Day Two

I poured my coffee, popped an advil and glanced in the mirror.  My face was swollen from the constant crying and lack of sleep, my eyes were bright red and my expression showed a broken, sad, mangled mess of a woman.  I had two hours to pull myself together before a friend dropped her 5 year old off for me to watch for the day.  In the midst of my morning routine, I went to text him as I usually do when I awake and he is gone.  This time I didn’t know what to say.  I thought about “Fuck You,” but realized that was a little harsh for me to type at 645 am.  I wanted to write “I love you and I miss you and I want this to all have never happened” but thought he was getting off too easy.  So, I settled with “I slept horribly… the wind was blowing and my mind was racing. You?”   He responded saying he slept horribly and I suggested that we write eachother letters over the next few days, putting on paper our feelings, plans for the future and anything else that we needed to get off of our chests.  He agreed and promised to get to work on it that evening.

Somewhere in the morning I decided to try on different hats throughout the next few days.  Today, I would wear the “Lets work it out” hat and see how it fits.  Tomorrow, the “Get the hell out and write me child support checks” hat.  And, if I am so inclined, one day maybe the “lets pretend he’s dead” hat.

The best thing that happened to me that day was that I didn’t flake on my friend when it came to watching her son.  I was forced to wear more of a smile and interact with the kids (ages 5, 4 and 2!).  The day consisted mostly of playing, eating and cleaning up from the playing and eating.  It kept me busy and I was actually able to eat a little and get my mind off of yesterdays massive betrayal.  I had a friend planning on driving up from Houston that Friday and my sister was flying in from Washington that Saturday to help me and be with me and support whatever decision I was going to make. I felt a little better, honestly.  I felt more in control and was able to stop picturing that naked whore with her body pressed against my husbands, well maybe to not picture it as much. 

That night took a turn for the worse. I spoke to him and he informed me that he had talked to the bitch and broke it off… again, in my masochistic quest for information I asked how she took it.  He said she cried.  She cried.  Which only means that it was more than sex, it was a relationship.  While it was a short relationship (my cyber stalking gave me phone records that indicated two months of regular lengthy phone calls between them, totaling over 700  minutes each month) it was enough to cry over.  I went to bed wondering what they talked about, what her expectations were and if she was actually going to be around forever.  What if she was pregnant?  He claimed to have used protection, but was that enough?  Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep.

Today, I have no clue what I want or should do.  My heart and my head are both sleep deprived and hungry, thus they are not communicating with me.  I am so confused.