I have taken up with a Married Man. MM is not married in a polyamorous open marriage sort of way, but rather in an I'm-married-and-my-wife-doesn't-know-about-this sense.

To be completely truthful, "taken up" is a bit too premature a declaration, given that we have not (yet) gotten naked. But I believe that it is imminent.

I know. I know. Don't you worry; I am judging me too.

Have you ever been in such a state of mind where your once orderly life begins oozing through the cracks, and the ground below you feels tenuous at best? And as a way of coping, I suppose, you watch yourself do all sorts of questionable things from a studied distance? That is where I'm at right now. I feel myself unraveling at the seams and externalizing the messiness I feel inside. In short, I want to get in trouble.

I know that sooner or later, I will likely get hurt cavorting with MM. I know that I could find healthier ways of working through my fears and uncertainty about my own future than throwing my energy into a reckless, passionate affair. I know that although I question the transitive property of his marital transgressions on my personal culpability, it feels somewhat unsettling to be a participant in some woman's deception.

MM is a bit of a unicorn. Smart, successful, incredibly handsome, and from what I can gather, likely a passionate and generous lover. He kind of pushes all of my buttons. He is also unavailable (obvs), a bit arrogant in the ways that smart and attractive people often are, and perhaps a bit too cavalier with the emotions of the women (yes, plural) with who he cavorts.

For all of those reasons, good and bad, I find myself hopelessly drawn to MM. He is dangerous enough to provide me with a thrill, a distraction, and a heaping dose of self-destruction, but also not so dangerous that his presence in my life would throw me completely off the rails. I suppose it's hard not to sound fatalistic about all of this, but I think there is something to said about choosing from the lesser of several evils. Would it be ideal if I could work through stress with all the nice girl-approved techniques of anxiety quelling like crying, yoga, long baths, and curling up with a good book? Sure, but that shit is not helping me right now. My other dysfunctional coping strategies - shopping and food - come with their own set of self-destructive properties, and I am choosing to lose myself in the rollercoaster of a new affair rather than in the depths of a bowl of food or through the satisfying swipe of my well-used credit card.

Ay, what a shit show I am right now. At least I give good reads.


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