This post is about why I had an affair. Absolutely NO nasty judgey comments. My blog. My rules.
I’ve come to understand some things about myself in terms of my attachment problems, C-PTSD, and [now] severely depressed condition. I’m delicate because I’m opening up whatever time capsules I need to in order to make progress. No dwelling, just understanding impact. The more I learn about the neuroscience and behavioral components, the more I understand why so I can move toward rebuilding. In order to look at everything on a detailed ground level, I had to tear the whole thing [my ego] apart. In doing so, I deconstructed my rationale and motivations more empathetically than I’ve ever been capable of, before now.
So here it is:
I was dead inside.
I wasn’t looking.
Apparently, I was looking for some validation that I was alive.
We had a little thing (sexual only) in high school and our paths crossed again.
I pursued him.
He might not seem terribly handsome to some, but to me he is beautiful.
He’s not wealthy, or status driven.
I could breathe.
My heart started to beat again.
I didn’t want to fall in love with him, but I did.
I still am in love with him. I might always be…
He has always been so patient and gentle with me.
He would be with me now, right now…if I were able.
He made me laugh and giggle.
He respected me.
I cowered in fear one evening, telling him that one day he’d say something – out of the blue – not meaning to hurt me, but that he shouldn’t be surprised if I crumbled to the floor in a tearful heap. I told him I was sensitive.
He took my face in his hands, smiled at me and wiped tears (his and mine) away.
He said “Sweetie, awwwww…I’d never make you cry like that. You should always smile. You’re so beautiful when you smile.”
And he’d stare deeply into my eyes and absolute, pure love washed over me.
In effect, I was warning him, which I did countless times.
He knew I was damaged and delicate. He didn’t run.
And when I tried to run, he’d gently and lovingly bring me back.
It was hard for him to watch what I was going through, especially as I figured out the extent of my abusive situation.
His trust was always in me.
I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did…he was what he was.
It wasn’t about the sex but the sex was divine. Truly. Divine.
I was myself.
Always stealing time to be myself.
I was free to be me, and what’s more, I wasn’t being punished or reformed.
I was accepted.
I had healthy boundaries and a healthy relationship.
I was so goddammed happy.
I’ve lost myself again. In the F.O.G. (fear, obligation, guilt). Trouble is, I’m flirting with that line of impaired return. I’m feeling sad.
It won’t last long…I hope.