Disloyalty and living with Charlie

My wife may have hated me for our entire relationship and I simply accepted a one-sided love constellation. She had trouble maintaining friendships with men. And women. She did ok with pets as I recall.

Assuming this isn't the case and she either tolerated or liked me periodically, her crass dismissal whenever she had affairs was belligerent and also sufficiently self-justifying to be worth a chuckle.

Years of activities, support, high fives, hugs, adventures, discussions, nakedness (physical, not emotional).

Meaningless. I'd face a wall of hate the minute she had another penis or vagina in sight.

You're always angry (she'd scream).

You broke a plate (while she was filming us on her phone).

You're a cocaine addict ( while she was talking to all my friends—never to my face).

When I think of her disloyalty, it feels like I'm being assassinated. By my best friend.

Stabbed in the back so many times I stopped defending myself.

Gaslighted. (I helped you when your dad died! She actually probably says complete bullshit like this to others. She was the worst partner in history when my dad died.)

I became dead. 💀 (that's me at my birthday party).

Murdered by hate.

This is the basis of my PTSD. I can't see Mina as anything other than pure dark oozing evil. I lived with a terrorist for 28 years. I will function alone, and I will learn to accommodate depression, as long as I'm medicated. But will I heal? I don't think victims of mortar attacks in Viet Nam have ever healed. My war with an enemy was so much longer. My betrayer. Mina was my Charlie.

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