My Skin is Cellophane, Something is Slipping Away
This is hard for me to write and I don’t have much time. I’m sort-of hoping that I can say what I need to here without reopening some ugly wounds. Saying that is hard, because it seems like nobody has any but me. And I’m tired of being ripped open alone.
It came to light that a door had been reopened on an issue that for the most part, I felt had been handled, without my knowledge. I always knew that was going to be a possibility if I divulged my investigative secrets. Unfortunately, these omissions (lies) have put into question all of the trust that I thought I had cultivated is gone. It has been discussed, but now that the trust is gone I don’t know whether or not I can believe any of the explanations that were given.
Maybe everyone was right. Maybe this never can work. Maybe this never can be okay. I wanted to try, for the other two parties that are or have been involved. I can’t do this again. Even talking about this last night almost sent me into a raging sickness. I start to wonder what the hell I signed on for or why. Can’t you understand? I don’t want to share. And I refuse to.
There is a baby growing inside me that I fear now, only has one invested parent. Behind my back, my husband is telling people that if he’d had life his way, he’d be married to someone else and I would not be pregnant. There is a sucking pain in my chest that I thought was gone. In one day it came back.
He saw his child inside my belly for the first time just two days ago. And he spent the rest of the day brooding alone, looking upset, playing video games and completely unwilling to celebrate or be happy. I’m ready to pack my shit and disappear. If he wants this past he can’t let go of so bad, maybe I should stop being in his way. No matter what I ask for, what I need, he will seek it out. No matter what barriers I set in place, he finds new ways to cross the border. My husband will leave me.
I didn’t want this. I begged him to leave. I told him not to feel sorry, or regretful, or responsible. I simply told him that he had to choose, and it was okay if it was not me. He stayed but the choice is obvious. In bed at night beside him, I still sleep alone with a child inside me who might as well be a bastard. I feel dirty and used and broken. Even one lie, one time, for one day, just to see her face just once, has derailed my life. My marriage is over.
You win, okay? I’m convinced now that it never ended. I’m convinced that I’ve been the fool all this time, that I can’t trust what goes on when I’m not around. I’m not convinced that any computer or access point I can’t monitor hasn’t been breached in a way I demanded it shouldn’t. I can’t trust.
And I won’t. Not ever again. I warned you that you had one shot to earn trust from me. And you fucked it up.
So fucking leave me. I’m going to go swallow some drano. Leave me alone. Don’t stop me or try to save me. I don’t want your help so you can sleep at night. You’re not my friend. You’re not my husband. You’re not anyone I can trust or turn to anymore. I am. Such an idiot. My life was over 20 years ago. It was over 12 years ago. It was over 4 years ago. How many times can I almost die and keep pretending that its ok to keep going?