so we are sitting around playing dogopoly after an attempt at a fun family time. all is fine. he is rubbing my head sweetly. like a best friend. he is uber-engaged during dinner and our cupcake making day, totally foreign. he made dinner, cleaned it all up, he is clearly crawling up my ass trying to do ANYTHING in his power, both physical and some emotional, as best he can. but when it all comes down to it, i can not stand him.

i want to love him, to see the good, but it is all so clouded by anger. maybe by hate.

could i hate this man? i don’t think so, but the waves of foulness, of putrid disgust come and go.

we are playing dogopoly, the kids are laughing, the 3 yr old is causing trouble and being too loud. he is being wonderful and i feel bloated from eating a big dinner.

i get this utter disgust thinking of how last night he masturbates up to four times a day, all while literally cringing when i tell him i want sex, and barely getting through it when we do it.

i get this disgust thinking of him going to the prostitution website, which he admits to frequently regularly, and i picture him reading the reviews, which local corners to get a good blow job, who to ask for at which massage parlors, and who knows what else. he swore last night with complete sincereity that he has never done anything physical.

he is 100% banking on “convincing” me that he doesn’t need a polygraph test. he is banking on being SO FUCKING SWEET to me for a few days/weeks that i will “let it go” and “trust him.”

it is not going to happen.

i hate him far more than i love him and i am angry far more than i am compassionate.

so i think of him jacking off 1, 2, 3, 4x a day. going to bed without looking up as i wear lingere and light a candle. ignoring me as i sit right in front of him being an amazing mother, supportive wife, encouraging all of his endeavors and more. and then he goes on the couch to visit “the website” or look at porn, more and more and more and more……
who the fuck are the “celebrities” that he masturbates to, and what the fuck is wrong with ME?
I KNOW NOTHING IS WRONG WITH ME.
that’s the thing. i know that, but it is not his reality.
i am not enough for him. i am not the right one for him, never have been. but i have been the one to allow it, to enable it, to know and trust and look the other way while i know something is not right.

the whole “your boobs aren’t big enough” — REALLY MOTHER FUCKER?
because last time i checked i am pretty fucking amazing. how could i be more beautiful? what the fuck should i do to be a more beautiful woman, inside and out?
nothing. that’s what.
i’m too much. too good. too loving, accepting, too wonderful.
i don’t give a shit what celebrities he wants to put his dick inside. except that i do give a shit because i wonder what they have that i don’t. and it hurts.
HE HURTS.
as he dreams of them, declines me, won’t see me, won’t look in my direction, of course it hurts.

and here we are. 2 days before christmas, my family downstairs playing dogopoly and me upstairs isolated and fucked up.

pity party, table for one. feel stupid to feel self pity. losers feel self pity. i can’t be nonchalant about wasting 11 years of my life though.

not a waste, ever, at all, if i think of the four amazing humans walking the earth because of ‘us’ being partners in life. but you know. pretty much a waste.

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