When you told me that you had met someone, I felt like you had kicked me in the stomach. I literally couldn't breathe properly for the next few hours, and on and off for the next few days. Whenever I hear your words, over and over again in my mind, I feel like I'm suffocating. I left your appartment, your sofa. I dorve myself home in a stupor, so slowly, because I could focus on what I was doing.
I howled. I cried. I sobbed. I hyperventilated. Of course, I stopped eating.This is what I do, you know that. I want to die. I actually spent several hours wondering if I could find a way to die without our son ever knowing that I'd done it, so that he wouldn't grow up on the assumption that his mother didn't love him enough.
I went to work the next day, exhausted and looking like hell. I went to yoga in the evening, and managed not to faint. I didn't sleep that night either. The dog is worried, I keep sobbing out loud all night.
Then I felt, suddenly, that I could make this right: all I had to do is go and see you, and explain that in fact, I would do whatever you wanted me to, we could have the life you wanted and I didn't, because it didn't matter anymore to me. I'd agree to anything, just as long as you dumped her and we got back together.
So I did that. You texted me and suggested I have dinner with our son and you. So I came. And I huddled on your kitchen floor while our son was watching a cartoon, and begged you. I literally went on my knees and sobbed, at one point.
And you said no. It was too late. You had no feelings whatsover for me, hadn't had feeling for me in years. No, we weren't trying out a different way of being together, you were just having sex. It was ugly.
I left, didn't stay for dinner. Told my son I had to go home and take care of the dog and the cat. See you tomorrow, sweetie pie. Drove myself home in a stupor, so slowly, because I couldn't focus on what I was doing.
Crawled into bed, sobbed myself to sleep for a few hours. Then spent the rest of the night, sleepless again, in anguish, heartbroken. Angry at myself for the choices I'd made, for the naive notions of "it"ll be ok from now on" I'd entertained all day. Angry at you, too. Angry at realising that either you're lying, and it wasn't only about sex for the last two years, or that you're the sort of person who would actually have sex with the mother of your child, knowing that she loves you and you don't give a monkey's and are actively looking for someon else. Having sex with me, one week before, conveniently forgetting to put a condom on because it's safe with me, and I'll just take the morning-after pill.
You said you hoped I had someone to talk to. Of course I don't. We've been separated for 2 years, what am I going to say ? "Oh, we broke up, that's why I'm feeling so gutted". Err, two years ago ? And my family, who did know about whatever "us" was still going on, they can't help. We're dealing with the fact that my father died one year ago. They don't need my personal drama, they have their own pain.
So I'm just trying to fake it, crying secretely, at night, not sleeping, not eating but chewing mindfully on tiny bits of food before declaring that I have a migraine and can't have another bite. Yes, that's why I'm looking so tired, too. Bad migraines. Always have suffered from them, nothing new here. Spending good time with my son, trying not to let my state affect him at all, trying to keep him from noticing anything at all. Will need to try tosleep as much as possible this weekend while he's with his father, so that my general state of exhaustion doesn't affect him. One hour at a time, sometimes one minute at a time. The show must go on I guess.