I will never be who you want me to be.
I love you. How can I not love you? You are the father of my children. You have sat beside my hospital bed countless times. Your parents are my parents. How could I not?
But I am not in love with you any more. Not now. Not after countless hours waiting and wondering. Not after slowly dying inside asking myself, “is this it? We’re married, and I’m left once again to my own devices? I’m on my own?” Do you remember the times I came to you? Do you recall the times I nagged you? Begging for you to notice me? Then finally sinking back into myself and deciding that yes, that was all there was. And that was about the time you decided that I was cheating on you. I didn’t know that then. But I know it now. You would occasionally ask for sex, when you weren’t busy with work, or busy with your friends. But going places? Doing things together? Off the table.
You have no idea how I felt at that time. How ugly and unwanted I felt. If my own husband didn’t pay attention to me, would attempt to share things with me, wouldn’t make me feel special…who would? And I’m going to attempt to seduce another man, with that mindset? It’s almost laughable.
Fast forward a few years. The kids are in school. I am alone during the week. And you ask me, “what did you do all day?”. “Played on the Internet.” “Well, as long as you’re not seeing anyone else.” Would you believe that I had never once considered having an affair…until that moment?
It made me feel unstoppable to be flirted with so outrageously. To be pursued. To be valued. To be sought out. To have a man fuck me so intensely. My pleasure was his focus.
But then you found out. You knew, somehow, but hung in there. Then you came home one day and saw me ready to leave. You knew where I was going. Then the tears. The hushed questions. You asked me, “do you want me to leave? Do you still love me?”
Those weren’t the right questions. If you had asked, “are you in love with me? Do you think our marriage will ever be good again for either one of us?”, I could have told you. But it’s too late for that. It doesn’t matter anyway. We can’t afford to divorce, can we? And neither of us wants a broken home for the kids.
And neither of us wants to be alone.
So here we are, in an “open marriage”. Swapping partners. Going to BDSM clubs. And you’re shopping for a flogger and asking advice from Doms on how to become one. Trying so hard to become someone you aren’t. For me. And it is making me sick inside. What am I doing to you? When all the time I am with you I wish you were someone else? We should never have been married. I know that now.
Don’t you fucking judge me, reader. Don’t you dare. You cannot possibly say anything to me that I have not said to myself, so don’t waste your time. “If you’re not happy, you should separate”, says the Greek chorus from the sidelines. Fuck off. Live inside my head for a day, THEN we talk.
I don’t know how much longer I can live like this.