"....I love her too." I didn't know what to do. The rest of the day I was numb and couldn't muster the strength to do much of anything except mope around in a trance-like state. Ryan relied on me more than Lee; my mother, stepfather and I were really all he knew and I was all that was left. A pleasant and easy to please baby, even his whimpering had me wishing I didn't have to be his mother. I regretted giving birth to him. Horrible, I know, but it's how I felt.
When I woke up the next morning it was the beginning of an emotional roller coaster that would not be ending any time soon. Anger filled me. "How he could strip me from those who loved me and bring me down here to deal with this shit?! He should have NEVER came and got Ryan and I. He could have ended it in Cuba, it would have hurt but I could have learned to move on." In the kitchen making coffee stood my solemn husband, I glared at him and screamed, "How fucking could you? How could you do this to me? To us?", and then I smacked him hard across his face. He didn't strike me back, he broke into tears--not because I hurt him, but because he hurt me.
Then he was off to work--leaving our son with his emotionally unbalanced mother who was coming unglued at the seams.
In hindsight, I think I was going through depression. Due to the major rift in his life of only having me now, Ryan was a bit clingy--and I found myself resenting him. I went to the doctors about two weeks post affair discovery day and told her I was getting really irritated with Ryan because he always followed me everywhere. She knew I'd never beaten him but could obviously see my frustration and suggested I close the door to his room and ignore his cries. I did. Poor little Ryan, I was a complete wreck. I didn't want to rock, hold or cuddle him. Hell, I could barely muster a smile even when he smiled at me sweetly with his small round face and green eyes. I fed, clothed and bathed him but instead of picking him up, I snatched him up. Instead of holding him gently with warm and loving arms, I basically just let him be on me. He was a good sleeper, but my behavior inadvertently affected him and he wasn't going down so easily anymore because he was upset. Not everyday was like this. On days I was sad I found comfort in my little man. But, he didn't know if Momma was going to look at him lovingly or with hate.
I wish I would have told my doctor what was going on at home; perhaps she would have suggested counseling or anti-depressants. Since I kept my mouth shut though, I dealt with it the only way I knew how. It was almost like I was punishing him for his father's affair. What's done is done, I cannot go back and change my behavior. I've forgiven myself for treating Ryan so poorly, I had to or the guilt would eat me alive to this day.
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