F#ck You

· Anger,Grief

F#ck you. F#ck you. F#ck you.

Since I am not supposed to swear at you, or rage at you, or even act “better than” you, let me try to put words to what I mean when all I want is to scream is “F#ck you” over and over.

You’ve robbed me. The sex you’ve had behind my back is MY sex. You are mine. I did not agree to share you with anyone. I did not agree to let you practice your “talents” on others. I did not agree to expose myself to you or open my heart (or my legs) to you while you simultaneously opened other women’s legs (and likely hearts).

You’ve humiliated me. First you allowed me (and others) to believe I was the only one. Then you allowed me (and others) to believe that you were devastated by your actions and repentant and recommitted to our marriage. You’ve made a fool of my compassion and grace towards you. You’ve preyed on my commitment to you.

You’ve crushed me. You’ve crushed my dreams of lifelong fidelity and friendship with you. There are no amends you can make to repay my brokenness. There are no promises you can make that gives me security to open my heart (or legs) to you again. And so you’ve created a perfect prison for me. I’m trapped knowing that my only choice is to walk away and mourn my broken dreams of you for the remainder of my life, or to risk it all again while carrying such a heavy burden grief, pain, and fear.