My body aches, my brain aches, my heart aches.
My heart literally aches, and I have never felt that before. *Infidelity pt.2 (The first part of the story lies here)

I don’t eat, and my mind wanders, in awe of how a human can survive this way. But then I feel the ache and none of that matters.

The mind wanders and I laugh at the ludicrous fact that I am the one who caused this pain. My body is surviving, but my mind is not. The laughing stops and the ache is back.

I feel pain, but I’m not allowed to. Feeling pain makes me feel guilty; compounding the inescapable guilt that haunts me.

I sometimes think that it’d be easier to be on the receiving end; just the pain without the guilt, and to be the one in control of the situation. But I’m not allowed to think that, and I have lost all control.

Now I wait. Alive but dead. I chain-smoke, and it doesn’t ease the pain. I drink, and I am numb, but I shouldn’t be allowed to be numb. I should feel the pain. I deserve all of the pain, but that doesn’t help me now. I wait for you, the judge, the jury, and the executioner, to give me my sentence. But you don’t.

I am in purgatory.

I work like a robot. I talk like a robot. I live, but I don’t feel alive. I count the hours and minutes until I can see you, and then I don’t know how to be when I’m with you.

Why?

It started with alcohol, but that’s not a reason. A blurred memory, but it happened. I remember the kiss. I remember the excitement. I remember dying when I knew that you knew. I died inside but lied outside.

I woke up to the sound of you leaving. I wanted to not get caught, but I wanted you to know.

I knew that you knew.

A hangover, 3 children, a walk in the early morning sun on the busy road. Guilt hit me. Guilt fucking slugged me right in the gut. I had denied everything. I had projected it on to you. I had turned into a monster with a secret that you knew and saw no other way but to lie. Lie, and lie, and lie.

I lied to the bitter end. I lied to your family.

I lied because I didn’t want to hurt you. I was doing anything I could to not lose you.

And so…why?

When the proof was there, I had to come clean. It felt good. A weight was lifted, but that was short-lived. The mind wandered and enjoyed it, and then the consequences slugged me in the gut. Guilt: whomp. Consequences: whomp. But I could stop lying. And that was good.

You knew I kissed her, I told you I kissed her. But…it was just a kiss.

We had the worst days and nights. You smashed picture frames, you burnt photographs, you drank too much, you smoked too much, you took too many pills and you scared me. You cried and you shouted, and I could do nothing but hope it would stop. I thought things would get better with every day, but it didn’t.

I began to realise that this was bigger than a kiss.

WHY???

I didn’t know. I thought I knew. Alcohol doesn’t fly with you. You’re practically Columbo.

And you were right.

Our relationship has become deeper since it happened, and although it took some time, you’ve forced me to look into myself. I’ve said this to your face, I am so grateful for you forcing me to talk. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted things to ‘just be better’, and at first I was annoyed with you for going over everything again, and again, and again, and forever. I didn’t understand why you’d want to re-live every second of a terrible mistake. I thought you were punishing me.

I was in purgatory.

I am in purgatory.

I figured it out. You helped me figure it out. How are you so…

I didn’t feel that you wanted me. I didn’t feel that you loved me. I needed attention and affection for my own sanity.

But that doesn’t make it right.

I didn’t know that you found me attractive.

But that doesn’t make it right.

Only since this happened do I know how much you used to love me. I never knew you had butterflies around me, I’d get home and you’d only shrug at me.

But that doesn’t make it right.

My mind wanders and I think, perhaps this could be good for us? I have clarity that I have never had before, and you’ve shown me that you loved me on the inside, the way I wanted you to love me on the outside.

But then I remember that I still wait in purgatory, where sorry means nothing, and trust does not exist. Where roses and diamonds are as good as dog shit in the street.

And so I wait, and I hope, and I pray.

Are you staying?

Some days I see a glimmer of light, but I’ve learned to not allow that to give me false hope. One step forward and two steps back, and I am not in control.

Some days I want to die, but I’m not allowed to. I shouldn’t have told you about that. It was never meant to be emotional blackmail. I don’t want to trap you. I want you to want me. But I don’t know how.

Everyone says ‘time’. But when you’re in purgatory, time does not exist.

I wrote you a song, that’s always helped me. But it didn’t help you. And I’m not allowed to feel good about it.

I never knew this person. This writer, this poet. I never knew this loving soul, and I want it. I want it so bad, and I don’t know how to get it. I can’t feel your pain of betrayal, and you can’t feel my utter self-disgust, self-loathing, worthlessness and desperation.

But that doesn’t make it right.

And I am sorry.