So I 'm back here following his wife invading what was originally supposed to be a safe zone for me. Of course this was for the second fucking time. Cute. Its all for my best interest, lets not forget that. He didn't want to do this. It had to be done. Of course this is the man who does nothing...and I mean nothing he doesn't want to do. At least very rarely. Whatever. I mean, its nothing right? What woman wouldn't be completely OK with having her boyfriend's actual partner come into the place she considers home...sleep in the bed she considers hers...oh and use just about everything in the fucking house that she picked out, used or otherwise had some sort of involvement in bringing in here? Yeah, you guessed it. This one!! Not only that, but she hasn't even completely left here...I just found one of her fucking blouses tucked away upstairs with his dress shirts. I can only assume we picked it up today while getting the laundry. That shit is totally disappearing when I get a chance. As far as I'm concerned if it was still here when I get back, its my fucking territory. Claws are out, and we're talking to a tigress degree.
So what am I doing now? Sitting across the room, while he chats with her on Whatsapp and our son sleeps in the crib in the master bedroom. Yeah...not 'my' room, or 'our' room anymore. 'His' room feels more accurate...but alas I have to sleep there too, believe me when I say I'll do, tolerate, and subject myself to anything to be with him. As fucking livid as I am it doesn't change the fact that I'm absolutely head over heels in love with him...and I absolutely chose to go through this. Doesn't mean its easy, doesn't mean I like it, and doesn't mean that a good portion of the time I feel like I just need to vent and let it all out. Something I can't do, except when I write. So here I am, writing, while he does, says whatever he does and says with her....and I have to pretend it doesn't matter. Because it shouldn't...right? He's leaving her for me in a matter of time, he's told me that. He's just treading water as it were. Who knew treading water could be so God damned painful?
I don't even know what I'm writing for. I'm just pissed. Fucking pissed. I want to explode. I want to scream. The problem is there is no one to scream at. No one to explode on. This is all my own doing. I know that's what I 'd get told...its the way it has to be...I have to find a way to shoulder it...because its terrible for him too. Yeah....
