I think this is it. I feel it, like the tautness in a string about to break. Yes, I think it’s the breaking point.
There’s really only this one more thing I need to say. And with it, I will exhale all this tightly bound anger. Let go. Move on.
Easier said than done, perhaps. But I’m hopeful. It helps, and is invaluable, to be surrounded by caring and smiling people offline, and have the words, advice, and listening ear of those online whom can relate more intimately, especially for this life we choose.
So here it is. This thing, that has occupied my mind for a good part of two weeks.
The lack thereof. I did not consent to being the other woman. I was not given that opportunity (though I probably would not have taken it…but of course he knew that). I understand that there are far more types of relationships in this world than many would care to know, and I also know there are often good reasons for them – whether they be affairs, poly relationships, swinging…and endless other combinations. I respect that there are people in this world who are able to balance the sometimes precarious connections, and that they can find others who share that lifestyle. And there are some cases where the lines of morality and emotion become blurred and intertwined and not so easily defined or demeaned…
But to not be made aware of what I was unwittingly participating in…
This is the factor that keeps me hinged onto the tempest. It is what makes me frightened of my fury.
It is what, above and beyond all, what cements the lack of respect I was given. The abused trust, the bruised pride; that is where it all stems from.
But I lied in saying there was only one. There is this other, which really does frighten me, even as I am painfully hopeful that, in this at the very least, at the very very least, he was honest. It stops my heart to think about this; that the course of my life could be bent so far from the path I had hoped; that I may have, through naive trust and personal negligence, opened myself to something potentially life-threatening.
I am getting tested. I have not yet set up an appointment; it is nearing the end of the term, and it seems the campus’ health services are more congested than usual, and I have not been able to get through. But I’m hoping to set one up next week, before the term officially ends.
And I am praying.
Am I overreacting? I do not think so…as long as I do not follow the path down to mindless panic. But I cannot deny it. I am scared. Thinking about this makes my mouth dry…my head pound…my lungs burn…
I have been reading, researching, straining to remember health class lessons; I have been keeping close examination of my body for signs, symptoms. Admittedly, though, it can be a counterproductive process.
I cannot deny, either, the resentment I feel in the impact this all is having on my ability to concentrate on my academics. I set high standards for myself this term, and I am truly disappointed by my performance.