This is the final part of a three part series I wrote in March. It will make much more sense if you go back and read Friday’s and Saturday’s posts. -Anonyman
When I finally told my wife the awful truth I had been keeping inside, she told me she was done. She told me to get my things and get out of the house. I don’t really remember what was said. I think she asked some questions about what I had done and I answered them truthfully. She was nearly hysterical with anger and anguish, and I couldn’t blame her.
I sat stoically as she poured out her righteous anger on me. I took the verbal and physical abuse I so richly deserved. I didn’t put up any defense because there was none for my actions. I gave up. I don’t remember what my plan was, but it involved cashing in my life insurance policy to everyone’s satisfaction and benefit. I don’t remember if she asked and I told her my plan or if she just guessed it.
What I do know is that I broke down and sobbed like I hadn’t sobbed in a very long time. My wife, the angel that she is, couldn’t help but try to comfort me once I got started. I didn’t want her comfort and I certainly didn’t deserve it.
I had betrayed her again and again, both physically and emotionally, and I had held my poisonous secret for almost two years. When opportunities had arisen to come clean, I had hardened my heart and said in my heart that I would take the awful truth to my grave. The pain of keeping that secret became my atonement for the deeds I’d done. I convinced myself that through an act of sheer will I would be a good, trustworthy husband in spite of the lies I had to tell to spare her the pain of the truth.
As I sobbed, having finally unburdened myself of the awful lie, I had nothing left to lie for and nothing left to live for. I wanted to sink into the ground and never been seen again. I didn’t even care if there was an afterlife that I would be headed to. What I very much preferred was a permanent end of existence – the end of Anonyman and his endless string of betrayals, fuck-ups, and mistakes.
But it was not to be.
Instead, my wife held me in her arms as I sobbed and told her all the ways in which I didn’t deserve to exist, all the ways in which I was unworthy of her or anyone else. She told me she loved me and that she wasn’t going to give up on me. She told me that, in spite of what I had done, I wasn’t worthless or evil or any of the other things I thought of myself. She told me that I was going to get help.
And I did.
As soon as the health clinic opened up the next morning, I was there. After all the struggles I’ve previously written about on this blog and many more beside, I finally got on an antidepressant and I scheduled a visit to a therapist. There were no more excuses. I had hit rock bottom, and I had done it with my wife beside me. We gave each other the strength to get back up and get help.
So in spite of all I’ve done, she loves me and she saved me. God bless my wife.