Three fucking years

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So I had gone thru the beyond excruciating exercise of viewing all of the emails that I had saved between Bob and VikWhoRia.

I mean . . .wow. Just fucking WOW. (And I do NOT mean “WoW” . . .)

There’s so much there I missed or skipped or Idk – – – more than likely just blocked the fuck out of my brain. Trauma will do that, I guess. And shock. OMFG – SHOCK. What a blow (no pun intended) those exchanges were. A jolt to the old ticker . . .

The nausea and throbbing pain in my head and uncontrollable shaking, bowels that lurched and churned, and the feeling that I was going to pass out. . . I’ll NEVER forget that experience.

(Unfortunately.)

Which brings me to the word “never”. The two of them must share the same dictionary where “never” means “most certainly will”.  Her to me: Ria, I will never be with him no matter what!

Bob to me: I will never hurt you. I will never be without you. I will never let us break up. I will never let you go. There could never be anyone else better than you. There never will be another woman for me.

 I just didn’t get it. I didn’t understand. I still don’t. If this was one of my friends talking, I’d think they were totally fucking crazy for feeling this way for this long. I get it. So. Fucked. Up.

 How do you tell someone repeatedly for six years, in every single way that you can think of, and every single day, that they are thE most important thing in the world, then fuck them over? How does that happen? Why does that happen?

Why didn’t I ask him why she was pleading with him to “Take her away” when I first read that email a few months before That Worst Day Ever? Why didn’t I ask what was up when he stood in out kitchen, holding on to the back of a stool that used to belong to my mother, smiling and saying her name so emphatically: “Viktoria Popova – Go_ _ i”?

Why didn’t I get it? Oh. Right. Because I fucking trusted him.  Silly, stupid, dumb-ass, eejit me. I was his soulmate ! The love of his life! The woman he couldn’t sleep without! The woman he missed the minute he left her! The woman who showed him how good life can be! OMFG . . . I bought it all: hook, line, and sinker.

 The hurt and pain inflicted upon me, I have never been able to fully describe. I am unable to explain the way it made me feel. I am incapable of finding the words to convey my angst and misery. Crestfallen, right? Suicidal. I mean, I am teetering on the edge daily. I have a lot to live for; I have friends and family that love and care about me. But for some reason, this dark, dismal, abysmal feeling of not being worthy of living is right there every day. Idk – it’s like, I get that I am important to quite a lot of people, but why, oh fucking why, was I SO contemptible  to the man who swore he loved me more than anything? I never loved anyone the way that I loved him . . .  How could I possibly be so easily discarded and destroyed? I thought I was a pretty good person. The one person that I trusted most in the world betrayed me. He told another woman things that were so sickening and revolting – – – truly unimaginable. Repulsive and vile and inappropriate to the max. He was breaking codes of ethics, morality and decency, and he got fired over her.  Maybe the thrill of it all was just too great for him and I couldn’t compare. I helped set him up in the best possible financial situation he’d seen in YEARS, and it was “done, done, and on to the next…”  No credit cards, no alimony, no child support, no rent, no cell bill, no back taxes, no car payments, no law suits . . . all good to live the Life of Riley in Queens w/Ms. Russia.

 So, I had much of it ready to post and admittedly, I wasn’t too concerned with edited ANYTHING out, including names and email addys. OK – I didn’t. I just hadn’t bothered. And didn’t give a flying fuck. Consequences, they boldly proclaimed, were/are meaningless to them; that was my guideline. They had no filter, I should use no filter.

 Here’s the rub: I fucking LOVED him.

 And I do NOT understand why I can’t just be a total asshole right back to him.

 There is no point in being a good person – look at where it gets you: Alone. Diseased. Torn apart. Devastatingly depressed. Totally mind-fucked. Writing a crazy-ass blog for three fucking years because you just feel as tho if you could make some SENSE out of it, you could sleep at nite. You could not want to drive your car into a fucking tree to end your pain. You could be at peace knowing there was nothing you could have done. . . How is that EVER going to be OK?

OMFG- the fantasies that I entertained about our reunion . . . a reconciliation to end all reconciliations . . .  He’s not the only one who can use his imagination about lusty sex and everything that goes along with it. Gah. And yee-hah. And Ay Babee!

 I prayed and prayed and prayed until my knees were raw (let it go . . .) and my voice was non-existent and my thoughts were numb.

 He’s not ever going to love you. That’s a truly fucking hard reality.

And this is NOT to vow that post won’t rear its ugly head. The chances are more likely that it will than it won’t.  I really don’t have one valid reason to not let it publish.  And it won’t be pretty. But it was real. Very, very, VERY real.And  truly, the end of my life as I knew it. The end of the person that I used to be: kind, loving, caring, nurturing, loyal, trusting, adoring, supportive and steadfast. That “Ria” is gone. She got swallowed up by the black hole of infidelity and grief. She got lost because the man who promised to never do her any harm chose to treat her like trash.

But I miss her. I really, really do. 

And Idk . . . I hope that even in some very small way, maybe once in a while, Bob misses her, too.

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