Real Stories

The Other Woman

Content Warning: This piece contains references to mental health, addiction, and suicide, which may be triggering to some. 


Dear B, I don’t know why I contacted you. Everyone told me not to. I’ve never been someone that can lie. I always have the stupid overwhelming urge to tell people the truth no matter how awful. I guess I was just curious. I was curious to know if you were as bad as he said. I wondered if he had said the awful things to you that he had to me. I wondered if you had cried yourself to sleep some nights wondering what you done wrong. I want to tell you everything and nothing at the same time. You don’t know me and I don’t know you but, we have one thing in common. HIM. I want you to know that I had no mal intent. I didn’t even know about you until after. I can’t begin to imagine what 9 years of this has felt like for you….but I know what 2 years feels like. All I could think of when things ended was how did she do it for so long ? God bless her she’s strong. He came to me as a broken lost shell of a human. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man cry that much in my life. Between the sobs that racked his body I could hear him saying that he was losing his family. That it was destroying him inside. Horrific screams from his days serving awoke me in the night. He was having night terrors. I’ve always naturally attracted lost souls such as myself. As a healer and as (me being me) I’ve always wanted to help. I had no idea how deep it went. When he started shaking & sweating the next morning I realized it was much more then I’d thought. He bragged about having drunk 8 tiny bottles. He said he was cold. It was the summer. My room had no A.C. at the time. It was 85° & he was shivering. His sweat completely drenched my bed. I dove in without thinking as I always do. It wasn’t until later that I found out I was the other woman. I wondered how many of us there were.Was it just me? How many women had become collateral damage? I was naive. Thinking my love could fix his craving for a drink. Or a hit. Thinking it would make him a better person. I hoped he’d change. I wondered if you felt the same. Had you gone through the same things in your mind? Over & over like a record? He held the knife to his throat and all I could think of was “no. your blood needs you. this isn’t happening “. So I called the Suicide hotline. 72 hours later he let me know he was mad at me. How dare I stop him. If that’s what he wanted that’s was his choice (in his words). 2 years is hard to sum up in 1 letter. I know it’s probably far easier for you to hate me. I’m sure you’d rather think of me as just some random slut then collateral damage. I got caught in the cross fires of a broken human as did many of us. We’ll probably never know how many. I fell in love with someone who loved the bottle more. I think we can all agree as women that we need to stop hating each other for what men have done to us. The wrong doing they have bestowed upon us are no one’s fault but their own. They’re scars each of us will have to heal from individually. We all have our own story and I’m sure there’s a lot that I don’t know just as there is a lot that you don’t know. But I want you to know that if you have any questions I’m an open book. If you want to hate me forever that’s fine too. It’s easier to simplify things but the reality it’s far more complex then we can grasp sometimes. I wanted to take his pain away. I was hopeful. I was willing to help an utterly broken, lost soul. I had faith. I was naive. I was The Other Woman.

If you or anyone you know is struggling with addiction or suicidal thoughts please contact ⬇

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA)

by Rosemarie Tsamas

I write about life and stuff

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