I have been thinking about this post for a few days – so unlike me to almost plan a post! I have been reading about people’s struggles with the skank who decided to fuck their husband. There are many different instances of these women – and I am using a gendered label here because I am addressing my own situation, and those of the women whose blogs I read. Hey, it works both ways, but I will describe it thus, because it seems so many of the bloggers are women who have been cheated on.
Bear with me.
You see, I am a lot further – in terms of time passed – from the cheating that happened in my life than many of the bloggers I read are. That doesn’t give me any grand wisdom, or sense of being more healed, or anything else you might think might happen. But it does mean I have had longer to process this crap, and to live around it. I have noted how damaging the skanks are (I HATE the term “other woman” – they are not women, they are skanks, and putting them in the same frame as women is insulting to us all) the ones who obliterated the lives of many a loving wife and/or mother by thinking it was somehow okay to fuck around with a man who was supposed to be committed to someone else. Hey, I am no cheating husband apologist. The person who “owed” us faithfulness was the man we were committed to, not the skank. However, these skanks are hideous excuses for humanity, scraping up the scraps the legitimate (can I use that word?) relationship leaves behind. As tempted commented to me the other day, they are carrion.
So why do we fixate on these scum? And we all do. We all know how these skuzballs get under our skin, and fuck with our heads. And those are just the “normal” ones, the ones who are embarrassed, or do feel ashamed and scurry away to hide under the nearest rock. What about the ones that Nephila, nothate and I had? The “friends.” Or the ones who go full Fatal Attraction on us? Or both (as in my case.) What power do they have over us that makes us think constantly about them?
It’s pretty simple really. Our self esteem is smashed into unrecognisable shards and dust. So we wonder what was so fucking special about these skanks. They might be prettier, they might be thinner, they might be more intellectual, they might be better in bed. In reality, mostly from the literature and the anecdotal evidence I have seen, they are rarely any of these things. In my case, she was skinnier. But I can’t think of one other way she had anything on me. But did that stop me from kind of trying to “compete?” No, I ran and ran and ran, and I got skinny. Did that make me feel better? Hell no. I felt skinny. That was nice, but I wasn’t any happier. I am a mile over that skank in life.
And that was when I got it. Look who they had turned me into. I was competing with someone on looks, brains, love, everything really. Who the hell is that? I was never one to overly compare people. I celebrated difference. I liked that I wasn’t beauty queen material, but that I have my own allure. I am different to “most” – laugh here, who are most women? – women. I have red hair, fair skin, curves, I think outside the square, I am kind, passionate, love animals and the environment. I have a keen social conscience, I am and have been an activist and am not afraid to speak out. I don’t buy into the cult of celebrity. Why was I becoming a pawn in this game? I didn’t need to compete, and I didn’t WANT to compete. I am mighty and pretty darn awesome the way I am. Hey, we are all growing and changing, but I was buying into the beauty myth, the rat race, and a myriad of other crappy positions that western society encourages us to scrabble for.
So I decided to stop with the nonsense.
It wasn’t easy, I haven’t stopped any of the hurt, any of the recycling of the past and the agony that accompanies it all. But somehow I was able to evict HER from taking up too much tenancy in my brain. She is nothing. Even if she “won,” what exactly was it she won? An ageing, cheating, lying farmer. Good luck with that. The harder part to let go was that even letting HER go, I didn’t want her to “win” by splitting up. I know that even if she didn’t “win” him, she was absolutely certain that we would split. And that was the whole intent of her actions both by letting me know about the affair almost two months after he ended it, and by continuing to harass us for nearly three years afterwards. I didn’t want to walk away, because that meant she would have manipulated me into the exact position she aimed for.
Then I woke up again one day and thought, “so what.” So what if I leave, and she wins? How does that affect me? I mean, in my HEAD I had known this since D-day, but I had struggled with so much anger, and so much need to be heard, to be understood, to be apologised to by her. Eventually, it wasn’t there anymore.
That was the day I realised I no longer cared. She had no hold over me, us, or anything anymore. The battle was a hollow one anyway. I have never since then been tempted to look at her Facebook page, her LinkedIn profile, Twitter feed, Googled her, had to fight the urge to give her house the drive-by if I was in her city – all of which I did, or wanted to do in those first years. I no longer fantasize about torching her house, or spraying FILTHY CUNT in large letters into her manicured front lawn with weed spray. She has no power over me anymore. That is freeing. Does this mean I would be sad if I heard she had been the victim of a home invasion, raped, beaten and slowly, tortuously murdered? HELL NO. But I no longer actively wish that on her, or think about it much at all. I worked out that no injury visited on her would equal the one she visited on me. All I ever wanted for her was happiness and love. Now I am glad she has never experienced either, and I know she hasn’t really, as she has never had what I had, what we had, true, deep, passionate and connected love that made our hearts sing. I know that was what she wanted. She will never have it because she is a sociopathic bitch. TOIL told me some stories about the way she treated people that really made his mind up at the end, she is just nasty and horrid to people. She never makes them feel warm, loved or appreciated, but is always there to kick them when they are down, or even when they are trying to help. I just wish that that zombiefied, undead, unfeeling bitch had never crossed my path again, as this idiot felt sorry for her!