hell.

last night, my husband had the nerve to ask me why i was so "obsessed" with the death of my dear friend.
if you've been reading for more than five minutes, you know my dear friend was my husband's best friend for over 20 years.
he grilled me with questions about if i ever slept with him, why i felt it necessary to not "let it go" and the like.

even in death, i'm not going to betray the secret i shared with my dear friend. never will i reveal the truth to my husband about my relationship with my friend.

when my husband looked at me and said "he was my friend for so many years, you know," i wanted to blow his ass out of the water with the truth.

i wanted to tell him everything. how there was a big plan in place and how i had never experienced such true and honest love with someone in my life... how his best friend ran around behind his back with his wife and loved his wife in a way that my husband has never been able to.

but all i did was sit there with my notebook in my lap and said, "he was my friend, too, you know?"

it's going to be shit like that that continues to drive the wedge deeper into this marriage. when my dear friend died, i felt like it was going to be that single event that would slowly make things crumble between my husband and me.

for the few months after his death, my husband went through all the emotions with having to find his friend dead to the denial to the depression. he's accepted it but continues to guard it in a way that has made him feel like the only people it's affected are him and my friend's family.

i continue to keep the secret of something so goddammed wonderful in my life, trying my hardest to not forget anything (but i feel like i've forgotten so much already) while keeping him alive in my heart. his death ripped my heart out of my chest and sent me straight down into hell.

and i'm not supposed to act like it bothers me that he's gone?

fuck you, husband.
they are going to find you dead on the toilet like elvis one day.