Regarding Henry --- err, I mean George

I want to retract a statement.
I was upset that he quit alcohol for the other woman, and that the fact that he couldn't do that for me.

Well, that is untrue. He tried very hard, many many times. Over and over. He'd
try to "cut down," and he even tried doing a lame attempt at outreaching to professional help ... he never followed up on that.

So that makes me think how I need to focus on how alcohol, especially a bottle every night, is going to gradually start deteriorating you, if you are highly stressed, overwhelmed, depressed, and mourning.

This led to the loss of his moral compass.... and then the new vice came in.

Alcohol is so embedded in self, in his identity, in his family ... george is alcohol, and alcohol is george.

I know that i have been splitting apart the man, all these years. Just seeing him
for his beauty....for all the good things....for his old-self.

BUT now i have to see him for what he is today, and I can never forgive him.
I mean, forgive yes, but not forgive him in the sense of ever taking him back.
I have to accept that the old George is gone. The man who cared, the man who
would of died for us, the man who had morals and values.
Well-meaning Christian family and friends encouraged me to pray for my husband
to heal and that he'd eventually come back. I asked God for a sign, and i am accepting the conversations of my father, Fernie.

He explained to me that George's love for me was never a healthy one. Not the kind of love that that is pure and unconditional.

He said that what George felt for me was very deep and real, but it was more of a fear that he was having. He felt deep gratefulness that i gave him a home and children, and I was there for him, because he was afraid of being alone.

BUT now that he got his bariatric surgery, he felt like he had a life to live out there and screwed us over. And that is something i should never forgive, if he
ever came back knocking on my door, for one sole reason. If he betrayed me at such a horrible, cruel, evil level , then he could do it again to me. He is not stable.

And with this understanding, i went on to a different kind of mourning.

I am at another grief level, i guess. The angry-disbelief phase, which ever that may be, lol.

i keep trying to put the puzzle together. i just can't. it hurts to omuch to do so, and I wonder if this is important in the grieving process, or can i just skip this altogether, lol?

The way he has hurt me, is like so so so deep, like if he took a machete and just chopped me and my kids into tiny bloody chunks.

if he came back to me one day, healed, on the wagon for a long time, with true remorse .... i could not forgive the man with the machete.

I am not going to lie. Oh how i would be tempted. how i would want to. how i would want to believe .... how i could easily get weak. my arms still ache for the old, good, wise, george.

Even now, when the door bell rang, i secretly wished it was him.
But when i realize its not, i thank GOD that it wasn't.

i got to give myself a break, its only been six weeks since he left me.

I HAVE to keep working on seeing him for what he has become (vile) and not the George that I have on a pedestal that I call the "old George."

Because the "old george" is dead.