That’s what it is.  Shame.

Shame, embarrassment, remorse, sheepishness, disgust with oneself.

Those are the things that should be portrayed when I ask him some questions about the prostitutes.  Did you take off your wedding ring?  Yes.  I did.

Did you have a condom on for blow jobs?  No, I didn’t.

Was there more than one that you had vaginal intercourse with?  No.  Just the one.  The one after college but since we’ve been married, only one.  And the one from our first year of marriage- that one.

There is no shame.  No emotion, no remorse, no embarrassment.  No difficulty in talking about it.  Just facts.  No big deal, let me state the facts, my love.

No shame.  It kills my soul every time and I’m done letting it.

I am strangely eager to get on with my life.  To not have this lingering question mark over me.  There is no question mark.  He took the question mark away today, with his actions, with his cruel ways, with his passive meanness, his indifference to me, his not caring, his aloofness, his choosing tv over time with me and his children.

I asked him today how I could ever believe in him again when he didn’t protect me?  He cried.  He’s protecting me now.

That was nice to hear.  It was good.  That’s great.  But guess what.  When you were off having your dick sucked by countless other women, cringing at the thought of sex with me, not kissing me, spending thousands and thousands of dollars on hookers, not allowing me to hug you… you didn’t protect me FROM YOURSELF.  He could have let me decide if I wanted to be with him, with all his good qualities in a man down the road but zero qualities in a committed HUSBAND.  He could have let me choose.  He had no respect for me as his wife.

He insulted me, damaged me, left me out alone in the world with no one to protect me.  He has been here but never ever here.  Even these past few months, no.  All no.