It will be over one day, that is the truth.
He will NOT be able to lie forever.
That is the truth.
Feeling betrayed, being betrayed is there a difference?, Can God our Creator – is there help?
It will be over one day, that is the truth.
He will NOT be able to lie forever.
That is the truth.
.Many are aware that My H and I run a very successful business, together. He has complete control over the employees, their roles, their purpose in Our business. Me? I sign the checks. And I pay the vendors.
Over the past few months, I have noticed one of the employees to take an interest in me. When I exit my office, into the warehouse, HE is often there, preparing for his day. He, the one who looks deep into my eyes, nods his head and says hello.
I know, Iknow he WANTS ME, our employee, this sexy, desirable man, wants me, and I, in a way, Him. I have no attraction to him what-so-ever. The only draw I have is payback. Payback to my H. Could you imagine the humiliation my H would feel if I fucked his employee? A man whom he hired to complete the contract he (my H) has with another. A man, whom my H pays to make him, My H, money? Could you imagine??????
I am tempted, i I am tempted to hurt him the way he has hurt me, to do someone in his office, as I think he has mine. I am tempted to humiliate him, the way he has humiliated me.
This man, our employee, has made it very clear he wants me. Very. He has invited me via social media, he has requested me in many other ways. I, the signer of his check, he, has asked me if he could fuck me.
However, this would involve hurting the OM wife, and that….. that I cannot do.
I am (I think) still me and, you, still you.
So, why the change, why the shock because of the change? What has happened so that we, you and I, prettyfie the now, the future. Why is it we have lied? Or, we have embellished,(a better word) the reality, the truth. Where, Yes Where, did my E.M. learn to “embellish.”
When, where and why, have the each of us learned, given in to, thrown it all in the fire? After so many days of covering the asses of those in the highest of position?
When, where and why, did we accept the “bribes” of those who walk the halls, so that they can remain clean, even tough they are dirtier than nasty dirty? Even though they insist that we, you, me, take the blame, the hit, so that they come out smelling like clean, smelling like beauty? These very people, the people for whom we sold our soul, they continue to walk. And , while they walk, they terrify the young, those who fear the outside.
Where and why, my daughters. I’m sorry, I will continue to be sure you are covered. Remain the young ladies I raised for you to be.
What do you want (from me)?
What do you need (from me)?
Why, why won’t you give me the ticket needed to leave?
I just wanted to be loved, passionately, fully, and completely.
I have so much to give, I want so much to give, I ask for so little.
Why, why won’t you give me what I need to walk away from this monster who claims to care?
Waynemali The Bottom of a Bottlewaynemali “The bottom of a bottle”:
Thank you, no really, Thank you. I needed this, I need to be inwardly focused, to my creator. Thank you.
Even in our darkest moments
When the soul is low
I need you to know
I am with you
To the end of this earth
And when it seems the sun won’t shine
When daylight’s so far away
I want you to know
I’ll be the light
To illuminate your world
No drinking and posting
There is an entry I submitted a while ago, fessing up to drinking and posting. I shared that after 51 years of living, I started to take up drinking. Yes/or No, depending on how you view it, I’ve not been a drinker. Wasn’t interested, hated it, in fact, despised “it”, why? It had nothing to compare drinking , but my past (boyfriends) and at one time, present. It was all ugly, violent and taxing. Mostly taxing I must admit.
Have you ever been around a drunk person when you were not? Trust me, it will drain the life from you.
In case you “newbies” are wondering WTH I am “talking” about, look for the particular post. The post when I speak of getting hammered and….. posting.
Yes, I am one of them.
I shared there is a blog I frequent, the number one rule is DO NOT POST IF YOU’VE BEEN DRINKING.
Thus, the removed posts.
You see, my dear friends (and thank you for emailing, ensuring my safety of mind and physically as well) I hold the thoughts and feelings in, only to post late in the evening, when everyone has gone to bed, sleeping safely and comfortably in their bed. My readers, feeling completely in control of their lives. My readers, the ones who “get it.”
Okay, Newlease you ask, WTH is your point? Why thank you for asking.
My point is that there is so much more behind the scenes, and the “mostly” occurs in my mind. You know, those conversations you pretend to be having with that person who has pushed you beyond your limit. Could be your mother, instructor, manager, or, yes, your significant other.
In your mind, you begin with a confrontation, and it ends in a massive blowout, with you (me) standing on the soapbox, delivering a grand speech.
Well, I am here to tell you that yes, it is true, I write a long tirade about my life and the people ( My H) and their cohorts (other women) who complicate or, eff up your or somebodies life.
You see, I can’t wrap my brain around the “women” who settle for being the OW; where the hell is “sisterhood”? My Gosh, women are fighting for being treated like an equal in the workplace. They are insisting they can go as far as,\…. do as much as….the men. And, what do they do? Spread their legs for the first man who whines about their wife. He cries that she doesn’t cook, clean, doesn’t give sex any longer.
“Boo effing Hoo, my wife won’t give me what I think I deserve.”
She falls for it, vows to give him the best sex .ever. And then? Then what?
He goes back to his wife, the one who Carried, yes, CARRIED him through the ego crush he was served from his employer. She, wifey, carried him through his most insecure times, telling him what a man he is, ooooo ahhhh through those sex filled minutes. Only to find out that a younger woman skank, has promised to SEX.IT.UP. for him. Trust me, sista girl, he is the one who is a slob.
Last Thursday, I was early for a dinner meet up. I had made plans to meet the mother of my daughter’s boyfriend. “We,” think he is her soon to be fiance, husband. So I thought, “What the heck, might as well meet her sooner than later.”
Since I was early, so I decided to stop by Target, do a little looking, shopping, okay, spending.
When I parked, I noticed a man in a large truck across from me in the parking lot. I noticed him because his music was blaring.
After about twenty minutes in Target, I rounded the corner of the liquor isle, and there He was, I nearly ran him over with the basket I was pushing.
“Oh, hello,” he said, and I replied with a kind hello.
I made my way to the cosmetics and heard for the second time, “excuse me, excuse me.”
I turned to see the same man I nearly ran over, behind me. He handed me a piece of scrap paper and said to me, “just in case” He made a praying hands motion and said: “Please, please, just in case.” and off he went.
I looked at the scrap paper he handed me and on it was his phone number, along with his name.
I wondered, is this how my H does it?
Yes, he was good looking. No, I have not used the phone number, and yes, I am flattered.
Oh Boy. Oh Boy, Oh Boy, Oh Boy, you would not believe what happened over this past week. At least, I can’t believe it’s my life playing out like a Lifetime movie before my eyes.
I get in “these spots” , These spots where I wake up and realize the truth, the reality of my situation. The fog clears, the smoke clears, everything becomes crystal clear, as in, “Hey Dumb Ass, Your H is fucking people in your very own bed.”; that kind of clear.
I have conversations with myself, a lot. It’s what makes me wake up and see things the way I should have been seeing them.
I’m not crazy, I don’t hear voices, but I will speak to myself (inside my thoughts) as if I were having a conversation with another person, say, a therapist, something like that, it helps.
So I ask myself questions as if a therapist was asking, such as, “What the eff are you getting out of this relationship, the one that you’re a damn near positive your H is cheating before your fricken eyes?” Those types of questions.
So, during this conversation with my fake therapist, I was asked why, how and why again. Why would you allow this, how did it get so far? One day, I Finally, I had an answer.
You see, growing up with two sisters, the oldest one grade ahead of me, as most, high school was rough. My sister, she was extremely popular. Cheer Leader, fun, happy and strikingly beautiful. I was shy, hung out with the “low riders” I was a “wannabe” long story, I’ll tell you some other time. My point of the story follows:
My sister OR I would come home with a sad story, such as we were on the outs with the group, someone called one of us stuck-up, the rumors that usually accompany high school crap. However, my sister had it worse because she was (still is) striking, drop dead beautiful. I would come home with the group of my particular (girl) friends not liking me, I was the current “nobody talk to” person in the group of friends.
My sister and I were talking a few months ago how we would come home from school, glad the day was over, seeking comfort. We spoke of how we would pour our heart out to our mother, and her answer ALWAYS was “pretend you don’t care; pretend you don’t even notice.
So, when I had my imaginary conversation, I realized that I have “pretended I don’t care” for the past four years. I’ve pretended I had no idea that the woman standing before my desk was effing my H in the early morning, before work. I remember thinking “there is no way I will let this slut know that I care what my H is doing, who and when.
It sounds unreal I know, but I can’t explain the thoughts.
When this Bullsh*t began 31/2 – 4 years ago, I remember ” sleeza” stopped by the shop, pretending to be showing a new sample; She chit chatted with me, the only office Personnel the usual Bull Sh** a lover would glean for, and somehow worked my marriage into the conversation. ( At this point, of course, H was out, gathering customers.) She was asking about our vacation home, would I ever see myself moving to the far away home to work while H stayed behind for a few years. “Would you miss him?” she asked. I knew she was feeling our marriage out. In my mind, I thought ” I’ll be damned if I tell this whore, who is effing my H, yes, yes I would miss him, only for her to laugh with her friends later that she was taking over.” Rather than say “yes, dumb slut, of course” I said “ehh” she grew the biggest smile on her face.
From there the affair grew, Yes, From there, I pretended I had no idea because I wanted “Ahhhhaa, you MFer, caught you” evidence.
Wow- Just realized I haven’t even typed one word, one word of what I was going to tell my blogger friends about. You see, I finally told H, I knew way more than he realized I knew. I told him that all of his “you’re crazy” speeches are about to blow because I had some proof for him.
He hit the fan, as well as the Sh*t. Let us say I ended up taking refuge in a hotel for a few days, or, okay week or so. I will fill ya’ll in tomorrow. It. Is. Huge.