ElySioNs
Mercenary
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2021
- Posts
- 2,263
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I am pissed off and in so much f*cking pain. I’m shaking as I type this. I’ve got 18mg of nicotine in my lip and I am struggling to stay on this earth, let alone keep moving forward.
I work one 72 hour shift a week helping people and serving my community. This takes me out of the house for the entire period.
I thought that everything was okay, that we were happy. I provided, I cooked, I cleaned, we had passionate, loving sex multiple times a day. I thought she was the one. I was going to marry this woman. We had fantastic communication, our emotional intelligence was through the roof. At least I thought so.
3 weeks ago during my shift she invited seven strangers into our home and fucked every single one.
She stated that she planned to k*ll herself and she wanted to find a reason for me to hate her when I came home and she was dead. She got super high on day one of my shift and decided to download several dating apps “as a joke.” Of course, because she’s an attractive woman, she got a LOT of attention. She ran with it. She asked to be “f*cked freely for hours, and also in her ass” in her bio on every single app. She wrote to over 40 men, sending nudes, listing MY FUCKING ADDRESS to every single one and asking for them to bring drugs, like shrooms, cocaine, etc. She invited the first two over and she did coke for the first time in her life. She told me she didn’t think it was real and ripped two lines off of MY DRESSER! She told me the dude that brought it was impressed. She proceeded to fuck the both of them and they left. I tried calling her as we usually call every night I’m on shift. I should’ve fucking known something was up when she ignored three of my calls over the span of three hours, she told be she was going to bed every time I tried to call, and that she ate something bad and was dizzy and would head to bed. (Hilariously, I had ordered her Five Guys for dinner earlier in the evening, before I worked out). The third man I haven’t heard much about, but the fourth one I found videos of them fucking. The fifth and sixth arrived at the same time and fucked her senseless. The seventh raped her. He left bruises in the shapes of his hand on her forearm, triceps and back. He finished in both holes. She kicked, she screamed, she fought back… She doesn’t remember the rest. She woke up and he was gone. She tried to kill herself that night.
She was alive when I got back from work, and we had a fantastic day, laughing and relaxing and being our usual selves. Or so I thought. She had been cleaning all the blankets and sheets. I thought she had a bout of motivation and wanted to clean up the apartment. I was proud of her. We had sex that night and I didn’t notice the bruises. How the fuck did I not notice?
She left for her 8 day shift the next day and she would call me every night when she had service. The first night she spoke about how her whole life she lied to people to keep them happy. I told her I could relate. We are people pleasers, it’s what we do. She told me she made a mistake, and it’s her fault. I asked her if she wanted to talk about it over the phone or when she got back next week. Obviously she cheated, I’m not stupid. I know what that “mistake” was, it’s happened to me before. I could understand, maybe I could forgive her. One guy, like, I get it. I could try and understand. The next couple of days were rough. I worked out hard, I cleaned obsessively, I didn’t eat. I couldn’t. Two days later, she called me. I was lying in my bed and I had to ask. “Was it here?” “Yes.” She started to cry. I choked up. “Was it in this bed? OUR bed?” “Yes.” I got up. I told her I’m not going to sleep in this bed. I moved to the couch. I didn’t ask anymore questions. I didn’t want to. We talked for a bit more, her still crying. She then said, “you’re probably not going to ask, but I feel like I need to tell you. It was on the couch too…” I shot up. Okay, fuck. I’ll pack my shit and head to work a day early. I need to work out. To be around people. “It was 7 people.” I froze, shocked, angry. For a moment, I was silent. I could hear her sobbing through the speakerphone. “Could you fucking repeat that, please?” “It was seven guys…”
I lost it, I saw red. I cried, I yelled, I laughed, hysterically. I didn’t care who the FUCK heard me. I punched numerous dents in our rented refrigerator. My knuckles bled. I left the apartment. I shook violently as I attempted to look for my agency’s hotline. I was like a ballistic missile, about to hit its target. I called several of my coworkers, attempting to see if they would help me find the number to the hotline. The last one answered, my shiftie. He sent me the number and I started my drive. He asked me to share my location and I did. It would’ve been so easy to pull into oncoming traffic. I was flying. 90, maybe 100mph. I thought I couldn’t do that. Not to a family, not to innocents. I’ve scraped too many bodies off of the highway to let that happen. But it would’ve been so easy. To let go. To stop the pain. I asked the woman on the line why I wasn’t enough, why this is happening to me. She gave me the usual bs and helped me set up some appointments for therapy. I made it to work. They asked why I arrived early. I didn’t answer, I was silent. Empty. I lifted heavy. I’m strong. I could lift hard. I overexerted, I reached new limits. Hit a 340 bench for the first time. (Yay me, right??!?) The shift was a blur. I never zyned before but now I can’t stop.(I’ve got maybe seven 6mg pouches in now? I’m not sure, I lost count) I just wanted to find ways to numb the pain. I ran every day. First 5, 6 miles. Then 10, 12. I beat up my body. Anything to numb the pain.
I’m still with her. We’re packing all our stuff. I’m selling all my furniture. Think I’ll buy a van and build it out. We’re going to take a “break.” I can’t forgive her. But she was raped. I want to support her still. Helping people is my fucking calling. I NEED to. It’s my purpose. But I’m broken. I’m lost. I got tested for STIs. I’m clean, thank GOD. If he even exists. I have my doubts.
I’ll have to break the lease. I’m not staying there anymore. I can’t. I’m broken, empty. I consider ending it still. But people rely on me. I can’t do that to them.
Maybe I deserve it. I cheated a week into our relationship. I told her after she confessed. We were on a beach cliff. I downloaded some dating apps and she found them while I slept. She was livid. I deleted them and redownloaded the apps when I was out partying. She found out and got pissed. I promised to stay true to her while we’re still living together.
Maybe I just need to find some pussy. I don’t know. I’m so lost. Everything has come crumbling down. My whole world, nuked in a few moments. I don’t know what I’m looking for here. Maybe sympathy, maybe advice, I don’t fucking know.
Help me. Don’t. I don’t care.
TLDR; girlfriend cheated. I’m done.
I work one 72 hour shift a week helping people and serving my community. This takes me out of the house for the entire period.
I thought that everything was okay, that we were happy. I provided, I cooked, I cleaned, we had passionate, loving sex multiple times a day. I thought she was the one. I was going to marry this woman. We had fantastic communication, our emotional intelligence was through the roof. At least I thought so.
3 weeks ago during my shift she invited seven strangers into our home and fucked every single one.
She stated that she planned to k*ll herself and she wanted to find a reason for me to hate her when I came home and she was dead. She got super high on day one of my shift and decided to download several dating apps “as a joke.” Of course, because she’s an attractive woman, she got a LOT of attention. She ran with it. She asked to be “f*cked freely for hours, and also in her ass” in her bio on every single app. She wrote to over 40 men, sending nudes, listing MY FUCKING ADDRESS to every single one and asking for them to bring drugs, like shrooms, cocaine, etc. She invited the first two over and she did coke for the first time in her life. She told me she didn’t think it was real and ripped two lines off of MY DRESSER! She told me the dude that brought it was impressed. She proceeded to fuck the both of them and they left. I tried calling her as we usually call every night I’m on shift. I should’ve fucking known something was up when she ignored three of my calls over the span of three hours, she told be she was going to bed every time I tried to call, and that she ate something bad and was dizzy and would head to bed. (Hilariously, I had ordered her Five Guys for dinner earlier in the evening, before I worked out). The third man I haven’t heard much about, but the fourth one I found videos of them fucking. The fifth and sixth arrived at the same time and fucked her senseless. The seventh raped her. He left bruises in the shapes of his hand on her forearm, triceps and back. He finished in both holes. She kicked, she screamed, she fought back… She doesn’t remember the rest. She woke up and he was gone. She tried to kill herself that night.
She was alive when I got back from work, and we had a fantastic day, laughing and relaxing and being our usual selves. Or so I thought. She had been cleaning all the blankets and sheets. I thought she had a bout of motivation and wanted to clean up the apartment. I was proud of her. We had sex that night and I didn’t notice the bruises. How the fuck did I not notice?
She left for her 8 day shift the next day and she would call me every night when she had service. The first night she spoke about how her whole life she lied to people to keep them happy. I told her I could relate. We are people pleasers, it’s what we do. She told me she made a mistake, and it’s her fault. I asked her if she wanted to talk about it over the phone or when she got back next week. Obviously she cheated, I’m not stupid. I know what that “mistake” was, it’s happened to me before. I could understand, maybe I could forgive her. One guy, like, I get it. I could try and understand. The next couple of days were rough. I worked out hard, I cleaned obsessively, I didn’t eat. I couldn’t. Two days later, she called me. I was lying in my bed and I had to ask. “Was it here?” “Yes.” She started to cry. I choked up. “Was it in this bed? OUR bed?” “Yes.” I got up. I told her I’m not going to sleep in this bed. I moved to the couch. I didn’t ask anymore questions. I didn’t want to. We talked for a bit more, her still crying. She then said, “you’re probably not going to ask, but I feel like I need to tell you. It was on the couch too…” I shot up. Okay, fuck. I’ll pack my shit and head to work a day early. I need to work out. To be around people. “It was 7 people.” I froze, shocked, angry. For a moment, I was silent. I could hear her sobbing through the speakerphone. “Could you fucking repeat that, please?” “It was seven guys…”
I lost it, I saw red. I cried, I yelled, I laughed, hysterically. I didn’t care who the FUCK heard me. I punched numerous dents in our rented refrigerator. My knuckles bled. I left the apartment. I shook violently as I attempted to look for my agency’s hotline. I was like a ballistic missile, about to hit its target. I called several of my coworkers, attempting to see if they would help me find the number to the hotline. The last one answered, my shiftie. He sent me the number and I started my drive. He asked me to share my location and I did. It would’ve been so easy to pull into oncoming traffic. I was flying. 90, maybe 100mph. I thought I couldn’t do that. Not to a family, not to innocents. I’ve scraped too many bodies off of the highway to let that happen. But it would’ve been so easy. To let go. To stop the pain. I asked the woman on the line why I wasn’t enough, why this is happening to me. She gave me the usual bs and helped me set up some appointments for therapy. I made it to work. They asked why I arrived early. I didn’t answer, I was silent. Empty. I lifted heavy. I’m strong. I could lift hard. I overexerted, I reached new limits. Hit a 340 bench for the first time. (Yay me, right??!?) The shift was a blur. I never zyned before but now I can’t stop.(I’ve got maybe seven 6mg pouches in now? I’m not sure, I lost count) I just wanted to find ways to numb the pain. I ran every day. First 5, 6 miles. Then 10, 12. I beat up my body. Anything to numb the pain.
I’m still with her. We’re packing all our stuff. I’m selling all my furniture. Think I’ll buy a van and build it out. We’re going to take a “break.” I can’t forgive her. But she was raped. I want to support her still. Helping people is my fucking calling. I NEED to. It’s my purpose. But I’m broken. I’m lost. I got tested for STIs. I’m clean, thank GOD. If he even exists. I have my doubts.
I’ll have to break the lease. I’m not staying there anymore. I can’t. I’m broken, empty. I consider ending it still. But people rely on me. I can’t do that to them.
Maybe I deserve it. I cheated a week into our relationship. I told her after she confessed. We were on a beach cliff. I downloaded some dating apps and she found them while I slept. She was livid. I deleted them and redownloaded the apps when I was out partying. She found out and got pissed. I promised to stay true to her while we’re still living together.
Maybe I just need to find some pussy. I don’t know. I’m so lost. Everything has come crumbling down. My whole world, nuked in a few moments. I don’t know what I’m looking for here. Maybe sympathy, maybe advice, I don’t fucking know.
Help me. Don’t. I don’t care.
TLDR; girlfriend cheated. I’m done.
