Been a while.

Indeed it has been a few days since I posted something here. I tried holding stuff in, thinking that it may help.

But apparently little good did it do. Better out than in.

I saw someone a few days ago. An asshole. Someone I hate with all my heart and soul. It made me sick and disgusted. I’m sure you know why.

This is getting serious now. Everywhere I go, look, listen, or sit. Something triggers this fucking thing in my brain and I feel miserable all again. I want this to all go away.

Fuck, she asked me a few days ago if she was a trigger. Of course. Maybe most always, but yeah is sometimes. The disgusting ugly truth.

Does anyone know how it feels when you know that your wife has been fucked by two people before you, and seen by a number of people? You know what I mean by seen. Does anyone know how painful this is? How it burns your heart? How exhausted your brain gets?

The fear of her pictures still on someone’s phone. The fear of being seen with her in public by someone she’s been intimate with. The shame of being seen with her by someone who’s seen her in God knows what positions in pictures!

Are these pictures really deleted?

What to do.

I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel lost, and alone. No one is helping. No one can. I don’t know for how long this will go, but it is strong now.

I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see faces. I see bodies moving. People having sex. Her stripping naked. I see stuff happening.

I hate sleeping. And I’m afraid of sleeping. The thought of seeing those flashes keeps me scared and awake. And when I do sleep, I get these nightmares that torture me until I wake up – which is no longer than an hour after I feel asleep.

Medication won’t help. These thoughts are there. I don’t know how long they’ll do this to me. Do I need surgery? A psychiatrist? A psychologist? Whatever happened has happened. It was a black day. Or a black period. A period the least someone – the person involved – can do is be ashamed of.

Last week I had very bloody nose because of high pressure. I saw a name. It made me sick. I had a blood spot in my eye and blood run down my nose.

Disgusting. Sickening.


I hate this word, what it means, and everything about it. I hate it when people say it, and I feel sick to my soul when she utters it.

And I hate people who say it or remind of it.

God knows if there are other words that resemble places that I should also hate.

This is getting so hard now. My insides are tearing.


Where I go I see or hear something that reminds me.

Every time people come to my home.

Social media.



A distant neighbor.

And the funny thing is all random names I searched for, had some sort of interaction with her. This left me thinking .. how many where they?

How many people did she talk to? On a public timeline someone wrote to her “cum is cum, on your clothes or without.”

She’ll never understand this. My life is devastated. The inner peace I had is no longer with me. Forever it’s gone.

So much to say.

I have so much to say .. to let off my chest. But I can’t.

There’s no one to listen. Whatever I have to say is nasty. But it is how I feel. But what can I do? There are two types of people who can listen. The first is a stranger whom will not understand nor know why I feel like this.

And the second is the same person who’s hurt me the most, ever. Even if I do say what I have, it won’t do good for her. It will hurt her.

Even if she says she can listen, I know she can’t. That’s just talk. I know what will happen if she listens and hears me out. She’ll break down. There’s no use of that.

She took something from me .. forever. A dream .. a pure dream. That is all gone.

I will have to life whatever is left of my life alone, tired, and hurt.

It’s complicated.

This is very complicated. It is getting harder day by day.

Something happened before, in the past, that is driving me crazy now, but I can’t do anything about it, and it is about someone I love, yet it hurts, but there’s nothing to do about it. But it exists. It happened. It still is. At some point of time, it was happening. And I was alive, and maybe in the picture.

I can’t stop imagining – though I would do anything – her texting all day and talking at night (throw in sending some explicit photos) to another human being. Let alone riding in a car, talking about whatever. Sure, a military person – with their high intellect – focuses on doing nice stuff for a girl he got to know from the street (or social media?). Sure, let’s talk like friends.

And what’s worse is that I was in the picture. I knew her. I was loving her. I was literally making gifts for her. Thinking of ways to make her feel .. special. But no, there was disgustingly another person .. actually in two periods of time. First when I barely knew her, she told she was in a relationship – and I don’t know what kind of relationship, but it clearly involved sex. I hope it wasn’t a raw, animalistic, relationship where “Hey, I’m horny, when can we fuck?”

I wish it wasn’t her who initiated the sex wanting.

As for part two, it was a guy who she’d send pictures to. Ride in the car with. Because he’s nice and has a charming way of talking maybe? So yeah, let’s go ahead and send him photos. Nude? Lingerie? Gym? She was working out at the time. Fuck, was I sent photos others have seen?

Fuck this. All of this. Fuck whatever I know, knew, and saw.

It is like cancer eating through me. I feel weaker day by day.

Names I hate

A. F.

A. F. (2)

M. E.

M. M.

S. A.

M. S.

M. S. (2)

A. B.

S. S.

M. S. (3)


I’m sure there are more. But these are who I hate. If you’re smart, you’ll remember who.



This is so bad that everywhere I look,  everywhere I go, every person I listen to, reminds me of this deep, deep, regrettable disaster. I swear.

Social media? A close friend mentions a certain someone.

Radio? A quick interview with a fucking policeman.

Family and friends? Sure, I’d love to listen to their chalet plans.

Who knows, I might even bump into someone anytime soon. After all, the world is a small place.

Changing a phone number was a joke, to me at least. All of these dickheads (I shouldn’t say dickheads, this is what possibly made them attractive, maybe) all have and use social media handles. And there was some sort of interaction. If that is still the same, then a mere phone number change isn’t a big deal. But if it makes her feel better, then yeah why not.

Just imagine for a second here. The fucking animal that fucked your wife in a chalet – I don’t even know what the theme was, bitchy, love, quickie, lust .. fuck. – has contacted her just a few months back. And I for one, have reason to believe that there was a high chance that she has read what he sent. Oh and it wasn’t the first time he’s tried to. This means, that he still has feelings. Imagination. Fuck he might even have pictures of her and looks at them every now and then. But sure yeah, let me just be normal again. It is just something that happened a few years back, nothing more nothing less.

It makes me sick seeing how much she tries to simplifies that.

This is deeper than any soul can imagine. At least with me. The problems of her past are my problems now, as her present and future problems are. Moreover, when this black past rises in different ways every now and then, it makes me to some point responsible.

I swear I laugh whenever I hear “this has nothing to do with you” and “it happened before I knew you”, yeah shut up. Shut the fuck up.



Since the whole thing revolves around sex and erotic behavior, and every erotic drawing, thought, text, or whatever reminds me of the black days. How the hell am I still attracted to her?

And I’m attracted more and more every day .. is this love?

I’m hurt, yet I feel that this same topic with her feels .. comforting.

I’m shattered. I swear. Never have I ever been this hurt or felt this bad. Down. Now I have to act it up in front of people. To avoid and concerns or questions, I have to laugh, joke, and fake me body language.

I really have so much to say .. to ask .. though no one listens and no one will answer me. I’m alone in this, and probably will always will be.

Post-therapy Day 1 Session 2

So here’s the second session for the day. I had a quick drive to pick up something and came back. Apparently driving alone, with the view of sand around me, seeing typical cars driven by the type of scum I have in mind, and the heat, all brought shitty thoughts again.

I’ll be doing this for sometime now, the exercise I mean. I don’t know if this is right or will actually help, but I’m grasping for air. In any place. With anything. This session didn’t do much to help. But all I’m doing now is the exercise itself.

I have no idea how I’ll force myself to stop thinking but in a controlled timeframe.