Today I hate my life.

I hate that my actions, or lack thereof, caused my husband to get inappropriately involved with another woman. (I know I’m not responsible, but…)

I hate that, because of the choices he made, I’m now suspicious of every fucking move he makes.

I hate that I’m afraid to ever bring anything up for fear that he might get mad and twist my words and suddenly I’m the bad guy.

I hate that his subconscious mind is causing him to act out in a way I could never have expected.

I hate that, because of it, he’s embarrassed and doesn’t want to talk about it. (I’m his wife.)

I hate that, when confronted and questioned, his first reaction is to lie or avoid the truth.

I hate that our recent history gets rehashed every time we have a serious conversation about our relationship.

I hate that all of our serious relationship talks always include the phrase “if this works out…”

I hate that the thought “I wish he would just leave me” sometimes crosses my mind when I have to confront his frustration and impatience over pain he caused.

I hate feeling happy… and constantly worrying that he doesn’t feel the same.

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