Right now I want to hate him.

I want to hate him, so I’m calling him names in my mind. Bastard. Jerk. Cheat. Liar. Asshole. Fat Bastard (that one sort of gives me a chuckle…) Jerk. Cheat. Damn Liar. Fucking Asshole. Bastard. Jerk. Cheat. Liar.

It helps for a moment. Gives me a glimpse of being able to see a light at the end of the tunnel, hoping that one day I’ll believe those words. Or just won’t give a damn that he is or isn’t those things. But I can’t keep that up for too long. Trying to hate him only works briefly.

Today he left for a vacation with his family. His wife, kids, his wife’s sister and her husband. It’s only been a week since his wife found out about the affair. I’m sure it will be a long drive in the car together. Hopefully, the children will be plugged into their DVD headphones so that they can’t hear the screaming silence. Or maybe ex and wife will be able to talk about things. I want his family to heal one way or another.

And right there lies the dichotomy of this situation: the desire to hate him and yet love him enough to wish him well.

This week would have been a lonely, anxiety-ridden, hellish week for me whether the affair had ended or not. If we were still together, I would be spending the week with no contact. We had already discussed that. Being on a family vacation doesn’t offer many moments to steal away to text or call your lover.

He was always very careful: deleting everything, not taking crazy risks in order to see me, compartmentalizing his dual life. He maintained a sense of control throughout the entire affair. His job trained him for that. That is why I was so surprised that there were still messages from me in his email account, waiting to be discovered. Either his wife is some secret computer hacker, or he ended up being careless.

When he last called me, to tell me his wife knew and end things, he accepted his part of the blame and responsibility. He didn’t sound mad – no yelling or name calling. Still very controlled. Maybe that was just the shock; he said he was in shock that I did what I did and that he never saw it coming.

I don’t know what’s worse: to think of him being indifferent or hating me.

I think I know the answer to that. I just don’t want to allow myself to think that he feels that way towards me.

Fat bastard.