Wednesday, December 19, 2012

If you go looking for trouble, you'll probably find it

If you go looking for trouble, you'll probably find it

It's 12:40 a.m. - Wednesday. I haven't been to bed yet. I even took a sleeping pill over an hour ago, something I never do anymore.

I think there's a saying, if you go looking for trouble, you'll probably find it. If it's not a saying then it should be. I'm not Googling it. I'm too tired, angry, and frustrated to even care.

For some reason that I don't even understand, tonight at about 11 p.m. I decided to go into my husband's office and see what was in the closet that was floor to ceiling boxes. I can't remember if I mentioned on here that he is a hoarder. I'm sure where he's living right now that it's already starting up again. It came to a point where I couldn't even open his office or bedroom doors all the way. To get to his computer he had to turn sideways because there was a narrow path to his desk. His office and his bedroom could have been on an episode of Hoarders. It was hideous, as was our garage and the shed. It's part of the reason for the divorce, but actually, just a small part.

I cleaned his bedroom (if you hadn't already guess we haven't shared a bedroom in over a decade). I cleaned the shed, and about half of the garage so I can at least park in it. I did this while he was in the hospital and in rehab for his broken leg. He asked me to clean his bedroom so he could get his wheelchair in the room, along with his walker. So it's very clean, other than the clutter he started gathering when he came home. He wasn't happy about his clean bedroom, but I considered it a health hazard and it had to be cleaned.

His office is a different story. I started on it, but didn't have time to do much. I've been wondering what was in the closet, which was filled with boxes. I found stuff. Letters from during our marriage, from other women. Lots and lots of letters and cards, some with dates that were only five years into our marriage. We've been married twenty-four years. I read the letters from these women. They loved him, they loved feeling his arms around them, they wanted to be with him, they missed him when they were apart. Even though I had suspected this for years I never had any proof. Now I have proof. Now it doesn't matter anymore.

It still hurt. When I was reading the letters and some of the things they said to and about him, I felt the blood drain out of my body. I was hit with chills, like I was freezing. I took one of the boxes and sat by the fireplace as I read through his treasures from other women. Amidst the love letters were cards from me. Birthday, anniversary and Christmas cards. "I love you" cards as well, from me, telling him how much I loved him. These were mixed in with letters to him from other women, dated the same time. Some date as far back as 1993, that's when he had a post office box in only his name. He said it made our mail safer (we were in an apartment). Now I know it made "his" mail safer.

Some of this was before cell phones, but I found out he had an 800 number so the women could call him. I don't know where they called him. His work? What the hell? The women talked about how they loved talking to him for hours, and the wonderful conversations they had with him. It made me want to puke. I even found one letter from one of the women's husband telling him to stay away from his wife.

Wow. Just "wow" is all I can say. If I had even one smidgen of doubt about this divorce (and actually, I haven't - but if I did), this would have put the final nail in the coffin of our marriage.

I guess I'll go to bed now. I still plan on the gym, in about five hours. My revenge is to get healthy and look good. To be strong and powerful. As far as my husband, he can just go to hell for all I care. 

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