Thursday, March 27, 2014

Chapter Three: Devastation, Part VI: January 2010

January 16, 2010

It’s been one week since I found out about that stupid, blue phone—and their affair.

I’m mad. I’m angry. I want to punch something. I want to punch him. I can hardly utter his name and it pains me even to write it. I’m glad I’ve been keeping a record of what’s been happening. It’s so surreal. I never thought it would be like this. This whole affair thing makes me sick.

Hers is another name I can’t say or type either. Ugh!

I’m getting such mixed feelings from him. He says she’s a sicko, but I know he’s still in contact with her. He says the affair has ended, but I’m not so sure. Yes, I am. Not a chance. He told me several times before in the last two months that he ended it but he didn’t.

He gave me “the phone.” He actually said, “Here. Now you can call Kelsie.”

Ha! Now I can call Kelsie? I wanted to hit him, smack him real hard in the face, punch him in the gut until he doubled over. I handled the phone as if it was garbage—with my thumb and forefinger. Of course there was nothing on the phone anymore. Wiped clean.

The phone makes me sick. Everything makes me ill. I keep releasing those stress hormones and that’s not good for your brain cells. I don’t want to end up like the dementia people where I work.

I took the phone to work with me and threw it in the dumpster before I went inside. I realize, in hindsight, that was a selfish thing to do, especially since I found out there’s a caregiver who lost her phone because she couldn’t afford it. I could have given it to her. I was blinded and saw it as evil.

I’m sorry, Lord. I could have been helpful and I can only think of myself and this awful tragedy of a marriage I’m in.

Jerry says he doesn’t have another clandestine phone, he’s off Facebook and he doesn’t even use his email anymore. Ha! He can always buy another throwaway phone, use an alias on Facebook and get a new email. Does he think I’m stupid?

They are underground now and getting more savvy about it. What were his words—“under the radar?” They’re under the radar.

He’s obsessed with her and I know how he acts when he’s obsessed. He does think I’m stupid because I am that stupid. The stupidest wife on earth, that’s me. Always giving second chances—third, fourth, fifth—a hundred chances! Always forgiving.

I wouldn’t be surprised if, on his next business trip, she shows up where he goes. She mentioned getting away to Florida. Jerry doesn’t go to Florida on business trips but I bet he’ll find a way. Or she’ll find a way to go where he is. If he says he’s going to Florida on a business trip he is really stupid, knowing I know what she wrote in that text.

We went to see the stake president this week. He actually called us to come to his office. Bishop filled him in on what happened and he wanted to see us. It’s so embarrassing.

He was in shock that this happened. He and his wife are two of our closest friends. My husband was his executive secretary when he was our bishop. His ultimatum—go get marriage counseling. He was angry. I couldn’t help but get the feeling that he blamed me for this. Did he know the story?

I didn’t care. I’m still angry. I told him we had been to marriage counseling before, but to no avail. Jerry would stop going and I was left to go by myself. I finally relented, but with a caveat. I said I would go for as long as he would go. And he had to pick the counselor and make the appointments. I would do nothing about setting it up. I would also do whatever was asked of me by the counselor—as long as he did.

The president agreed. I added, “He never goes more than three times. If he only goes three times, I will only go three times.”

I also told him Jerry had to work on his anger with an anger management class or work closely with the counselor on that. Jerry nodded in agreement.

Jerry said he knew someone at work who went to counseling, so he would get the name. He has to take the initiative this time.

I told the president, upfront and truthfully, that I thought it was a waste of time, but I would do it, for his, the president’s, sake.

Jerry actually got himself an appointment this week. He went to see the counselor first. His strategy, which will fail, is to tell the counselor all about me before I can get there to tell about him. Fine. I don’t care who goes first. I’ll tell my story. He’ll tell his. Bring it on.

First of all, he’s cheap, so he won’t continue based on economics. Second of all, every counselor we’ve ever gone to has seen he is the problem and has tried to give him things to do to change. Third of all, he won’t change because he doesn’t see himself as being the cause of any problem.

I hope going to a counselor will make me so strong that I can tell Jerry exactly what I think and hope he rots in hell. Pardon my French.

I told Jerry, if this is going to work, it’s up to him. It’s not going to be up to me anymore. And since I already know if it’s up to him, it won’t work, I need to plan my own strategy—divorce!

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