He Cheated, But it Saved Us: Making Amends With the Other Woman5/26/2014
I made amends with the woman who intended to destroy me. There wasn’t anything left. She had him ...
I made amends with the woman who intended to destroy me.
There wasn’t anything left. She had him in every way possible. The worst way possible. I thought I could handle it. Like, you know, put them “big girl panties” on and take that L on the chin. But his deception destroyed me. This was foreign to me. He did what? When? How? Resentment. Full of it. My entire existence prior to her coming for me ceased to exist. Lost in a narrow world of vengeance, confusion, inadequacy, bitterness, jealousy—-everything she had set out to create—I lived in it.
I’d ask myself questions like, no matter of fact I’d ask him questions like “Why? Why me? I did nothing to her. Why did she need to do this to me?” The worst of it was over for him. It was just the beginning for me. “You’ve forgiven me right?” I did. I did not. “I’m still here with you right?” Right. He was there physically. I wanted nothing of him emotionally, sexually—there was a disconnect. I thought of her. During sex. Like, is this the way you f-cked her? Is this the way you touched her? Did you kiss her like this too? When you look at me are you wishing I could be her? No satisfaction. I needed to know.
I made amends with the woman who intended to destroy me. Hacking email accounts, stalking twitter feeds, befriending her friends could never provide the answers to all the unanswered questions still taking residence in my head. Not that friendly neighbor, that stomping on the ground, jumping from the couch, your floor is my roof, I can hear every step type residence. Pestilence. I’ve accepted the fact that what happened between them happened. It happened. The genuine feelings that were shared would never ever be for me to know. I will never know–what they were like. I am finally OK with NOT knowing.
I knew too much already. Her willingness to destroy me with photos and intimate messages shared between them kept me from moving on. I craved her. I needed to know her. I wanted to know what it was that kept him from loving me. I was dead. Really, I was dead.
Unanswered questions. I needed answers. I wanted to know why? Was she better than me? Oh, she was smaller than me? I was too big for you? I wasn’t fit enough? Was it my hair? Was it my skin tone? Was it me? What did I do? I woke up and went to sleep with images of them on my mind--silently crying while he slept peacefully. It was over for him. The guilt—the uncertainty—the hiding—it was over for him. He needed to move forward. I could not move forward--still wondering if she was thinking of me too.
He met me this way. He left me like this. I gave birth to our child. This relationship— his eagerness to abandon this relationship had nothing to do with me. I did nothing. I lived and kept living, changed, wiped, whined, cried, stayed up, lost sleep for you. For us. For this baby we both laid down and created. I gave up my life for you–for this baby. I abandoned everything for you–for this baby. There is no way he could have done this to me—because of me. I was perfect.
It was never about me. He was flawed. I was perfect. I fulfilled my duties. He neglected his. He was selfish. I was selfless. He was flawed. I was perfect. It is not my fault. I learned.
I spoke to the woman that intended to destroy me. One last time we spoke. It was friendly. I felt relieved. There was nothing left. I wanted no new information. No argument. No resentment. No bitterness. No jealousy. Finally feeling adequate, I knew. I knew nothing of their relationship. I want to know nothing of that relationship. I want peace. I made peace with her. To find peace, I needed to let her know: I forgive you. I forgive you for what you set out to do to me. I was destroyed. I was dead. But like that relationship, just like those feelings, it was temporary. I need her to know I am moved on, and if you don’t get it from him, let me be the first to say—as a woman—for a woman to come for another woman’s sanity–I know it hurt. He hurt you. I’m sorry for that. Never let a man treat you that way. You, we…we deserve more. You deserve better. I am free.
I hope you are too.
Photo credit: IStockPhoto
Opal Stacie is a published freelance writer based out of the Atlanta area. She blogs for her own personal website www.vexedinthecity.net and can be found rambling on twitter via @vexedinthecity_