The jaw drop fantasy

I don't want Roger ( not his real name) back. The marriage is already cremated and in the urn. I have no illusions of him changing his mind or of wanting any form of reconciliation in the near future, this life or the next. It's over, and  what a blessing that is to say it and really mean it.

It's taken a long time to get to this point, it wasn't always like that. I wanted him back when I still loved him, I wanted him back when I didn't and for all the wrong reasons and I wanted him back when I no longer wanted him back, but for the children's sake. Now I've stopped.

Theres one lonely obsession still sticking to me like a burr, I look at it and wonder how healthy it is for me.  I wonder what sort of weed it is, and whether it poses a huge threat to my path of healing. It comes in the form of a dream.

Perhaps it's one universally shared by all woman summarily dismissed by their lifetime partners, replaced by the younger models. When a man begins cheating on his wife he has to view her as unworthy of him, he has to justify his behavior to his conscience that already has been taken hostage and duct taped to a ricketty old chair, shoved in a cupboard, a sock in its mouth. Every flaw you have becomes magnified in his mind, he sees you as worthless, his view of you irreparably changed. If you are married to a beaut he shares his world view with others.

Like a child denied a father's acceptance, the temptation is so strong to spend the rest of your life trying to prove to the ex he made the biggest mistake of his life. You obsess, you fantasize about the moment you walk through the door, gorgeous( you might have to rely on his sense of sight failing him) , successful in every right, his jaw drops to the floor, with a thunk, is this really my ex? He turns to look at the piece of replacement fluff by his side, and for a split second he questions his decision....

*SIGH* of course it is difficult to out WOW someone who is 24 years your junior. The sad part is deep down inside yourself, you buy the lie. You take your stinking self esteem credit card and swipe, you know you can't afford to do it, but you do, you buy the whole cockadoodle pack of lies, his, yours the whole lot.

When you have spent so much time with someone's sick thinking, your own becomes diseased. You start the perhaps he wouldn't have left if I was prettier, thinner, cleverer, you fill in the adjective dialog with yourself, swipe,swipe,swipe, your self-esteem credit card is burning hot and you are so deep in self loathing debt you don't know where to turn.

So you take that jaw drop fantasy out, and hold daily reruns of it as you fill the hole in your psyche with busyness and calories - and your new friend depression.