I have to work on separating my infidelity from my identity. Separating the act from the actors. Which sounds simple but I’ve been living with this lie for a long time and to a large extent, it has been my identity.
Decisions, choices, and actions were constantly influenced by a desire to keep the secret. There is no condemnation, criticism, critique, judgment, disgust or contempt for my character, intelligence, maturity, mindset, mental health, or integrity that I have not already thought about my self during my secret keeping.
And often still do. The thoughts whisper in my ear; the invade my dreams.
It’s like a bucket under a leaking roof. At first, it seems like a little drip so you walk away from the bucket thinking you’ve got it handled and when it stops raining you’ll climb up onto the roof and fix the problem. However, when you return to the bucket, seemingly moments later, it’s overflowing.
This is how a moment of poor judgment, dishonesty, and selfishness became a tsunami that drowned my life and good people. I kept placing one larger bucket after another under the leak my choices were creating. By the time K called C, I knew the reveal was inevitable.
Even now I look up into the mirror and I think I should hide but I know hiding is precisely what people are doing when they keep secrets. I’m glad the secret is out. I’m sorry C and K have to carry any of it.
Love me. Hate me. Condemn me. Ignore me.
At this point, I don’t care because, frankly, I’m tired of hiding.