I should begin, with so very many things. With a sad boy, and puppet strings, but mostly, it should be noted that I have so very very many indiscretions and no room to blame or judge. I have far to much to deal with on my own, and I'm not sure I even know where to start. I'm trying to be delicate. Because while I'm no saint, I don't want to be caught smearing someone else in the name of feeling victimized. But this is for me and noone else.

It should probably also be noted that there is a chance that this little ball of pain could very much be of my own making. The sculpture should never be made to serve only the sculpter. And I'm tryng to be objective in my subjectivity.

As it turns out, I'm not the kind of person that can handle my wife having an affair. No matter how in-elicit. I had a suspicion of this, which notes yet another of my suspicions beginning to bear fruit. It would be fine with me, as long as I didn't know.

She isn't having an affair, depending on definitions, but thats of no comfort to me. And While I would rather she never read these words- I want to be supportive - Who's supporting me? Right now, this seams like the best way for me to be the hero, and still find a way to scream and cry. Thats why I'm writing here.

I once told her that I wouldn't take offense if she had an affair with a woman because I can't offer her tits and vagina. Yesterday morning, she woke up with another woman, and proceeded to finger fuck/get fucked until nearly noon. It should have been erotic. I was in that bad. Instead it was traumatizing. Every suspicion my wife doesn't actually want my body, doesn't want my sweet caresses, and doesn't want me, was given a voice. I laid there and pretended to be involved. I spent time convincing her that it was good for her to follow her passions wherever they leed. I still believe that. Because someday I hope that she gets what she wants, instead of feeling suspicious that she doesn't, that she can't love me. That she is wasting away on a sad, manipulative little boy with nothing to offer her. I'm trying desperately to be her support. To support the woman, my friend, who intwined with her for a morning. I'm trying desperately not to throw tantrums, and scream, and cry, to sit patiently while they cuddle and carress each other softly like new lovers, never spending time apart. So instead I scream and cry here. Because it's about all I can do. Avoid crying, and cry.

A part of me wants to tell a jealous boyfriend, to let loose all my indescretions in a torrent of honesty. And let all my pain be shared. But in the end, I don't think that will make me any happier. I'm not sure anything will make me happier but time. I'd love to make new lovers include me in there happiness, but I don't want to make life complicated, when there is nothing simple about it to begin with. At the end of the day, I've chosen to be so very, desperately, painfully lonely. Because I want others to be capable of examining themselves with out me getting in the lens. Because I want to be chosen for who I am, and not for my pain and screaming. Because I want to be loved honestly, and not pittied and petted. And because knowing oneself is so very, ultimately important.

And I'm so nervous that indiscretion was a one day special. That all my fears and pain given voice, are no more than pain and fear and I am the voice. There will be no monster. There will be no more than suspicion and a feeling that I'm not loved.