So I posted earlier about how I can turn on a dime emotionally. Yeah… maybe reading other blogs about adultery wasn’t such a good use of my time.
This just hurts. All of it. I can’t think about what happened – what I did – without it just hurting. It’s unrelenting, it’s not getting easier, I don’t seem to be getting better. I just don’t know if I can live like this, with who I am and what I’ve done. The only way I can function is to not think about it, but it’s always there just beneath the surface – this crushing, overwhelming shame and guilt and hatred of myself, always ready to drag me down.
I desperately want this to be at least partly someone else’s fault. I want someone else to share the blame. Maybe I’m not alone in this wish. It’s probably common among cheaters and often times there probably is enough blame to go around. But when I read articles like this one, I think “My wife didn’t do any of those things. Even after the revelation, she’s been a saint. I was just a selfish asshole, the same as I’ve always been beneath the surface.”
I desperately want something to be wrong with me. Yes, I have serious trust issues. Like many of the men who cheated I’ve seen mentioned on other blogs, I have struggled with depression off and on since my teens. I have even wondered in the past if I’m going crazy. Who knows, maybe I am a bit off, but it’s all bullshit excuses.
The thing is: I want to die. I don’t think I can go on with this unresolved guilt and pain for the rest of my life. I can’t keep living behind my walls and pretending to want to live, when inside I’m already emotionally dead and all that’s left is pain. TV shows and music and Twitter and games are only distractions and when they cease to distract it’s just me, and I hate me. Something has to change.
Don’t worry, though. There is a difference between wanting to die and planning to bring it about. I’ve done the latter, so I know the difference. I’m not there, and if history is any guide, I’ll be distracted or amused by something soon enough and I can stop gazing into the blackness of my soul. It might not be much of a way to live, but it hasn’t killed me yet.