I feel trapped in this marriage. I'm no longer happy. And I find it harder and harder to fake it.
So I read a message thread between my husband (when he was still my boyfriend) and this other girl. The last exchange was in August of 2012, when he left for the US the first time. When this girl asked him how's the house he left behind, my husband (boyfriend) answered, "Oh, it's okay, my sister is there to manage it."
Thing is, when other people asked the same question, he answered truthfully: that he'll be leaving the house with me.
Funny how I was never mentioned in a message exchange that spanned 4 years.
***
I have not forgiven him for his past (repeated) indiscretions. I don't think I can. I try to, God knows I am still trying. But I know this feeling. I recognize this type of resolve from my past break-ups, when something in me just dies and no tears or any amount of apologies can change my mind. It's not a forced decision. It's just a sudden feeling of not caring anymore, the sudden inability to feel sympathy or affection or love.
I wish I felt this before I married him.
***
It used to be the other way around, me running after him, and him having me as a main dish but with many others on the side. I would often wonder then, when would he quit those other girls, and what would it be like to have the tables turned.
***
We're moving to a new place. I hope it helps get the feeling back. I'm kind of in limbo. I feel it in my heart, that I don't love him anymore. He's been asking for forgiveness for two long years, but all I could think of is how hot it would be to have sex with somebody else. I'm not happy in this marriage.
I find myself turning to prayer, more and more these days. I was a product of sin, conceived out of wedlock, but spent my whole life in Catholic schools. I see my parents as blind followers, perhaps as a product of the culture we were a part of, not necessarily because of a strong belief in a higher being. I don't know how, but early on, I found the balance between faith and science. I married a Zen Catholic, and we currently live with his parents who play out a mass recording every-fucking-day. No matter how many times older people have taught me how to pray properly. I could never sit through any of it - novena, mass, charismatic BS.
I view religion as a means to instill fear, to discipline people, to exploit the many. But in my own quiet time, in prayer, in what is commonly regarded as an expression of religion, the very thing I abhor, I find my peace. Sometimes, I think, we only need someone to listen to our ramblings about our everyday worries. When we don't have that someone, we turn to ourselves, and we call it prayer to avoid being called insane.
I only write when I'm sad. Notice how I only have 1 entry in 2013 but have several for October 2014. I'm not a great writer. I even think it's pretentious to call myself a writer. But the ones I manage to publish and post turn out okay, and I do get asked why I don't write that often.
I only write when I'm sad. And sadness is a feeling I've been trying to escape my whole life.
