The smashed picture and the detritus of our relationship weren’t the only things in the box I’d sent “from Santa” to B. last Christmas. The real plum in that pudding was my journal. Before I started blogging I’d write all my observations and impressions of our long affair in bound journals. It’s true about what writers say of the satisfaction of the scratch of pen upon paper. I don’t get that sensory pleasure from tapping these keys as I did when I was scribbling in my journals.
B. said numerous times he wanted to read them. He wondered aloud what would happen to them if I died. With our relationship irretrievably broken, I thought I had nothing to lose (and nothing to gain, really) by sending along one of two journals I had filled.
I wrapped a ribbon around the latest journal (years 2007 – our parting in October 2013), placed it on top of all the junk I was returning to him, sealed the box and sent it on its merry way.
It arrived on his Michigan doorstep last Christmas Eve.
(I’m not stupid. I’d photocopied the entire journal before sending it off. There was some damned good writing in there that I wanted to keep. Perhaps I’d go back to it someday and reminisce once I’d gotten over the heartache. Or maybe I’d turn it into a book.)
Six months later, B. used the journal against me in court, alleging it was harassment. How could it be harassment when he ASKED for it and it was sent as a gift? (That’s a question my incompetent lawyer never asked him.) He also alleged the box of returned gifts that accompanied the journal was harassment. What lame accusations. It wasn’t harassment or stalking (he also accused me of the latter.) It was just a return of unwanted items, reminders of a dead relationship, that I no longer wanted to own. And my journal was mostly loving and certainly heartfelt, and something he expressly wished to have.
Now every time we meet in court he uses my journal as a weapon. It’s the gift that keeps on giving……grief, pain, spite, legal woes. He obviously missed all the parts where I wrote I loved him.
A former mistress (26 years, on-and-off) describes the good, the bad, and the ugly of her long-term affair. Conclusion: Affairs aren't necessarily destructive if kept in the correct perspective. Our experience enhanced BOTH our marriages.
That is, until his marriage ended and we began to love each other. When the affair morphed into a relationship, well, that's when it stopped being fun for me. We have now irrevocably split.
Lately I've been writing about the man who took his place in the "off" years of that 26-year-long affair. He was a dynamic sexual partner but we, too, now have irrevocably split.
These are our stories.