In any case, truly a shame and a deeply upsetting memory.

Like the gall.

Because we went back home and he was distant the entire time. Because it was easier to withdraw than seek to reconnect.

And that was the beginning of me knowing he stopped caring for me because he could not care less about my grief and sense of disconnection.

He was too busy thinking about someone else and focusing on the fact that he could get his needs fulfilled elsewhere.

But perhaps I should have seen this as inevitable that one day he would stop seeing me as rad and therefore stop loving me, because feelings are fleeting.

I felt him stop seeing me as his object of adoration and with that his willingness to be kind and loving toward me left. He shifted his affection and interest toward someone else and soon enough he found her as “rad.”

Now this card is painful because there was a point until… maybe April, May of that year that he found me rad still, until he didn’t anymore. He then started seeing his affair partner as rad. As fun. As interesting. As funny. As kind. As someone he wanted to be around. And I felt that transition.

One day I’ll make a list of every way that experiencing infidelity has resulted in a variation of PTSD. From hyper vigilance, to ongoing rumination, insomnia and dissociation—and that’s just the beginning. It’s a whole plethora of goodies!! Thank you, E! 🫶🏼

Anyway, yet another moment of grief amidst my everyday life. I ache for the day I am no longer reminded of him and everything concomitant with our shared existence.

…and feel nothing but grief at the fact that a) I did not get one last chance to take it all in, b) she probably does that now, and c) all I have are tainted memories of the view / his bedroom.

Yet somehow I long to return to it: the smells, the sights, and the implicit safety of presumed love.