A cheated cheater 2

[undefeated]

OK, this is what I wrote last night. I just transcribed it directly, but I can tell it needs some work.

My dear (H's name)

Do you remember that old 70’s song by Edward Bear? “This is the last song I’ll ever write for you. This is the last time that I tell you just how much I really care.” Well similarly this is the last letter I will write, at least until you want them and are my husband again.

You are a good man, one of the best I have ever known. And you are definitely the only one I want in my heart and bed. But you are not my husband. You told me that this is the way you want it, and I’m learning to accept the fact that you feel this way. I can disagree with the viewpoint, and I sure as hell don’t like it. But the fact that it isn’t what I want doesn’t make it any less valid. And I don’t mean that I expect or wish you were still exactly the same as you were the day we married. Not only would that be unrealistic and naïve, it would be utterly untrue. We grow, we change, and sometimes things go wrong between people.

And boy did they go wrong. I had no idea that I would get sick at all. And then it happened so quickly and it was so severe. This illness has cost me a lot. But I have paid for my multitude of failures in many ways and for nearly three years. I will continue to show you every day that we are married that I am no longer that volatile person. But I will not wallow in regret or hang my head in shame any longer. I do regret the hurt I have caused, but it will not control each moment of my life anymore.

I lost a great deal more than your respect and my own, as well as your love to the monster of bipolar disorder. I lost my identity. Once, about six years ago, I was more than your wife, the boys’ mother, my parents’ daughter, your parents’ worst nightmare. I was me. I had hopes, dreams, goals, interests of my own.

And that above all else is why I am glad I finally had the strength to seek treatment. I won’t say that is why I went for counseling. I didn’t know my identity was lost and needed finding; I didn’t know our marriage was falling apart and needed fixing. But I know now. And I am reclaiming myself. I will always take care of my sons and my husband. But I am so much more than a housekeeper and cook and nanny and personal assistant. I’m going out and finding things I love doing, with and without the boys.

And with you eventually, I hope. I thought for awhile that we have nothing in common. And it’s true that many of our interests do not overlap. But the always/never viewpoint is pretty silly. We like to play Magic cards; we like movies; we enjoy playing scrabble. I don’t know about you, but I still love a good game of chess. And I had forgotten how much I enjoy getting out, hiking, seeing interesting sights. Best friends enjoy each other; they don’t need to be clones.

And you are still my best friend. But not my husband. I will not share you with (OW's name) or any other woman. I will not have an open marriage. I know that must sound utterly bizarre coming from me. I was the one who opened this whole can of worms in the first place. But things change. People change. I didn’t always understand how my choices repeatedly tore bigger and bigger holes in our marriage and in you. But I can see now. And I am doing everything in my power to repair what I have damaged and inflict no more harm. But regardless of my past wrongdoing I will not accept another woman claiming what she has no right to. You are my husband until you are not, and this affair is not something I will just shrug off.

My karma has kicked my ass. So rarely is the cosmic retribution exactly the same, but there you have it. The powers that be have a twisted sense of humor. I have paid my debt. I now know the shattering pain of betrayal by the one you love. I am surprised you were capable of inflicting such pain once you experienced it. Don’t think I am assuming we are “even” now. Hell, I don’t even know how you keep score. But I do feel we can go forward understanding each other better.

I don’t want the marriage we had, not even the day we got married. We were very happy. In fact I think it’s the only time I’ve ever seen you happy in a picture with me. But we were also incredibly naïve. I want to build a new, strong, adult marriage with you. To that end I am asking you to go to marriage counseling with me. You told me in November that our marriage is over. But I think such a permanent decision deserves honest evaluation of why it should end, what that does to each of us and our sons. I am willing to do everything in my power to do what is best for them and for myself.

I am your wife, and that is an all-or-nothing position. You can’t have us both,. I hope you will agree to counseling with me – maybe with a chaplain. It would be a start at recovering what we’ve lost. But this can’t go very far until she is out of the equation. All contact with her has to stop. You need to tell her she is not a part of this marriage and not to contact you anymore. Then no more e-mails, texts, calls, IM’s, or anything else. We both know you are capable of hiding anything from me electronically, so I will have to trust you if you say you have stopped. It’s obvious that we don’t trust each other and even more obvious why. I want to rebuild that with you one day at a time.

Once, early in our marriage I was upset, thinking you must have made a mistake and that you could have done better than me. I have sometimes thought so in other instances as well, even when I appeared happy or confident. At that time, though, you laid out all these pictures of women – some very beautiful, some we had known most of our lives, some who were hand-picked as suitable marriage choices. But you told me that none of them mattered; you didn’t want them. You wanted me. I wish I could do that same thing for you. I would lay out a picture of every man I ever knew, every man I ever lusted after, everyone I betrayed you with, every man I have never even met yet. And then I would set fire to every single one and never think of them again. Because you are my husband. You are the man I want.

This is no love letter; I wish it were. I used to enjoy writing down all my thoughts about and for you believing you enjoyed reading them. But this is no romance novel and the hero and heroine don’t magically live happily ever after.
I haven’t said I love you in months. It’s not worth saying form my heart what you don’t want to hear and don’t reciprocate. I refrain from touching or kissing you since you are at best uninterested and more likely repulsed. The exception, of course, being those times we have sex.

So, as one more “last,” this is my last I love you until you are my husband again.

Your Wife


*****

Like I said, I can see now that I can't go with this, but I am going to save it. Stick it in my journal for days when I'm a little less certain of myself.