Do I have enough strength for this?  Do I have enough faith that someone new will enter my life?  I feel like it hinges on that as long as she's moved on and happy with someone else, as long as I sit here alone.  It's a crisis of faith, as that's not what I'm supposed to put my faith in anyways.   

She's going with him to Australia.  For two weeks.  And I'll be here working on some level, and in vain, to try and win her back.  But she will never come back to me.

I want apply sweat and determination and work the problem, but she can't be solved.  I can't make her love me, and in my gut I know that I shouldn't have to, but despair washes over me anyways, and I feel worthless if I'm not good enough for her to want.  She's deceitful and she's selfish and I want her anyways.  How do you solve that?

I'm tired.  I feel like I'm treading water without getting anywhere.  She and I talked at length last night, mostly about our son, and how this whole split has affected him and how me spending more time with him would help.  All I can think about is what kind of life we could enjoy right now with a two income household and a busy, but enjoyable, schedule of seeing him off to this practice, that game, a family day at the pool.  And how beautiful she is.  She's intoxicating to look at. 

Have you ever seen AI?  Once a final code is spoken the boy is forever bonded to his new mother.  The analogy isn't a 1:1 fit (no mother issues here) but I feel like a code was spoken and I'm doomed to be in love with her till the end.  This is no longer a freshly broken heart speaking... it has been years, and I would still make very nearly any sacrifice to make her love me.  But she doesn't, and she won't.

I feel like life is a bitter compromise now.  My son is the reason I'm still here, but the boyfriend and her are shacking up soon, so they'll forge a "family unit."  I feel, predictably, like the odd man out x10.  I'm growing accustomed to that, too.  He has spent the past two Christmases with my son and her family (whom I love and miss) in my place.  They have traveled together a lot, and all I remember from my last real vacation (four years ago and counting) is the shame of not having enough money to contribute or buy her much.

I had a dream about her a couple nights ago, and I woke up so sad and lonely at 5am I could barely stand it.  I feel like I could have been happy having never met her, but at this point, after falling so deeply in love with her and marrying her and seeing our son grow up, I don't feel like I can be happy without her.  It is painful insult to injury that she instantly moved on to someone else and is decidedly happy and far better off than I.  I'm growing very weary of this aching feeling.

At the crux of my decision to stay or go is my faith.  Joyce Meyer said "Hope is the platform that Faith has to stand on."  I have very little hope left at this point.  More often than I'd like my faith is wavering.  I pray that God would increase it on a regular basis but I feel like the only way to keep this up is to stick my proverbial head in the sand by throwing myself into work and basically ignoring the life around me.  Every once in a while I'll come to, and when that happens it only takes a short glance around for the weight of just how bad it is to hit me.  Nobody's chasing you, Tanner.

Sometimes I feel like I have a lot to offer, that I would be a great husband and a wonderful father, but I suppose I didn't deliver or prove it when I needed to so she picked up and moved on, just like that.  I wish I could have another chance, but she's already moved on.  I'm only 27, and I've already lost my family and the love of my life.  How quickly I became disposable.  All I feel is loss.  It surrounds me, envelopes me, and permeates everything I do.  I feel like my effort at work is in vain, like the miles I run are in vain, and sometimes like the prayers I pray are in vain. 

A very strong part of me feels like my prayers will never be in vain, but I'm so challenged by my reality and the sheer longevity of this pain that I have little hope, and wavering faith.

I'm sad about our son, because I love him very, very much.  I know he hurts inside about the whole ordeal, and the realization that I'm making him feel guilty or ashamed by my own inability to come to terms with his mother's decisions only makes me feel more sure that I should give them a chance to be normal and happy one day without me.  I want him to be happy, to have a normal life, to have that family unit. 

I don't have the ability to process this hurt and bitterness.  I wish I was strong enough, but I'm simply not equipped.  Maybe I'm incapable of venting because I quickly do the mental jiu-jitsu around the fact that it won't change anything, that it won't change her heart, and it won't change my hurt.  And I'm tired of hurting.  I'm tired. 

Some days my mind wants to forget everything that's happened and I just want to love her like I used to.  It's a very strong feeling.  In a way I'm glad it hasn't worn off quickly...  you spend so much time wondering when you're young if it was real, and I don't wonder about that anymore.

This movie stings but it's accurate.  Clive Owen goes a little crazy, it's a bit difficult to watch his character.  There's no kids in this movie, though.  It's infinitely worse when family is broken up, that fallout doesn't really go away.

You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am Human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does

No one’s laughing at God
When they see the one they love, hand in hand with someone else
And they hope that they’re mistaken

THE GLASS IS HALF FULL

I don't have words for how difficult it is to have hope in the tough moments, but it's becoming a little more commonplace. It's alarming, to tell the truth - the almost a knee-jerk reaction of toughness that follows the low points. It's as if my psyche knows it's weathered as much despair as it can. The resiliency is a welcome survival mechanism, unsettling as the phrase "survival mechanism" may be.

I heard this quote in a book once:

"My father taught me that the happiest people in the world have something to do, something to hope for, and someone to love."

I can tell you the most miserable place you can be is having nothing to do, nothing to hope for, and no one to love. It's an outright dangerous place to be. But you can't stay there. No one can. You have to cry, lay in bed for two days, pray, then put your damn shoes on and run. You have to mine hope in budding trees, in children playing with their fathers, in sermons, and in songs. There is no short cut through grief. When it comes to it, there is only survival.

I know one day I'll take solace in the fact that I loved her completely, that I "left it all out on the field" as my Dad used to say, but I have yet to reap that reward. I never gave up on her, even when it meant that her giving up on me would sting more. It wasn't out of any smug self righteousness, either. Two years on, with her a year into her new love, there is little point. I loved her. I still love her, though she's different now. It's hurts to type that. My wife, the woman I've loved for so much of my life, doesn't exist anymore. I see her ghost all the time. She has our son call me, tells me how much he misses me, but she doesn't feel the same. She wants me to visit so I can see him, so she can spend time with her new love.

No one ever tells you how difficult it will be. They either feel bad adding insult to injury or, more likely, can't fathom how hard it will actually be or how long it will take. I wish someone had gotten in my face and told me straight up:

"This may very well be the hardest thing you ever face, but you have to face it. You will have days when there is a literal, physical pain from grief and hurt. It won't take weeks or months, but years to process what has happened, so adjust your perspective and expectations accordingly. Nothing about it will be fair, so forget fair exists. You will hope for her, and she may even let on that she still feels for you, but love is a commitment, and she doesn't love you. She will never love you, and likely never did. The deceit that took place was a possibility in her heart the entire time, so her love was never what it seemed. She will look, sound, smell, and act the same as the woman you fell in love with. When your hands touch, you will still long for her, and this will not pass easily. You will not be able to imagine how this will pass, nor are you supposed to be able to.

In your darkest moments, there will only be you and God. You will fall to your knees, weak and with tears in your eyes, and He will never let you down. Moving forward, however incrementally, you must begin to expect blessings in your life. Hope is the platform that Faith has to stand on, and you must be ready when God wants you to move forward. You can waste your whole life looking back if you choose. There is certainly less resistance down that path, so be mindful of how the devil will try to use anger and hurt against you. Fight back. Character is built when we do the right thing when it's hard to do it. Whenever there is a fork in the road, choose love, and when it hurts, pray for strength. Do not waiver from this.

Forgive her. Forgive the debt. You can chase it but it will never be paid. It will never be paid. You can allow the cloud to remain over you, but the deficit will only grow. God has other plans for you (amazing plans!), so get busy living for those, full throttle. We are called to excellence -- that hasn't changed."