Today I heard our wedding song on the radio. Of all the things that could’ve made me cry over the last few months I didn’t think it would be that. I haven’t cried much. It seems too big for that. Tears are for when you can feel better. You cry, you feel really bad then you start to feel better. This has seemed mostly beyond tears. I’m scared of feeling bad, of crying. I’m scared the hurt is too big for me to control, I’m scared it will consume me.
I don’t know what to cry for. I don’t where to start. I want to cry for my marriage that is over, for my relationship that is gone. My dream. The love. The future. Us – I believed in us. I want to cry for the loss; the devastation of having something I believed in so much snatched away.
I want to cry for all I have learnt that I don’t want to know. The things that I have seen that I don’t want to see. I don’t want to know about child pornography. I don’t want to know how addiction can take over someone’s life and ruin their life and those around them. I don’t want to know how an addiction can change a person completely and make them lie and not care about anything more than they care about their addiction, their need, their desire.
I want to cry for the trust I have lost. For the cynicism that now pervades my entire being. I want to cry because I don’t trust anyone not to be a pedophile. I have lost my belief in human kind. I no longer believe that people are good until proven otherwise. I want to be naive.
I want to cry because no one understands what happened; how bad it was. I want to cry because some days I forget and I ask myself why I left. I say pornography and people think they know what I mean. They don’t. They don’t know about the lies. They don’t know how an addiction can change a person you love with all your heart to a person you no longer recognise. They don’t know how it feels to know your husband looks at fantasy women. That you compare yourself and you know you can never compare with fantasy. That your self esteem is shattered. He won’t stop. He won’t even tell you the truth even though he is the only person who knows how it is killing you. The pain of these lies I can physically feel. If this is how the person that was supposed to love me treats me, how can I trust anyone else?
What does it mean if a person is excited by looking at women being brutalized? What does it mean if his desire is for teens or even children? What does it say about me and my choice in a life partner? Is he a bad person? Am I a fool? Can he change? Could I have done more to help him change without losing myself?
The shame of the thing that ruined my marriage! How many people can I tell about this? Sometimes, I just want to scream it, what he’s done, what he does. His family blames me. I wish I could tell them all.
I don’t know what I am crying for; which loss, which bit of hurt. I don’t know where to start so I usually stop. I am scared of crying. I am scared of not crying. I am scared this thing will hang around my neck and hold me back: It won’t let me trust, it won’t let me live, it won’t let me love. But I am scared of letting myself cry; that I will drop my carefully crafted life and that I won’t be able to go on. I am scared of losing everything.
(Used with author’s consent)