Sometimes I’ll have Jeremy Kyle on in the background while I’m reading Plato’s “The Republic” or studying the latest news of the FTSE index in the Financial Times (honest) and I look at it and think “Jesus, where on earth do they find these people?” and “Can’t you see he’s a lying, cheating scumbag? Just leave him you silly cow.” But I have a new understanding for women on there, desperately clinging onto people who clearly don’t care about them, because I was one of them (not actually on Jeremy Kyle, I think my story might be more worthy of Jerry Springer or Maury Povich, American talk shows are always so much more shocking that their UK counterparts).
For the last three years I have lived in a constant state of self doubt, confusion, pain and suspicion. I have questioned my every judgement, whether or not I was a bad person for my suspicions, and in the last year since the split I have also been struggling with the loss of two of the people I loved most in the world. But all of that finally came to an end last month with the admission from “The Man” (my partner of nearly twelve years and the father of my two precious children) that he had been cheating on me with “The BFF” (of nearly 15 years) for the best part of the last two years of our relationship.
So as it turns out “The Man” was not the man after all. And “the BFF” wasn’t even an “F”, she was an imposter posing as a best friend, a sister even, so that she could repeatedly come into my home and sleep with my partner while my children and I slept upstairs (Jerry, I’m waiting for your call).
It’s fairly obvious when someone is cheating on you, we weren’t given instincts for nothing. And when people you love lie to you, the pain is like an invisible iron ball, chained to your ankles and wrists from the very first moment of betrayal. You drag it around with you day in, day out, the shackles cutting into your skin and causing wounds that weep when your eyes can’t cry. Sometimes you build some momentum, you get reassurance in the form of more lies and the iron ball rolls along behind you as if it wasn’t there, but then you think you are safe to stop and take a breath and it comes crashing into you, knocking you over, bruising you yet again. The iron ball stays with you until the truth comes out, as it always does.
I dragged that iron ball around with me for the last three years. I was led to believe, by two people I adored, that I was a bad person for having suspicions, and that made me question who I was at the very centre of my soul. After the split I thought I could be free, but I was still attached to the iron ball, no matter how many times I desperately tried to start afresh, it was still there, weighing me down and preventing me from fully moving on. So it is with relief that this “news” breaks. The love that I was clinging on to, the love which was encased in this giant iron ball, has been released and I am finally free. My wounds are healing fast, leaving behind them scars that will remain as an eternal reminder of the lengths that some people will go to to avoid owning up to the kind of people they really are.
I have never believed in regrets, but when something like this happens, you can’t help but wish you could go back to the beginning and start again, and wonder what would have happened had you made different choices, different decisions, listened to your instincts about people, not let others make you hate yourself, not been so naïve and walked away rather than stayed, ultimately not allowed yourself to be part of someone else’s dangerous games. But, even though I feel like some walking talking freak show of a talk show guest, not being able to understand how the hell I wound up here, wanting to stamp my feet and say “I didn’t deserve this”, I have two beautiful boys and (now that the cream has floated to the top), a pretty amazing set of family and friends, who have kept me smiling throughout the whole thing. I know that if nothing else, I have done the right things, told the truth and always been a good person which means I can carry this experience with my head high. Karma, God, the universe, my kids, whoever judges us and decides what we deserve in this life and the next, judge away, I have nothing to hide.
I haven’t written this earlier because I didn’t know how. I was terrified by how monumentally duped I had been by two people I thought loved me, devastated at the realisation that two of the most important relationships in my life had been total shams and desperately ashamed at how I trusted two con artists over and above my own instincts. But I have put all of those emotions to good use, and have been busy removing the stench of their betrayal from my house and my life. Being stuck in my home, at the scene of the crime, meant that for a while all I could feel here was the poison they left behind. But with a lot of hard work, and the love of my little family, me, Son One and Son Two, we are quickly reclaiming this patch as our own, and for the first time ever it is beginning to feel like home. My house may have been the scene of the crime but unlike human beings, it can never betray me, and the comfort I now get from that is relief indeed.
This will be the final post on this blog. I need to strip away as much as I can from my old life and Write Or Wrong I’m Doing It Anyway was part of it. This is the final piece in the process of closure. I will be starting a new blog very soon, and I hope that you will follow me there, and share my adventures as I get back to being me. But this blog will be here for as long as the internet stands, just sitting there in the ether, and I could not leave it as it was, like an unfinished book, where the killer is never found or the loose ends have not been tied. This is a record of a part of my life, a constant quest for honesty, and the truth must always come out in the end. So this part of the story ends here, with the truth.
Thank you all so very much for reading this blog right to the end, I love you all. Be strong and trust yourself. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx