Why I Should Not Be Trusted With Sharp Objects.

Okay.  Yes, I certainly have more restraint than I give myself credit for.  Or I have a penchant for melodrama.  Or I'm a weenie who couldn't inflict physical pain on someone else intentionally. 

But if I could, I would today. 

Someone shared this song with me when I first found out about my soon-to-be-ex's affair.  And I thought I got it.  I thought it was all about, "Ha-ha, you thought you were getting off easy, but you're a douchebag tool who is doomed to be miserable, and I'm going to be fine.  And I am fine.  And my life is going to rock.  Dick."

I get it now.  Ms. Palmer, I understand.  You're not a liar, but you're a sarcastic, tongue-in-cheek, brave-faced bitch. 

I remember the third-to-last thing my ex said to me tonight.  There were other parts of the conversation, but everything after that memorable statement is sort of a red, hazy blur.  We were talking about his jealousy issues with his current girlfriend (read:  the jealousy issues that have probably been present since he was born), and he was bothered by her going to spend time with a guy friend who was having a rough time.  He recognized that this discomfort was irrational.  Good.  He's learning.  But, he said that one piece of advice he gave her was:

"Don't over-console him.  Because that's how you women are, wanting to comfort and being there when he's vulnerable..."

FUCK.  YOU.  I absolutely refuse to be lumped into the category of people who would do that.  Because I didn't.  The girl who he chose to have sex with while he was married to me did that.  And goddammit, I'm not going to let him get off so easy as to suggest that he was persuaded to go astray by a red-headed temptress.  Please. 

It's BULLSHIT.  It's a lie.  And I won't buy it.

Anyway, the song.  So.  She's not okay.  She's not on fire.  And neither am I.  I'm hurting, and hurting badly.  I feel like I've been ripped open...again.  I know that we're apparently only allowed to feel so much hurt at once, so that our brains don't explode, or something, but I really wish I could be done being blindsided by fits of agonizing emotional pain.  Yeah, agony covers it. 

I had this whole, beautiful, perfect stream of anger ready in my brain, and I knew that when I sat down at the computer it was going to be cathartic and I was going to feel better.  And the second I started typing, it dissolved, and I'm sitting here shaking and nauseous and feeling very, very broken.  And I hate that he did what he did.  I hate it.  I hate feeling like this.  I hate feeling like it's not ever going to get better. 

I don't know what else to say.  Anger would be easier, I think.