Today would have been my 8th wedding anniversary. I almost forgot about it. Granted, I actively tried to forget about it because it's just too painful to think about it. My marriage had a good run. Yeah, it ended in the most tragic, Lifetime movie-Jerry Springer way possible (thanks Ramin, you're a rockstar *sarcasm*), but all in all, it was good for a long time. We had many curve balls thrown at us and in the end, my illness was just too much for him to bear (so much for "in sickness and in health," right?)
Whoever said ignorance is bliss aint never lied. I had no idea my husband was living a double life for an entire year (he was the model husband, he never stopped saying he loved me--never acted as if anything was different--he went to work and came home--I don't even know when he had time to see this woman) and honestly, I wish he would have just disappeared without telling me the horrible truth of the way things were.
Have you ever loved someone so much and so deeply that you can't even imagine living your life without them being a part of it? Have you ever lost someone who meant so much to you, your world seemed to drain of color in a matter of minutes? Have you ever lain awake at night and couldn't sleep because the one who used to hold you is now holding another?
"I didn't tell you because I didn't want to break your heart."
What kind of mind-fuck psycho bullshit is that? Let me tell you something, finding out your other half has thrown you in the trash is one of the worst feelings imaginable. And what I still can't understand to this day is the reason behind the deception. I've heard that line said in movies, books, and real life and I don't understand how anyone could think that destroying someone's spirit and life would be any more humane than just being a goddamn adult and telling the truth. It truly throws me for a loop whenever I think about it. The worst part of it all was we were best friends. We talked about everything, we had no secrets and we agreed that if either one of us couldn't do it anymore, we'd come to the other and tell them, not go out and have an affair. But alas, I honored my vows and my husband felt that getting his dick wet was way more important. O_o
I admit, I had changed. I'm sure he justifies his behavior with this fact and it allows him to sleep at night. I wasn't as vibrant as I once was. I was depressed. I didn't want to be the social director of our marriage (I always planned everything, everywhere we went--not because I was a controlling bitch, but because my husband asked me to and liked the activities and vacations I put together--surprise cruise for his birthday disguised as a simple weekend trip to Miami? yeah I know I'm awesome lol). But having cancer will do that to you. I literally didn't have the energy to do much of anything due to the blood loss. But I always made sure he was fed, I always made sure he had something to do when he was bored, even if I was too tired to participate. I always took care of him when he was sick even though I was much more ill myself. Because I loved my husband (sadly, I still do--Lord knows I wish I could turn that off, but my heart won't listen to me no matter how much I argue with it).
In April 2009, I was faced with a serious decision: have a hysterectomy or die. I've always wanted a family and we had been trying for years, but it just wasn't happening for us. I was devastated and the news sent me into such a deep depression, I actually considered foregoing the surgery. But my husband said "it's ok, even if we never have children of our own we have each other and that's enough for me." Cute, right? Caring even. Too bad he already had knocked his mistress up by the time I got that news (he's now "engaged" to said mistress (he changed his status to engaged today of all days...classy) and they have added another child to their "family" -- congrats, I guess? Is it bad that I take some small pleasure in knowing the fact that they had two boys? FYI, my husband never wanted boys and in fact wanted twin girls). So I went ahead with the surgery and things started to get better. First off, I was able to resume my "wifely duties" on a normal schedule (and let me tell you, a year of not getting any on a regular basis was hell for me--too much for him cause he went out and got it from somewhere else). But on October 1st, he called me crying at work and said he was packing and had to leave. I asked what was wrong (my mind immediately went into protective mode--I can laugh at this now, but I thought he had killed someone accidentally and had to hide from the feds) and he told me he had cheated on me while I was sick, got the girl pregnant and the baby had been born a FULL FUCKING WEEK before he could work up the courage to confess to me. I was dumbfounded. I came home, we talked, then he left. Game over. What I still don't understand was he continued to lie even though the end of us was plainly in sight. I was uncharacteristically calm during our talk. I asked him if he loved his mistress and wanted a divorce so he could marry her and make an honest woman out of her and have an honest family and he said no. Why? Why say she was little more than a one-night stand if that wasn't the case? Why say "fuck her, I'm just worried about my son" if you were supposedly in love with this woman? The damage had already been done. Those lies didn't make me feel any better. I commend myself for not stabbing him in the privacy of our home. No judge would have blamed me. I told my husband the last gift he'd ever get from me would be his life. And I didn't spare it for his sake, I spared it for his son's. I know what it's like to never have a father and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I caused that kind of pain for another person.
About a month after Ramin left, I got the tattoo that's in my display pic. People always ask if the artist was drunk or high because the ribbon looks damaged. I tell them no, I had him make it look tattered. Cancer is a war between you and your body. If you're lucky enough (or unlucky, depending on how you feel about it) to come out on the other end, a regular pristine pretty ribbon doesn't illustrate the hell you've just been dragged through.
I sent this blog to a few of my friends and they asked why I don't have my picture displayed and I told them: "I am no longer the me that you all remember. She is dead and gone, Ramin killed her. What stands in her place is merely shadows and dust waiting to be put out of its misery." I know that sounds melodramatic, but it is what it is and that's truly how I feel. My cancer has come back and spread. I told my ex-husband just to see his reaction and all I got was mild indifference. That was good for a laugh. I've told those close to me that I'm getting treatment, but that's a lie. I haven't seen my oncologist in months. I just don't care anymore, I just can't see the point in trying anymore. There's nothing left in this life for me but a few old pictures and bills. I'm already dead inside, hopefully the cancer will just quickly finish me off so I can finally get some peace.
Anyway, I'm rambling now and I feel like I've lost the plot, so I'll stop here. I just leave you with this bit of advice: know your vows before you take them, respect them, and for God's sake don't get cancer (cause some people think that gives them the right to say "fuck honor and loyalty, I need to get laid!")