Swimming in grief

A hard couple of days. I am really grieving the loss of what I had with my husband. I had felt so loved and cared for, even if it was mixed with all his lies. And also grieving the loss of the future we had talked about - being that little old couple walking down the street holding hands.  Why didn't he save us? I had no control, no power. But him? He could have called someone after the first porn slip. He could have called a therapist after the first hand-job massage or even after the first prostitute. He had so many chances to save us and I had none. And he didn't. Why didn't he? Why didn't he save us when he had the chance? I grieve the loss of that chance. And why didn't we stay in therapy, where resentments would not have had the chance to fester? There are so many questions like that. What was the moment where something could have been done differently so that he would not have done the things he's done? I would give anything to go back. But now there's no turning back. What's done is done. All the lying, all the betrayal. 

And why didn't we have cash withdrawal alerts on our accounts? Why didn't we have porn blockers and computer monitoring software. We had none of that. Because I didn't know I had to keep on top of this after all the therapy and work and pain we went through. I never thought he would have sexual contact with anyone else again after all of that. I didn't remember "once an addict, always an addict." Life was good and we were busy working full-time and raising a family and doing all the things. 

I don't want this life I have now. I want the life I thought I had. The life with my loving, smart, funny, creative, talented husband with whom I was going to grow old and play with grandchildren. I'm grieving all the things we will never do together again - hugging, kissing, making love, watching movies, going to the beach, sandcastles, laughing with each other, sharing our passions and dreams, traveling, playing games, our New Year's Day party, hand-made sushi dinner, singing at the piano, Christmas in Maine, family pile on the couch. So many things that made my life rich and wonderful will never happen again. 

I have magical thinking. Like if I just sit in the car and don't come out of the garage, the life I had will be there, outside the doors. If I just don't go out, I can believe that nothing has changed. I sit in the car and cry.

I have so much anguish. My life slipped away without me knowing until it was too late for me to be able to do anything. I lost everything in an instant - that instant when he admitted he was fucking prostitutes again. Sudden like death, and it is hard to come to terms with and I have so much grief.

We started couples therapy last week to prepare for disclosure. Again.