26 April 2006
I don’t normally read advice columns but this one caught my eye in the Times, particularly the crushing weight of self-pity this woman spews forth after relating how she fucked up her own life by being selfish and disloyal, and how amusing it is that being an aging single-mother to an illegitimate brat is adequate punishment for her selfish actions.
There’s also a single sentence that makes me fucking fume. I’m sure you can spot it.
I met my ex-husband at school when we were both 17. We married at 22 and built a beautiful house together. From similar backgrounds, we shared the same sense of humour, had common goals in life and good jobs. It was idyllic in many ways. However, two years later we were having problems with our sex life. I felt that my husband was no longer treating me as a person he wanted to make love to. The sex was perfunctory and, if he’d had it his way, would have been done only when the lights were off. Around this time a man at work made a play for me. I was shocked: we were friends and he was planning his own wedding. But I was extremely flattered and, I’m ashamed to say, we had an eight-month affair.
I soon found, to my great sadness, that the affair only made the gulf between my husband and me even greater. I got a new job, ended the affair and concentrated on trying to get our marriage back on track. We went to counselling with Relate. My husband surprised me by going to see his GP about his premature ejaculation, a problem that he’d had for as long as I had known him. The advice was to have sex more often. We tried but it didn’t work. It had gone from my trying to get him to make love to me, to his trying everything to get me to make love to him. I loved him, but in the same way I would love a brother. I hadn’t gone off sex per se; just with him, my lovely, handsome husband. Four years after our wedding day, I made the decision that we would separate. I was under no illusions: I knew I would be hard pushed to find another man as decent as him. I left him with the house and everything in it because I felt so guilty. He was desperately hurt. I had ruined all our plans, our dreams — we would never celebrate any more birthdays or Christmases together, would never grow old together, would never have those children we had planned, whose names we had already chosen.
Two years later I met someone else and had a little boy. That relationship, never steady, broke down when my son was a few months old and I’ve brought him up alone. He’s now a happy, healthy five-year-old who brings me great joy. My ex-husband remarried and now has two children, younger than mine. Six months ago, I bumped into him in a pub — the first time for six years. It was lovely to talk to him again. It turns out that he has called his children the exact names we had picked together. They all still live in the same house that we watched being built. I find it bizarre; it is as though I never happened.
My main problem is, I am thinking about him constantly. I am older now (35) and wiser, and friends tell me that the sex soon goes out of most marriages. Happily single until I saw him, I now find myself craving the kind of security that he offered. As I expected, since leaving him I’ve not found his equal. We were always happy to see each other when we got home from work; the men I’ve met since have been unpredictable. I was so immature that I didn’t realise how good our life was. Can you offer anything to explain what is going on in this stupid head of mine? Writing this, in tears, I cannot breathe. There is nobody else I can talk to about it without feeling like a total fool. I just wish I understood why I feel like this.
I like the way her ex gave his two kids the same name as he and ‘Linda’ had planned on giving their own kids, if she’d bothered to stick around and have some. Heheh. I bet that must really rub salt into her self-inflicted wounds.
Note, naturally, that she was the one who decided to split up with her husband of course, even though she was in the wrong.
Did you spot the sentence that made me fume?
I left him with the house and everything in it because I felt so guilty.
That removed any chance I could have sympathy for this bitch. She thinks that she is somehow atoning for her sins by oh-so-generously leaving the husband she treated like shit the house. This is how a lot of modern women think, that they are utterly entitled to the house “and everything in it” even after they cheat on you, and are attaining sainthood by deigning to leave you with any possessions at all.
Fuck her. I’ve no sympathy. She’s welcome to her bastard brat and her loneliness. Her ex-husband is much better off without her.
I didn’t bother reading the advice given to her. It’s from a woman, so it’ll just be “learn to love yourself again” sort of crap.
posted by Duncan Idaho @ 5:24 PM
At 9:30 PM, Anonymous said…
i live my life on the edge ,i have lived with 11 different women i am 55 they all think they can change me—i have never had a real job and no education—i surf—have long hair–and —play poker all night—they catch me with other women all the time—women love bad boys—no.12 is just around the next corner