First of all, he was not my type. He was nice, considerate, unselfish and grounded; qualities I’d never experienced in a man. Usually, I went for the self centered, screwed up, “I’m lost, will you be my mother” type.
I had no intention of forsaking my wedding vows. I had strong morals and never could have imagined going against them. I was never even tempted to stray.
I didn’t want to get burned. I didn't want to be the other woman, but I wanted him with all my might.
Somehow, we both got carried away. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but before long, I knew nothing was ever going to be the same.
At times, it felt so odd being with a man in such an intimate way who was not my husband.
This very easy divorce had become very difficult. I thought I was in the express lane and it was all fast tracks from there. Think again.
Not long after my mom died, my dad pretty much kicked me out of the house. He never said, “Get out of my house,” but instead, I came home one night to find all my clothes scattered all over our front lawn.
I had just turned thirty. That was enough in itself to be depressed about. I never thought I would be this age and feel this worthless. I was supposed to be “somebody.” I guess you could say I was slightly disappointed at the outcome.
I was always on guard and I was always prepared for him to be upset with me. I had lived feeling uneasy and tense for so long.
Living with myself wasn’t all that easy. I was not the young girl I once was. Once upon a time when I looked in the mirror, I saw this happy glow. Now nothing glowed except the leftover face cream from the night before.
I was physically attacked by a woman who didn’t even know me. Yes, my boyfriend was her former husband, but she tried to ruin me.
He would say things like, “But you are my wife!” when I didn’t do something that he wanted me to do. His expectations were not realistic.
I didn’t feel like I was stealing someone’s husband; I felt like they were already apart.
