You can put a broken vase back together, it is never the same.
She broke me. She changed the course of our lives. I sometimes do not want to move forward. I do not want to begin again at 50. Rebuild everything, pick up the pieces, clean up the rubble.
The way she treated me, the humiliation of looking back and realizing what an idiot I was. It is embarrassing.
The kids will never look at me the way I wanted. A glaring failure is the hallmark of my little life.
I am not perfect. I truly tried to love her and keep us together. The horror of her actions can never be understood by anyone. Each cheater, each story is like a snowflake, a fingerprint— leaving a uniquely terrible and unrepairable thought process running thru the cheated on spouses psyche.
The fact is there is always going to be a nagging pseudo reality that the cheater created. Who am I? The me I see and that people say I am? Or the person they left?
You open yourself up and give yourself body, soul and mind to someone. Vulnerability is a by product of love.
I will never know. Finding yourself and healing are cliche catch phrases.
The reality is they destroyed something beautiful or that could have been beautiful and life will never ever be the same again.
We are the walking dead.