When I arrived back in the UK, for the first few weeks I dealt at a complete loss with the only emotion of after-math that was resonating with me, the feeling of numbness.
There was no predominant pain, it was as though someone had taken an ice cream scoop and delved into my heart emptying out its contents, my body felt hollow and as though it was an unwanted living space.
I looked in the mirror on the flight back from Thailand perplexedly and for the next few days when I was home I just stared honestly into the eyes of my reflection trying to perceive the face of who I was.
I looked boring, quite possibly one of the most tedious, soul-less people I have ever encountered. My eyes were so puffy from all the previous crying of the past two weeks since I had told him that my face, bare without make-up only heightened my natural ugliness, the inner and outer ugliness of who I currently was.
I felt so alone and solely saddened within myself for what I had done that the whole flight I didn’t sleep. It’s the first time in my entire life I had a whole row of seats to myself, all three for the full 16 hours. The copious amount of times when I have walked to the toilets on a flight and seen someone fortunate enough to have a full row, I’ve always thought to myself “if I was ever that lucky, i’d sprawl out and have the most amazing sleep known to mankind”.
I sat there in my secluded singular seat, looking around at the couples inflight snuggled watching a film, overlooking the divergent two seats I sat next too, unoccupied and empty just like my feelings. There were people on the flight together ready to take on their lives back home after what must have been a romantic get-away holiday, or even for some, a honeymoon. I observed with a saddened grimace, reflecting remorsefully on everything I had just given up, sipping the last remanence of my 4th gin and tonic before returning to another mind dumbing film that would avert my need to think about the situation.
But during whatever I had on, all I could think of was the questions I had for myself.
What is wrong with me? How could I do this, especially to him? Who am I to do something so awful to someone? What is going to happen next? Why am I not feeling any animosity towards what I had done?
Days filtered into the next three weeks or so of me dawdling around the house in a total world of disillusion and vacant self-wallowing.
My brain, the only way I can depict it felt as though someone had disconnected my understanding to feel, which left me brain dead, at a comprehensive loss of motivation and just well and truly unfazed with any little or large challenges the day held for me.
I even tried to generate a more emotional environment for me by going through all my old photo-albums and pictures of him and I, reminiscing at the memories we captured and the nicknames we will never say to one another again or hopefully not replace with someone else. All the destinations we went to visit and the uplifting love that we passed- through to each-others life’s all before I became such a vendetta.
I felt as though I should be crying in a more punishing mess most of the time, pleading for him back to the universe, but instead I expressionlessly observed his face, the more and more I looked into the pictures the more it was morphing into a stranger’s face and as my eyes diverted around at the background of our Amalfi and Bali holiday pictures everything became a huge misperception as to why this all happened.
why me, why him, why love, why everything.
For me this was the cruellest stage to find momentum to get through, and some days I still re-live through the unwelcome invite it stipulates into my life.
It’s as though you have just had the lethal injection put into your arm, your life is decelerating, but you’re so unaware of what point there ever really was to it now that you’re no longer where you were, you’re losing control on taking direction for yourself and you’ve lost the fight for the relationship.
I battled with the deadening hurt for weeks as it coincided very well with the need to feel guilt-ridden. What I did was a cause to end us, but that doesn’t mean he’s the only one that gets to feel wounded and let down by it all, I may have provoked all of this to happen, but to me if anything, that makes it so much harder to get over,whereas he had reasons that helped him to move on into a better place much quicker than me.
Feeling emotionless left me always contradicting myself, you sense as though you have to be rejected from the facility to feel anything sad or any pain, because you are the cause that it stems from, so you numb it with everything you can, but this will only re-invent itself into another sensation, causing your journey to progression even more challenging for you to go through.
I was completely lost as to where my life needed to be and how to take control of it
But the one I am looking for is me.
It was such a huge awareness having full supremacy and grasp over my life again;
I can do anything, go anywhere, see anyone, be anyone, but why didn’t I feel this was optimistic yet?
If I looked into the impending future, I could see it as an encouraging beginning and I knew the advantages that I would benefit from by making this decision, but I just couldn’t allow myself to feel happy about this.
When I was with him, I loved him and I adored him and what our relationship stood for but as soon as I took myself out of that bubble whilst travelling I lost all sight of that, and what I didn’t expect was just how gigantic the world would look from my perspective in contrast to the tiny life I was existing in.
My life was full of abundance, I had perfect friendships that circled around my perfect relationship with someone who got me and knew me so well and worshipped me as an individual, who always initiated that I spend my time how I need to as long as I kept my dedication to him and worked with our relationship. That’s the view I had when I was within this bubble, but the more days I spent outside of this life I left, the more my mind took control of what it was I really wanted in life.
I just wanted to be me, I wanted to feel completely well and truly free.
He was a beautiful soul and the man I wanted to marry, but he just wasn’t fit for the time being and I knew having realised this, it was wrong to be with him as he so willingly spent day in day out sacrificing his life to love me and I would never forgive myself if I wasted his time or mine anymore.
I could see my whole future with him, to the day of us being elderly together and that terrified me more than anything when I was away from it as I knew exactly how my life would turn out and exactly what to expect.
If I wanted that it shouldn’t have filled me with anything other than a positive reinforcement for our committed life ahead.
When I was with him that’s all I wanted, I had moments of doubt, but assumed that was normal for thinking so far ahead with someone, but when I wasn’t around the same affectionate reassurance of himself or of us as a couple, I realised I didn’t want to live like that and I’ve still never had the ability to create an adventurous life in the carelessly, spontaneous ways I’ve always wanted to, desiring and achieving anything I set myself up for, because, before I even tried to create this life, I had met him.
I cheated because on a level of subconsciousness, I wanted it to end.
I knew as soon as travelling was over, so was this image I held of what I wanted my life to look like, I just hadn’t had chance to live it yet.
We had been counting down and waiting for the day my block period of travelling was over to move out, settle down and commit our lives to one another to the next level.
It wouldn’t have been fair of me to demand more time out from what he had already spent waiting around for, for me to skip and flee off to the next country for a countless month or so here and there whilst he kept his life on hold some more for me.
Through the distance that was between us, I recognised this wasn’t what I craved in life and by cheating it created a prevalence of unwarrantable happening for him to reason with, therefore permitting me not to have to make the decision myself, so yes, I took the cowards route out by deliberately infecting the situation other than judiciously discussing it with him, as I knew he would always want to make it work for the long run.
I only can illustrate this information now, because I’ve been through it and taken a step back. During the time of actually cheating and afterwards, for a while I had no conspiracy as to why I did it or why I would hurt someone so badly on purpose and with full intent.
I had to allow the time to tick forward and the dust to settle around me to see the new window of clarity and justification that was there all along.
It doesn’t make it okay and it doesn’t make it any easier, I still loved him profusely and he had captured my heart more than anyone ever has and to date, ever will, but for this period in my life that just wasn’t enough for me, a relationship with him or anyone just wasn’t enough for me.
I hate myself admitting it because he said so himself, before any of this became clear to me, that he was never adequate for me.
I denied it as I was listening to how cutting that announcement was and never wanted him to doubt himself in this situation, but the truth never sits pretty when confronted and never the less it is always a required factor of making progress and moving forward in life.
I was sure I would continue to make countless mistakes that would erupt before knuckling down to pave the path of self-love, but with more support from my closest friends and family, the easier this stage became.
Talking about it always allows you to rediscover feelings, just always remember if you ask then you are guaranteed an opinion, and it may not always be the one you want to hear, but gaining an alternative perspective from someone’s else’s view-point has never failed to be anything other than a brilliant insight to new information and a way of looking at something in a different light for me.