I haven’t written a post in a long time because I just don’t know what to say. I can’t tell the difference between what’s real and what’s not anymore. I can’t tell what’s anxiety or depression and what’s really me. And part of me thinks there isn’t a real me anymore, not beyond mental illness. What’s real and what’s not real? What constitutes real? Because anxiety feels pretty real, whether it’s chemicals and hormones or not.
I have no hope in anything. The future is bleak and as colourless as the present. I see no happiness in my future, no improvement, no ‘things will get better’.
I thought I’d forgiven my husband for his infidelity, but I don’t know if I have. I feel incapable of trusting him. I see lies everywhere. I imagine deception in everything. I’m half expecting, each day, to find something that proves he’s cheated again. Or to have him confess it himself. I feel worthless and ugly and unlovable, so it doesn’t make sense to me that he would be faithful to me. And I blame him for the way I feel.
I had an ex boyfriend who was unfaithful to me and that started off a tonne of insecurities about my self worth. My husband used to tell me he’d never cheat on me because he knew how much it would destroy me, and now I’ve discovered that he was being unfaithful even as he was giving me those assurances of his loyalty.
So now he says he’s changed, that he won’t lie to me anymore, that he’s committed to our marriage. But how can I believe that? What if he’s still lying to me? How can I ever know?
I want to trust him but I’m so scared of being hurt again. I want to forgive him because it’s just festering inside me and making me bitter and angry and hateful.
I want to feel hope. I want to see beauty in the world, in my life, in me.
I don’t know who I am.
What is the point of you, Ella?