Humiliation

Most of the time, I go about my day feeling fine.  Being productive, being active, enjoying the moment, enjoying my life.  But in random, unpredictable moments when I am triggered by a memory of B. and the relationship, I can explode into tears immediately and not even know why until I sit and process it for a good long while.

I cry because I remember and because I feel humiliated.
I have so many humiliating memories of our relationship. I feel that he has humiliated me to the utmost degree: in front of him, in front of others, and worst of all, in front of myself.  They say that when a man cheats, the wife is usually the last to know.  What that means is that everyone else knows, whispers, wonders, speculates.  The wife becomes a show.  A sad show and maybe even an entertaining show.  That's how I feel.  I feel like my life, over the past 2 years was an objectified show and I never knew it all that time.

Because I was triggered so much by memories of me that feel utterly humiliating, I didn't journal last week. At all.  Not in my handwritten journal, and not online either. Why? Because I couldn't begin to write/type. I felt like putting-it-down-in-writing makes it real.  And at that point, I don't want any of these memories to be real.  I don't want the "me" in that relationship to be real because I don't like her or respect her, and I personally feel embarrassed by her and for her.
I am quite mean to myself, I realize.  And it's because of these reasons that I couldn't write.

Thankfully, I have a wonderful therapist who lets me talk and cry and talk some more.  I don't really have that in my life, and it's rare for me to just sit and talk.  Usually, I let others talk, I fit my conversations into something relevant for others, and I avoid taking up all of the time and attention because it makes me feel like a spotlight-hogger and a narcissist.

But I have so many words and emotions that overwhelm me.  They pour out of me that unintentionally and without my permission. Without my awareness, they seep into my day to day life and they force me to cry. As hard as I try to control all of this, I believe that my body is telling me talk.  Feel. Express.  Let it out somehow.

But I can't guarantee that I'll do this well.  That I'm even doing this surprises me and is a significant challenge for me.  I can't promise to be consistent with this endeavor and I will probably struggle immensely trying to write out the memories/triggers.  But I'll try.