Sometimes you hit a point where you either change or self destruct.
I remember being fascinated by the death drive in psychoanalysis when I was in my Psychology class. The very idea that humans have an innate drive and instinct towards death and self-destruction, like a hidden desire. Sometimes I wonder how much I exhibit this.
It was your average fateful Saturday, little did I know the events I was about to set in motion. I’d gotten up to get the baby and give my wife a chance to sleep in before she had to get up to prepare for work at her part time job. Plus, it gave me a chance to text Her away from prying eyes. We said our good mornings, she was a cutsy, girlie girl, something I just happen to find very attractive overall, frequently repeating the last characters in a word like she had suffered a stroke at the end of her sentence, I found just about every silly thing she did adorable and endearing. We shared our laughs, and our flirts, teasing, pushing and pulling, it was all natural, made me smile and brightened my day as I played with my son, and then prepared his breakfast.
My wife got up, we shared coffee, chatted. We’d been on a good streak actually. We’d been paying off debts with our tax return, gotten some new furniture and rugs, it was time to talk about getting rid of my old beater and buying a new car. The romance was gone, but we were a life team, and a good one at that, despite some dark moments of misery, malignant spats, and overall inability to stimulate a modicum of sexual fervor. But, as an adulterer, my needs were being met on the side. Though, She had made me think about what was out there, what I was missing, but I doubted I’d ever leave this marriage situation much as I dreamed about it, there were far to many obstacles at that moment.
I talked with my wife, as she prepared for work. I can’t recall what about now. I paused part way through our conversation to check on a message from Her. I can’t recall what about now, I think we’d been talking about tickle spots on the body, just a little casual flirting.
“Who are you messaging?” My wife asked.
“Just texting Saul,” I replied.
“No, you’re not. That’s a different chat app, and why are there heart emojis, is that another woman?!” my wife looked concerned.
I suddenly realized she’d caught a glimpse of it as I passed the mirror, how could I be so careless.
“Ummm…. no, it’s just Saul” I stammered.
“Then show me.”
She had me, I hadn’t texted Saul in days, there was nothing for me to show her. I couldn’t show her this chat log, or any chat log that would come close to satisfying her suspicion.
“Jason, just show me, whatever it is, I want to know,” she started to cry, tears streaming down her face.
I couldn’t, I couldn’t show her. Not all those things I’d said to Her, not the love, not the desire, not all the secrets, they would hurt my wife beyond belief. I had always said to myself that if I was found out I wouldn’t share the truth, there would be no point, it would just hurt her. But, I needed something, some excuse, some half-truth. What was the closest thing?
“I can’t show you,” I said.
“Why? Why can’t you show me. It’s another woman, isn’t it? Who is it? Please, just show me,” my wife continued pleading.
“She’s a friend, I can’t tell you more,” I said.
“Why are you doing this? It is another woman, Jason please, I need to see!” She was crying, holding out her hand for the phone.
I paused, breathing deeply. I had to give her at least some of the truth now, and figure out how much to reveal later.
“I have a blog,” I began, “That’s how I met her, she read my blog.”
“A blog? About what?”
“I write, stories, memories, thoughts. About a lot of things.”
“I need to see it, and I need to see those messages.”
“I can’t show you either.”