I've been quiet for a reason. I have a lot of things to write about soon (zombies, self help, recipes, oh my), and I'm hoping I can get back into the groove soon.
If you're wondering why I've been quiet (and by you, I mean all four of you that read this, not including my mom and the Semi-BFF), it's because this month is a bit hard on me.
A year ago one day last week, I caught my husband cheating for the second time (the second time I knew about, anyway). And when I say cheating, I mean with everyone imaginable. And when I say I caught him, I mean I read his text messages when he came home from fucking one of his women and had a nap.
Apparently cheating is hard work and makes you very tired.
So, along with the usual pressures of starting over and real life, I've spent most of this month in a bit of a fog. I often find myself back in that moment, his phone falling out of my hand and hitting the floor, the world around me as I knew it suddenly crashing down. After throwing up, I stood at the end of the couch, looking down at him, rooted to that spot while I pictured myself killing him. Walking to the kitchen to get a knife, and stabbing him. I could actually picture myself doing it, and more than that, I wanted to. Badly.
It's hard to talk about. It's hard to think about. It seems like I stood there, thinking about murdering him for hours, but I'm certain it was only minutes. As I finally opened my mouth to start screaming at him, something or someone snapped it shut, and I heard a voice as clear as day.
"It's time to leave. "
Silently and robotically, I turned from him, and started packing a few things.
To this day I don't know how he slept through me packing my computers and gear, a few clothes and the dogs, but he did. I don't know how I did it, but I did.
The real pain came later, and continued (continues?) throughout the summer, but that moment right there? That moment changed my entire life. It changed my entire being. And sometime in the past week, that moment became a year old.