Vol. 1 No. 4
houston we have a problem: part iv
This is a five part series intended to be read in order.
WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND SEXUAL CONTENT. DISCRETION ADVISED.
Just breathe, I kept telling myself.
What the heck had just happened? Why was my husband masturbating on the toilet? Why was he looking at pictures of women in lingerie? Where had he even gotten that catalog? And why was my name on it?
My hands were shaking and I was hot all over. I thought I might pass out. I put my hands on my face and squeezed. My temple was throbbing. I could feel the blood pulsing on my fingertips. I took a deep breath, lowered my hands, and walked toward our bed.
The place we made love. The place we united as husband and wife. The place I gave myself to him willingly, lovingly, believing that I was the only woman he desired. Trusting him implicitly.
Enraged, I screamed at the top of my lungs and ripped the comforter, blanket and flat sheet off of our bed. The king sized bedding tumbled to the floor in a heap. Not fully satisfied, I went for the closest corner of the fitted sheet. Pulling with the strength it would take to lift the entire mattress, I yanked the corner free. The mattress pad was exposed and I figured I may as well finish the job. I yanked it too.
Screaming with each tug, I removed all four corners, rolled the newly freed bedding into a ball and hurled it at my husband's dresser. Everything on top of it fell to the floor with a satisfying crash.
Panting, I flopped myself onto the bed and sobbed like a two-year-old having a temper tantrum in the middle of a store because she can’t have a toy she wants. I kicked and screamed and sobbed for what seemed like an eternity. At some point, the tears abated and I put my face into the wet mattress. Lying in a pool of my own snot, I hitched and sniffed until my heart rate returned to normal.
Just breathe, I told myself over and over again.
Why was this happening to me? What was wrong with me? Who was the man I had married? Why had I even married him in the first place?
I felt so lost.
The alarm went off, and at first I didn't know why it was beeping. I had to get a hold of myself. I knew I couldn’t lie around in bed all day contemplating this mess that was my life. I had to move. I had to make that stupid sound stop. I rolled to my side to turn the alarm off and it wasn’t there. Apparently in my fit of rage, I had knocked it off the nightstand. As I leaned toward the floor to find it, I saw that I had ripped two nails completely down to the quick. One was bleeding and the other looked red and swollen.
Once I finally slammed my hand on the top of the alarm clock and made the annoying tone go away, I realized there was probably blood on the mattress. Yep. Not a lot, but enough that betrayed my ridiculous outburst in glaring red dots.
I stood up and surveyed the room. I had made quite a mess. Plus, it smelled horrendous. It was as if someone poured musk over rotten food or something sweet on top of dirty socks. And even though my nose was full of snot from my self-indulgent blubbering party, the competing scents made my eyes water anew. As I walked toward my husband’s dresser, I saw several broken cologne bottles on the floor; the liquid merging into a foul puddle next to the dresser.
Unable to handle seeing one more thing that I had broken, damaged or destroyed, I decided to take a shower. I had a class in just over an hour, and didn’t have time to deal with the mess.
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Traci is a Betrayal Recovery Specialist and the owner of Healing Betrayed Hearts. She has almost 30 years experience recovering from a relationship with a sex addict.