Literally how do people get past this… starting to feel like I’m giving up…

I never wanted this. To get to a point where I could imagine walking away. Giving up. When I found out about the affair, I was all in, not going anywhere. I was hurt and betrayed, but I was still choosing this man. Loving this man.

Just looked it up, because I’m a numbers person. 12 and a half years, more, of loving this man. That’s 4,675 days od loving him the most. Choosing him, even when it was hard. We have not gone one single day in nearly 5,000 days without seeing each other at some point, even if just in passing when our schedules were full. From the moment I met him, I knew, and all we ever wanted was to be there with each other, experiencing life together, and no one else mattered. Even in our most difficult times, the hardest thing I could ever imagine was doing this life without him. It was never even a possibility that we would ever be there.

Everyone, my therapist, my family, my friends, since finding out about this affair, has told me how strong I am for staying. For choosing him. Choosing us and love. And to be honest, for the first year and a half, it didn’t feel like strength. It felt like weakness. I felt weak for staying when others would walk away. I felt weak for not being able to even consider leaving when I knew that I should. I felt weak for loving so deeply that I was accepting treatment that I never accepted in the past, and knowing that I deserved better. I would get sad when people would tell me how strong I was because internally, I’ve never felt more broken and small.

But since finding out the new information about the affair, the sleeping together, and how much longer they continued talking… when my therapist tells me how strong I am for staying? Now when he says these things, I feel dumb. I feel stupid. I feel angry. I hate hearing it. Because now I hear the implication behind those words. I hear “god, anyone else would have been long gone. This is too much mistreatment. You must really feel strongly for this person to persist and fight this hard. I could never.” And suddenly, staying doesn’t feel weak. Suddenly I see what they were all saying. Because I have gotten to the point where I think maybe leaving would feel easier. I’m exhausted from living within this broken mind. I’m tired of being sad, all the fucking time. I’m tired of thinking about things I don’t want to think about literally every god damn day… I’m tired of talking about the affair, but I can’t stop talking about the affair. I’m tired of the comparisons, and the amount of energy it takes to feel such a massive lack of confidence when I used to love who I was. I loved the person I was, and I loved my life, and I loved my marriage, and I loved my husband, and I had insecurities but he made me feel so fucking beautiful. He made me feel so safe. And now I just sit around feeling terrible about myself and my personality and my body and my aging looks that have accelerated because of the stress and depress of the past year and a half. I feel haggard and less than.

And I’m angry. I’m angry that after nearly 5,000 days together, loving each other, wanting only each other- now there is this blip of time that is tainted. Where he wanted someone else. Chose someone else. Loved someone else.. I’m angry that he will never be 100% mine again. That no matter how long we stay together, I’ll have to know that I shared him with her. I look at other people’s stories- partners who cheated for years or had multiple partners. In some ways, I know my story is worse. (Cheated with sister. Heavy EA. Lots of feelings involved. Had sex with sister…) but in some ways, I think my story should be easier. If I’m to believe the words that he tells me, they had sex once. One time. And it was a bad time. And then never again. And I want to say that one time in 5,000 days together doesn’t fucking matter. That I can get past this and that for one day, 2 hours together total, he gave someone else everything that was mine, and he massively regrets it and wishes more than anything that he hadn’t. And that should be enough. But it fucking matters. Every time I’m trying to move past it, my brain reminds me that his hands were all over another woman’s body… They had sex, but my brain wants to focus on his hands touching her all over. It shouldn’t fucking matter. Why does it matter… I’m angry because I feel like a crazy person. I’ve never had such a hard time deciding anything in my whole life. He was the easiest decision I had EVER made. It was so easy with us, that it didn’t even feel like an option to spend my life with him. It was the only path.

I’m angry because he put me in a place where leaving him feels easier than staying…

It’s my birthday today. 40th. He’s a few years younger, which never really bothered me. And now it bothers me. Because I can’t fathom starting my life over after losing the person that I felt so completely was my fucking person. And I know he’d move on and he’s learned his lessons and he’d be happy again someday. And that makes me angry too. And I’ve spent my entire birthday crying. Because I no longer feel special. Crying about his hands being all over another woman’s body. Crying because, for a blip of time, I wasn’t worth more than that to him…

Maybe being two months out from this new info is just too soon. But I’m honestly burnt the fuck out that I’m over a year and a half out from this and I’m starting over with the healing and the pain and the crying and the overwhelming sadness…

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I’m just really depressed.