I think I am broken, a little.
He's cheated on me. We worked through it. He's hidden things from me. We worked through it. He's flat-out to-my-face lied to me, and still, I opted to work through it. Every time I find another shard of something he's withheld, I break a little. Every time he makes plans without telling me, another crack begins. And part of me -- a huge part -- acknowledges that there has been progress. (At least he's not actually fucking anyone behind my back. That I know of.) But another part sighs with realism. It will happen again, that part says, and there's nothing you can do about it.
And here I am. Neither willing nor wanting to leave. Only morbidly curious to see when and how the next fracture will spread. I know, in a logical place, that only a broken person would be in this situation. I don't think that's emotion telling me this is crazy. Am I weak or strong, to keep fighting through for happiness here? I am happy so often with this man.
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