sarahntastic

How much would I have to love you for you to stop hating yourself?

For you to believe you are worth loving?

For you to love me back?

How much would I have to love you for you to believe that I love you?

I got married when I was 19 because I must have been in Bizarro World….doing the opposite of anything normal. Right when we should have broken up, we got married. I walked down the aisle SOBBING, everyone under the impression I was  happy, but really I couldn’t believe the mess I was about to get myself into. (Come on, adults, did you really think a 19-year old should be marrying an idiot?) But I tried, I worked, I was a good wife, a good cook, a good housekeeper (this last one might be a lie). I survived many plates of food thrown over my head, the remote thrown at me many times, being called pretty much every nasty name in the book, until the day, four years into all this, he tells me he’s not in love and we need to get a divorce.

Are you fucking kidding me?  YOU, Asshole of the Planet, want to divorce ME?

I was unimaginably relieved. Thankfully he came from a broken home so divorce was an acceptable solution to him.  I knew nothing of divorce, I had no idea it was an option.  I mean, my parents have been mostly happily married for forty years, for chrissakes.

So right when we are going to go our separate ways, the fucker tells me that, by the way, he cheated on me a few times over the last year. Really? This was necessary?  Now is the time for honesty and clearing the air?  No, I say no, it’s not.  I prefer naivety.

However, it became apparent I needed this punch in the gut in order to deal with the next 10 years of cheating.

About a year after my divorce, C was my next cheater boyfriend. It took me a while to realize it, caught up as I was in adoring this fucking gorgeous, sweet, generous, smart man. It was a bit more difficult to figure it out considering he was at my apartment every night. Well, of course, not every night. There were a few times here and there he couldn’t make it, couldn’t get away from work. This is the man who helped me develop my theory about a personality trait in certain men:  Men Who Love You Infinitely When They Are With You And Forget About You Immediately When They Are With Their Other Girlfriends.

J was a fucked up fucktard piece of work. He was afflicted by the aforementioned personality disorder, too, but it was a bit more complex. His wife cheated on him, now his ex-wife, the woman he adored until the end of time. So, his solution? You got it…right when he connected emotionally with a new woman, he found another to fuck, then, sad and guilty, tell girlfriend #1 he didn’t know what came over him & it’s only because wife #1 ruined him, and can you ever forgive him, please?  Also?  Not cool to tell your new girlfriends your wife was the love of your life.

Random other cheaters B, M, J…you get the picture.

But the best yet, the one that will take a miracle the likes of finding Jesus’ face on a potato chip for me to recover, went over like this:

The One, the one I thought was The One, the one who most definitely was not The One?

We got married, albeit hastily and for all the wrong reasons, but married nonetheless.  He moved to California to be with me, and on or around Day 3 of his settling into my our apartment, he began posting personal ad profiles everywhere. Match.com, yahoo personals, craigslist…name it, his shit-ass was on there. So I ask him about it and he tells me it’s just for fun, he messes around with his friends this way.

Let me be clear.

Not a week into a supposed life-long relationship, I am already breaking into his email, checking his cell phone history, web history, and all around not letting him out of my sight, ie, stalking my own damn husband.

The next clue was Sexy Tennis Partner. a) why the fuck does he need to play tennis with a woman? & b) what kind of fucko comes home to tell his wife his new sexy tennis partner asked him to go home with her? Many screaming fights later, the truth is revealed, not that it was a surprise, but at the very least I could stop feeling like a crazy person & know my fears were completely true. Then there were the random older women who wanted to know all about Morocco. No sex involved here, but certainly massive amounts of attention, home cooked meals, dinners out, gifts, parties in his fabulous Moroccan honor (say what?? why??). Oh, did I mention I wasn’t invited or welcome to any of this?

But pretty much the worst infidelity of all was his emotional affair, online of course, with a French woman in Boston. This is how I took my high school French to new levels of comprehension, via the hacked email translating, of course. This years-long affair consisted of hours online, chatting, phone calls all hours of the day and night. I’m pretty sure there were a couple clandestine meetings along the way, too. All under the guise she was an old family friend having a hard time adjusting to the U.S.

Of course I was at work all day, and he “worked” (read that, spent my 401k to start our business, which I also worked from the minute I got home from my real job until all hours of the morning) from home, so he had the freedom to do this, and clearly zero shame, embarrassment, or plain old respect for me.

I turned into a crazy person. Again with the breaking into email, checking phone calls, checking web history.  All this while I had 3 months of a cancer scare and then surgery to remove a tumor; while I worked a job I hated to support our business; while I allowed his younger brother to live with us no matter how much the kid drove me nuts; while I lived without a dog because the fucking Moroccan couldn’t handle an animal in the house; while I brought him into my family and pretended everything was peachy.  He spent all his time with her, gave her all his love, gave her his heart, his ear, his compassion, his secrets, all while I got disgusted looks & terrible fights. This is the most damaging and painful infidelity I’ve experienced.

So, Mom’s Old Lady Friend Who Keeps Asking Me Why I Haven’t Dated In Five Years, it’s because I cannot be trusted to find a normal man.  I am a huge idiot, apparently.  Are there classes for this?  I need some de-re-programming, Gitmo style.  I mean, without the torture.

Oh, and you read that right.  I am 37 and have been married and divorced.  Twice.  That’s super-fantastic to explain to people.