When my husband told me he had married again, and had another wife, it hurt me in a way I had never known or imagined. I never knew pain that bad existed. It was like my soul left me, my breath left me, like my inside was suffering third degree burns but my voice had died and I couldn’t scream. When he left me to be with her instead, I thought I’d go mad from the sheer pain of it. The fourth time he left me to spend her nights with #2, I cut myself, because the pain from the cuts made the pain in my soul more bearable. I was frighteningly close to really losing it. When he came back, and saw the wounds, he cried. He held me, told me how much he loved me, told me he couldn’t live without me. And four days later he left me to go back to her.
Just writing this makes me tremble. The memory of the pain of those days is haunting me.