep down I know they're right. Do I see that and feel good about it right now? FUCK NO.

[Update 5/29/05: I took out the "distraction" I had in this post; it was bugging me.]

Back from my distraction: I'm totally consumed wondering what he's going to do to get back at me for emailing his wife and fucking his world up. I'm sick to my stomach; have been since yesterday when I fatefully hit 'send'. I slept about 30 minutes to an hour at a time last night, and only stayed in bed about 6 hours total. I'm totally fucked - I don't know what or when, but he WILL do something and I'm just fucking beside myself about it. (And no, I'm not going to get into what I think he could attempt - he may or may not still read this; I don't need to give him fucking TIPS for fuck's sake.)

Oh, wanna know the best part? When his wife first emailed me over a year ago, I found out he had three kids, not two like he told me. Yesterday when she replied to me, I found out he now has FOUR. (Uh, NO, I didn't know about the fourth. He was on the phone with me when I got her email which contained this info, and when I said something to him about it, he pretended not to know what she was talking about. COME ON. Paris fucking Hilton is a better actress, buddy.)

OVER

It's over. I fucked up afterward, but it's over.

Great Blog

Vin sent me this link a little while back. I don't know how he came across this blog. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was living inside my head. Our stories are different, but many of the feelings and frustrations are identical.

She is my hero for writing the way she does, being as focused on writing as she is, for knowing what she does, and for speaking her mind in ways I wish I knew how.

Diary of an Affair

I love her.

Thinking

Mother's Day came and went. It sucked. I went to the damn bbq and regreted every second I was there. I was being retarded not having the conversation with my mom; it won't happen again.

I'm on overload in the thought department.

My new living arrangements rule. Love the new apartment. Love that I have a deck. Love that the new roomie is SO MUCH COOLER/BETTER than the old roomie. I knew she would be and she is so proving me right. This takes a major load off my stress level.

Work is total bullshit. I work on a "team" of four individuals. One has been out for 10 weeks with some sort of undisclosed illness. She was supposed to come back this week. Instead, she quit. Work did exactly what I knew they would - instead of replacing her, they "redistributed the workload" so the rest of us can permanently pick up the slack with no compensation for doing so. Whatever, fuck stains.

Vin. Fuck. Where do I even start? To put it simply: I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. We had a very good conversation in which I asked for some things (spend time with me twice a month, etc); he agreed to every single one. So far, it's been a month and he hasn't done anything I've asked for. In fact, all that's happened in that time is several arguments over the way each of us sees certain things. None of which have been resolved, of course, because he can't/won't see me and can't/won't make time for me on the phone. There are some things you just can't iron out in an email. (Gee, have I said this before???)

I have come to believe he wants me to leave him. For whatever reason.

I believe I will never get a straight answer, never get the truth. I mean fuck! He sat there with me and looked me in the eye and said, "Yes, I can and will do those things" and yet he hasn't done any of those things and again, without acknowledgement or explanation. Every time we argue, his brilliant comeback is, "Well if you don't like it, leave."

How big of an idiot could I possibly be to not see and understand the message he's trying to deliver? WHY THE FUCK DO I INSIST ON HEARING THINGS IN PLAIN ENGLISH? Because I find it impossible to give up hope until he actually says to me, "I'm not going to leave my wife. I don't want to be with you." YES I KNOW THAT'S RIDICULOUS. Yes, I know I have to find a way to let it go without actually hearing those words. Yes, I realize actions speak far louder than words, and his actions are nothing but more ways to tell me to go.

He hasn't called me in a week. Not even at work. I haven't heard his voice since Friday the 13th. The few emails we've exchanged have been either mundane or argumentative. The few text messages I've gotten have been about the same. He tells me "I love you" only rarely.

Long gone are the days of finding a cute text message telling me I'm hot. The days of finding a steamy email waiting for me in the morning. The days of him sneaking away just to call me to hear my voice.

I don't know what happened. I don't know what made things this way. I don't know when he became bored with me. I don't know when he fell out of love with me. I don't know when he decided I wasn't worth his time and effort.

And I don't know how to stop being in love. I don't know how to give up hope. I don't know how.

I just don't.

Mother's Day. Again. Sigh.

Last year, I wrote this post about Mother's Day.

Note this particular passage in my post:
I finally admitted to her [my mom] that the traditional Mother's Day gathering at my aunt's house (complete with my uncle's sisters and their kids - one of whom shares the same name as my son and is not far from his age) is just too hard on me. I hate being there, I hate seeing the kids, I hate what the whole day represents, I hate that they (out of goodwill) ask about my son and do I have pictures and blah blah blah. (I put it a little more gently to my mom, though.) And I explained to her that it was more important for me to be with her than with a bunch of people I don't really know or like. The day is really supposed to be about MY mom, not spending time with a bunch of other moms. She completely understood, and is more than happy to oblige. I'm relieved, though it doesn't seem to make the coming weekend look like it's going to be any easier.

One thing that made me laugh a little was when I told my mom all that about not wanting to go to the gathering, she was surprised because I've never said anything before, and it's been eight years since I had Jake. I said "yea, well, that's because I fake it and just get through it as best I can and pretend everything's okay." She said "You know, I thought that might be the case. You are so....'hard'....you act like things are fine and don't bother you, but underneath I always wonder if you're really hurting."

So two days ago, I'm on the phone with my mom and she says, "Oh by the way, Mother's Day is at 2pm at your Aunt's house." After a brief silence I said, "Ummm...okay." What did my mom come back with? "Well you don't have to go if you don't want to." In her best 'I can't believe you have better things to do than spend time with your mother!' voice. She sounded like I just cancelled fucking Christmas or some shit.

FUCK. Fuck fuck fuckety fucking fuck!

Not only 'Fuck' I can't believe she thinks that, but 'Fuck' I can't believe I have to explain this to her all over again. Apparently, I had no business thinking she would just remember last year and my heartfelt explanation. Apparently, this is a conversation I'm going to have to have with her EVERY FUCKING YEAR. Gee, that sounds like fun! Because I just LOVE talking about my pain and why shit like this is hard for me because it's such a treat to POINT OUT MY SHORTCOMINGS TO OTHERS, ESPECIALLY TO MY MOTHER! Fucking terrific. Maybe while I'm at it, I could re-hash what a disaster the rest of my life has been! Not just the part about me being a selfish asshole who gave my son away and now has a problem celebrating a day created for mothers, but also how I never went to college so I'll never have a "good" job or make "good" money and how I couldn't have a lasting relationship if you held a gun to my head because the best I can do is attract a married guy who doesn't even really want me, but I'm a doormat for him so of course he sticks around because why would anyone leave free pussy?

Awesome. So my choices are: Have a shitty conversation that I don't want to have again, or go to this stupid shitty bbq and pretend I'm not miserable. Hm. Either option makes me want to puke.