A little background...

Ok, so I guess that first post was a bit confusing.  That letter was written to Kelli, the whore who is still trying her best to destroy my family, in an attempt to "let her go", as suggested by my therapist less than a month in.  She suggested to me that I should "write a letter to Kelli" to get all of my feelings out, but "keep it, and never send it to her."  Now, how fucking cathartic is that?  Not very, considering that I wanted some sort of heinous awful revenge on her - I wanted to hurt her like she had hurt me.  Problem was (or should I say is), I am way too nice, well behaved, and well perceived in our little community - the community, I might add, that I grew up in.  Oh, how I wanted to go ape shit crazy on her trashy ass, but alas, I have, to my great dismay, remained well-behaved, protected my husband and his career, and been, dare I say it, "mostly nice" to the person I wish would get hit by a fucking mack truck.

I am starting this blog only three months after DDay in an effort to start the healing process for myself.  Otherwise, I fear that I will fall into a deep, dark hole of despair, anger, resentment and sheer agony that I may never come out of as a whole person.  Read below for the beginning of the shitstorm that I now call my life.

So...My husband is a neurologist, one of only a few in our community, and definitely the only hot one who is not approaching either the possibility of retirement or kicking the bucket sometime soon.  He is hospital-employed, which means he handles all of the really bad neurological shit that comes into the hospital, like strokes.  What that also means is that the hospital hires his support staff, and I have no say-so in who is working for him or with him every day.  Damn right - if he were in private practice, you can bet your ass, I would make sure his office employed only old, fat, unattractive nurses with a good work ethic.  But nope, not the situation here.  So, now you are beginning to see...my husband is a physician who has been fucking a nurse.  I know, right?  How much more cliche can it get?

Ok, let me start off by saying that I have been around since he was in med school and I was in law school - yep, you got it - I'm a lawyer, he's a doctor, we have three beautiful children, a lovely home, the perfect life, or so I thought.  He has always been a workaholic, even when he was in residency and we had no children.  Back then, I was the breadwinner - I paid off all the credit cards he ran up putting himself through college and med school, I paid our bills, bought him his dream car, bought our first new home, worked full time, and managed our household.  After we started to have children, I continued to do all of those things, plus everything child-related.  But I digress - we will get to all of my wonderful attributes later, and I will explain why he is a fucking nut for risking not having me in his life.  But anyway, he has always been a workaholic.

We chose to move back to my hometown when he finished residency.  I am an only child, and my parents are quite possibly the most amazing parents and grandparents on the planet, so of course, we wanted to settle near them.  When we moved back, I was pregnant with our second child, we were building our dream home, he was starting his new career and new neurology program at the hospital, and I was starting my own new business so I could work from home and spend more time with our children.  For the next three years, we focused on our children, our jobs, our home, our friends, and maybe not so much on each other.  We loved each other, but maybe had lost that "spark", that "in love" feeling.

Wow, this is really tough to get all this information out here in an understandable, semi-chronological fashion.  I am afraid I may suck at this blogging thing.  Nonetheless, I will continue.  So, around this time, my husband started fucking Kelli, a 25 year old nurse, who get this - did not work for him or with him....YET.  Stupid lil ole me would not discover it until a year and a half later, nine months of which I was pregnant with our third child.  I did, however, become suspicious about 6 months before I figured it all out.  And let me tell you, during those 6 months, if you looked up jealous, psychotic, nutjob pregnant chick in the dictionary, my chubby little pregnant face would be right there looking back at you with this perplexed look on my face.  I knew something was up, but I just could not figure it out for the life of me. 

During the summer of 2012, my husband started talking to me about this nurse at the other hospital in town that he wanted to recruit for the stroke coordinator position, someone who would work with him every single day, someone he claimed would be a perfect fit (little did I know she was apparently already a perfect fit for his dick).  He never told me how old she was or really anything else about her, other than the fact that it was extremely unusual to find a nurse who had stroke training.  Stupid me just assumed she was a middle aged married woman.  So he went on and on for several months about how he really wanted the hospital to hire this person, and then the talking stopped.  I didn't think much of it, as it was not unusual for the hospital to drag their feet.

So, come December, at the Hospital Christmas Party, needless to say I was shocked to be introduced to her and told she was the new stroke coordinator, and absolutely fucking floored to discover that she was a 25 year old single gal who I nicknamed Baywatch, because although she is attractive, she has that bleach blonde, mini-skirt wearing, blue fingernail sporting, too much cleavage hanging out, trailer trash quality about her - much like good old Pam Anderson.  As we walked away, I said, "Well, now I know why you haven't told me they finally hired her!"  In response, my husband claimed that he had told me, but I assure you that my memory is absolutely impeccable, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt he had neglected to give me that very interesting tidbit of information.  He also defensively insisted that he didn't think she was THAT attractive, which, looking back, should have been a dead giveaway, considering that we have always talked very openly about finding others attractive.  And I knew damn well he thought she was attractive - she was a younger, less mature,  much trashier version of me.  That night marked the moment I began to behave like a crazy person in my desperate search for answers...stay tuned.