When the few people who knew found out that I actually don’t hate the OW, they are always surprised. It’s normal to hate the OW. After all, the OW tried to steal my husband and ultimately hurt my children. I have hated her before. But, in all honesty, those moments of hatred were always few and far between. I used to think I was weird. I think SHE thought I was weird for not hating her. She told him once that she did not understand how I could be so stoic about this.
In my head there are two Bobbie’s. There’s the one that was my friend. This Bobbie and I shared a bunch of humorous moments and some deep down soul bearing conversations. To this day, other than my husband, she “got” me. She seemed to understand the parts of me that I had only previously shared with him. I look back and it pains me that I lost that. You probably don’t understand that in the least. I often talk about this weird connection we have. I don’t think there are too many people that could ever understand it. I haven’t talked to her in any way for over three years. But, I feel that it is likely that she feels the same way.
And then there’s the other Bobbie. The one who betrayed me. The Bobbie who said and did awful things to me and my family. The Bobbie who seems to betray everyone, including herself. I wonder which Bobbie my husband loved or maybe there really is no one person by the name of Bobbie. Maybe there are so many different ones she can never keep them straight. Maybe Bobbie doesn’t even exist.
I obviously don’t know what’s in Bobbie’s heart or mind. I have no idea what drove such a seemingly great person to the lifestyle she was leading. There are parts of me that feel sorry for her. There are parts of me that miss her. There are parts of me that want to ask her what the hell. But, mostly, I struggle with Bobbie. I may not like it, but she is part of my life, wedged in my timeline like one of those metal rods that hold up a car hood.
Most women deal with the OW by omitting her from their equation. Or so they think. I don’t believe that an OW is ever really gotten rid of this way. The OW is still there, just being ignored or stepped over on a daily basis. I could do this. I could pretend like she’s put away in a box somewhere or laying dormant like red paint under a freshly painted white wall. Eventually, that red will bleed through. And eventually the OW will come back through to the surface no matter how much I pretend she is not there. And that’s because she is there.
I think the hardest part of dealing with these feelings is dealing with them alone. If there’s a skeleton in my closet, it’s her. I can’t talk to my husband about it and I can’t talk to anyone else about it, lest they think I’m insane. The only person I really want to talk to about it is Bobbie herself. That thought scares the hell out of me and gives me peace at the same time. I know this is where peace lives. I know that without this conversation I will never be at peace. And all of that creates one of those dilemmas that there is no answer for. All of my conversations with her are in my head. I suppose there have been some here in this blog. But, ultimately, they are bottled up in my head with no known escape route.
So, no, I don’t hate her. There’s no reason to hate her at this point. None. That would only make things worse, in my opinion. Hate and love, both strong words. Those two words will make or break you.
It has taken me such a long time to get this far. Forgiveness is not easy, but I do forgive her. I doubt that those words would mean much to her, but if I ever do get the chance I will tell her that I forgive her, even if she comes out on the defense. But, for now, the conversations will be in my head between her and me.