I’m reading Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. The book is filled with themes of infidelity and reckless passion. Thoughts I try to keep buried away come rushing to the surface.
I think about that text Alex sent Taylor in the middle of the day, telling her that he craved her. I think of how he texted and emailed her at every chance he could, several times a day, telling her in graphic detail why and how much he missed her. I think of him so mad with love and passion for her that he could not restrain himself, that he completely forgot himself when he was with her. I think of how completely she possessed him that, as he said of himself afterwards, he couldn’t recognize himself. I think of how I begged him to not meet her, but by the very next day after I’d boarded the plane, he made arrangements to meet her. I think of how completely and thoroughly he betrayed me over and over again.
I cry. I become overcome with self-loathing, self-pity, and I toy with the idea of ending my life. I’m joking. I only begin fantasizing about paralyzing myself so badly that I’m unable to do anything of consequence in this life but breathe and stare.
I don’t recognize myself. I’m trying to carry on. I’m back together with him – ‘working it out’, but when left alone the most loathsome thoughts come crashing into me. I’m so thoroughly humiliated, that even now, months after, I can’t remember who I was before I felt this crushing shame and torment. When I look into his face that I loved for years without question, without doubt, and still love, I feel so stupid and helpless – I don’t think I deserve to live.
When I’m with him I will myself to forgot these emotions, and I forget them so readily it’s as though my mind was begging for relief from them. I forget them and appear sober, almost happy. But now I’m alone again. He’s in Nunavut and I’m in Montreal, and I’m here again asking myself if I really deserved such cruelty when my only crime was stupidity and naivete. That I was stupid and naive enough to think the man I loved, loved me as I loved him, and loved me enough to not have an affair, or at the very least, not to have an affair again. I’m filled with so much self-pity I feel no desire to work or even show myself in society. I want to hide away and remain in anonymity forever. I despise myself and think it impossible for anyone to love me as I am.
It’s almost late afternoon and for the last half hour I’ve found myself waiting for a text from him – any text – wondering why it is that those flames of passion he felt for other women seem to be nowhere for me.
The time now is 12:10 AM. It’s cold. Summer nights shouldn’t be this cold.
I think about him with her. I listen to music I like, remembering how he thinks little of the music I like but listened to music she gave him. I remember when I asked him to whistle anything and he whistled her favorite song. I remember when we first met and how we got to know each other by sharing music we loved. Then I remember how he and Taylor deepened their relationship by sharing music they loved too. It’s the little things that one remembers. It’s the little things that stick with you.
I think of packing my things and leaving this house before he comes home from his trip tomorrow. I think of how he would dismiss this again as me being a “drama queen”. I’m breaking apart at the seams and don’t know what to do. What do I do? All his lovers are moving on with their lives while I, the one who was cheated on, is still with him writing these sob stories at 12:10 AM on a Wednesday night, unemployed, depressed, broke, lost.
What am I doing here? I packed all my clothes, shoes, and money and put them into this house, living with him. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m just a place-holder until he’s settled in and meets people who are more like him. Is it okay to fear this? Is it normal? I wanted so badly to marry him. I fantasized of being little Nicholas’s mother. For so long I wanted nothing more. Now with this present state of affairs I wonder if it’s even possible for anyone, much less him, to love me. Who would want damaged goods? Who would want me when I don’t even want me.
Am I having a moment? Will I regret writing this? Probably. But this is me. Broken, bound, lost, anguished. On some days I’m like this, many nights too. Today I put my miserable thoughts to paper. Today I said to hell with it all.
Ah, I’m crying again. It’s raining outside. My nose is runny. I’m going to head out and wash my face in the rain. I like the rain.