Today is my son's birthday. He's 5, now. He is a boy's boy, and his birthday presents show that. He got a bunch of nerf dart guns, a remote control jeep, and my wonderful parents gave him a fucking hammer, a tool belt, pieces of wood and nails, and a tape measure. He is entranced. It was a good birthday for him. The kids are currently fighting over the nerf darts, and they had cake for breakfast which is the norm around here on birthdays. We like cake. And we especially like cake for breakfast.
The Mr and I are doing well. He seems to be in control of himself, and I'm not constantly thinking about his sexual addiction. I'm still angry enough at times that I have to excuse myself, but it's waning. The rage is mostly gone, but it peeks out at times. It's not affecting the dynamic much anymore. I have my moments though.
Sexual addiction can suck it.
I can't wait for August. I can't wait to go back to Cali to be with my best friends. I need a break.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Birthday
Today is my youngest's birthday. She is turning 3. She is a doll, and I adore her. In fact, one of the main reasons I don't have another baby is because I'm not sure I could ever love another baby as much as I love her. She is definitely the baby of the house. I love this age.
Things around here are going well. The rage is petering out and all that's left is exhaustion. I'm too tired to stay angry at him, and he's doing so well that I have no reason to get all amped up and pissed off. I think he has his sexual addiction under control and is dealing with his issues the best he can. That's all I've asked for.
We are closer now than we ever have been before. This relationship is good. Solid. I love him and I know that he loves me. We're doing so well.
Money is getting tighter and tighter. My daughter's biofather has stopped paying child support, and that money is what got us through. It was the ONLY reason we were in the black every month, and now it's gone. I don't know what we're going to do. I really don't. The kids go back to school in a month and I'm not sure how we're going to buy school clothes. Or shoes. Gah. I hate money.
Things around here are going well. The rage is petering out and all that's left is exhaustion. I'm too tired to stay angry at him, and he's doing so well that I have no reason to get all amped up and pissed off. I think he has his sexual addiction under control and is dealing with his issues the best he can. That's all I've asked for.
We are closer now than we ever have been before. This relationship is good. Solid. I love him and I know that he loves me. We're doing so well.
Money is getting tighter and tighter. My daughter's biofather has stopped paying child support, and that money is what got us through. It was the ONLY reason we were in the black every month, and now it's gone. I don't know what we're going to do. I really don't. The kids go back to school in a month and I'm not sure how we're going to buy school clothes. Or shoes. Gah. I hate money.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Too young to die
Michael Jackson dies at age 50. Farrah Fawcett dies at the age of 62. Neda dies at 26.
so young.
I don't want to get older. I don't want to die. The thought terrifies me.
RIP to these icons.
so young.
I don't want to get older. I don't want to die. The thought terrifies me.
RIP to these icons.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Therapy Thursday
There was no judging, of course. He was happy that I tried to contain it and let myself feel the hurt and crying instead of screaming for 3 hours. The Mr says I did yell, and I probably did. I really don't remember what or how I said things before this...change. 7 months ago I wouldn't have been able to tell you 3/4 of the things I said to him when I was pissed off, and now I can remember more. I wouldn't have felt bad, either. But I did feel bad, and it only took me minutes to realize what I was doing. I reeled myself in and let the Mr bring me back to the present, and then I apologized. All Progress. He would like to see me contain it to the point where I don't get homicidal and call names. I lol'd. Me too. And the Mr, for sure. He's very attached to his body parts and I could have cheerfully ripped his arm off at the shoulder and beaten the piss out of him. That's scary to me. I really really wanted to hurt him.
I talked about how hurt I feel and how angry I am all over again, and why I don't feel like there are any special memories that aren't tainted. He told us to go back to Shogun and start over with new memories, which I absolutely said no to. I'm not going to go back to a fucking hibachi and sushi restaurant with 10 other people sitting at the grill around me to deal with while I'm super fucking emotional over the fact that my husband took his girlfriend there and ate and drank my most favorite things in the whole world and sucked all of the joy out of them with her. All the good feelings I have associated with these things will be a reminder of what has happened. For a long long time. I am not ready for immersion therapy and I told them both that. The Mr was insistent that we need to make new memories. I don't dispute that. I'm not saying that we cannot make another new memory, ever. It's impossible. Duh. I'm still so raw, and these triggers pop up and I'm miserable and thinking about what has happened and what he did to us and I wonder if the memories we make from here on out will always have this awful thing attached to them. I'm not sure. I hope not. Because it's one great big fucked up cycle on what I will remember for the rest of my life. I remember things from when I was 18 months old. How the fuck long will I remember this? I'm not sure if it's possible to get to the point where you remember but you don't let it affect you. My therapist says it is. I just don't know how. I'm assuming it's both a time thing and sheer force of will.
We talked more about the way I cement things and fan the flames by saying things like: always, never, forever. It makes sense to me, but not thinking and saying those things is going to take a level of consciousness that I'm not sure I can handle right now. I'm not sure there is one more thing I can fit on my mental salad plate. One more thing to work on. I'm exhausted.
The Mr talked again about how he doesn't feel defensive. How sorry he is. That he feels shame and remorse constantly. He knows he treated me like shit and that he was cruel. How he's trying every day to be better to me. And he is. He's getting better all the time. We are closer than we've ever been before, we really are. Therapy has definitely helped there. It's a miracle. He's attentive and loving. He's kind and supportive. He does things to make me laugh and his quirks still make me smile. I can think about him in the middle of the day and go super sweet and gooey. He's done that. You couldn't ask for better treatment. For better emotional ties. It's just the fuse that set it all off was long and hard and vicious. So fucking painful. It's hard to reconcile them. It's hard to be thankful for the things that forced change when they hurt so bad, even if the change was for the best. To make a better person. It hurt. A lot. And it's very unfortunate that making changes in a person's self usually requires certain amounts of pain as a catalyst. Changing hurts. You have to face yourself and your demons and it's hard. And it's sad. And I try to remember that it feels the same way for both of us.
It sucks to be angry and hurt again. I knew that it would happen eventually, but I wasn't prepared for how intense it is. I think that's why I'm more upset over my ...regression, because the anger is all encompassing. I didn't realize that I would jump right back to square one, instead of just a couple steps backwards. I'm hoping that getting back to where I was a few days ago doesn't take as long. I don't want to go another two fucking months feeling like this. That would be a real bitch. Putting forth that much energy to deal and move on is so tiring. It's constant. It never stops. But you don't get to stop. Stopping = failure to ever be happy.
I just want a break.
I talked about how hurt I feel and how angry I am all over again, and why I don't feel like there are any special memories that aren't tainted. He told us to go back to Shogun and start over with new memories, which I absolutely said no to. I'm not going to go back to a fucking hibachi and sushi restaurant with 10 other people sitting at the grill around me to deal with while I'm super fucking emotional over the fact that my husband took his girlfriend there and ate and drank my most favorite things in the whole world and sucked all of the joy out of them with her. All the good feelings I have associated with these things will be a reminder of what has happened. For a long long time. I am not ready for immersion therapy and I told them both that. The Mr was insistent that we need to make new memories. I don't dispute that. I'm not saying that we cannot make another new memory, ever. It's impossible. Duh. I'm still so raw, and these triggers pop up and I'm miserable and thinking about what has happened and what he did to us and I wonder if the memories we make from here on out will always have this awful thing attached to them. I'm not sure. I hope not. Because it's one great big fucked up cycle on what I will remember for the rest of my life. I remember things from when I was 18 months old. How the fuck long will I remember this? I'm not sure if it's possible to get to the point where you remember but you don't let it affect you. My therapist says it is. I just don't know how. I'm assuming it's both a time thing and sheer force of will.
We talked more about the way I cement things and fan the flames by saying things like: always, never, forever. It makes sense to me, but not thinking and saying those things is going to take a level of consciousness that I'm not sure I can handle right now. I'm not sure there is one more thing I can fit on my mental salad plate. One more thing to work on. I'm exhausted.
The Mr talked again about how he doesn't feel defensive. How sorry he is. That he feels shame and remorse constantly. He knows he treated me like shit and that he was cruel. How he's trying every day to be better to me. And he is. He's getting better all the time. We are closer than we've ever been before, we really are. Therapy has definitely helped there. It's a miracle. He's attentive and loving. He's kind and supportive. He does things to make me laugh and his quirks still make me smile. I can think about him in the middle of the day and go super sweet and gooey. He's done that. You couldn't ask for better treatment. For better emotional ties. It's just the fuse that set it all off was long and hard and vicious. So fucking painful. It's hard to reconcile them. It's hard to be thankful for the things that forced change when they hurt so bad, even if the change was for the best. To make a better person. It hurt. A lot. And it's very unfortunate that making changes in a person's self usually requires certain amounts of pain as a catalyst. Changing hurts. You have to face yourself and your demons and it's hard. And it's sad. And I try to remember that it feels the same way for both of us.
It sucks to be angry and hurt again. I knew that it would happen eventually, but I wasn't prepared for how intense it is. I think that's why I'm more upset over my ...regression, because the anger is all encompassing. I didn't realize that I would jump right back to square one, instead of just a couple steps backwards. I'm hoping that getting back to where I was a few days ago doesn't take as long. I don't want to go another two fucking months feeling like this. That would be a real bitch. Putting forth that much energy to deal and move on is so tiring. It's constant. It never stops. But you don't get to stop. Stopping = failure to ever be happy.
I just want a break.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Flipper
I freaked the fuck out on the Mr last night.
He had gone to drop #1 and #2 off at their father's house, and I got out his wallet to see if he had any cash for the pizza delivery lady. No cash, but I did find a receipt for a trip to Shogun, my absolute favorite restaurant in town. I introduced him to the place. It's the only place in town I can get good sushi. Not great, but good for being in Nebraska. And I can get my favorite plum wine, which I can only get once or twice a year because it's so expensive. I took him there for our anniversary and we went there on one of our dates. It's special to me.
The receipt was dated 02/06. February 6th. It was for almost $60. And I know that they had the same ticket that we have every FUCKING time.
He took his first girlfriend there. To my restaurant. To our restaurant. I saw red. I really really saw red. Nothing was fucking off limits. Nothing was sacred. And he lied to me because he told me he stopped seeing her when he got out of jail for our struggle.
While I was out of my mind with grief and crazy, he was dating. While I was taking care of our kids and was barely functioning because I was dying every day. He was fucking dating. He was lying to me.
I flipped. I called him an asshole and told him "I could kill you" when he walked back in the door. I tossed him the receipt and said something about taking his fucking girlfriend to our restaurant. I said some other things that I barely remember and went to the bedroom to cry. And he followed me even though I asked him to leave me alone. Twice. I then proceeded to launch into him again, and I remember that one of the things I said was the he should have just fucked her in our bed, because that's the last possible thing he could do to rip the rest of my skin off my body. I don't know what all I said now, but I wasn't screaming and yelling.
I am not proud of it, but god it felt good to tell him exactly what was on my mind instead of holding back trying to be calm and sweet. Well, I can't fucking do that all the time. Everytime I find out something new it rips the scab off and I am so furious that I should be sedated in order not to attack him. The rage is all I feel. I am getting pissed off again just writing about it. I know it probably seems silly to get pissed off over a restaurant, but it's OUR place. WE made memories there and now he's tainted them, just like he's tainted most of our other memories because they were all made while he was lying to me. He disagrees, of course. He feels that they are still special, and maybe they are to him. I am probably overreacting, but I can't help the way I feel. Everything feels tainted. I feel like it's all a lie. Make-believe.
He took it. He didn't even try to defend himself, he just kept repeating that he was sorry and that he understood that I was upset and angry. He knew there was no defense. He knew that he was an asshole. He said that, too. He waited until I was done crying and calm and then he apologized and told me that he knows he fucked up in the worst way, that he will regret it for the rest of his life and that every day he's making conscious decisions to be a better man, husband and father. Every day. He said that he was so grateful for this last chance, that that's the least he can do. And that words could never describe how sorry he was for hurting me. He was calm and steady and he made eye contact, which made me believe him.
I apologized for saying the things I said and we kissed and sort of made up. I'm not completely ready to make up. I'm still pissed off. My chest is heavy I'm so mad. I would never ever treat him this way, even if I was a cheating fool. Some things are sacred and shouldn't be treated like they don't matter. They do. Making memories of us was special to me, and the places are just as important. He took me to the observatory for a date night out one time and I would never dream of taking someone else to someplace so special, even if it's as small and simple as a look through a telescope. Ever. How could he take someone someplace that he only has made memories with ME there? How could he sit there without thinking about me? How?
Being emotionally sick is one thing, but being callous is another. He just didn't give a shit. He.Did.Not.Care.
And that stings.
I feel horribly betrayed all over again, and I'm angry. Very very angry. I'm feeling very bitter.
Therapy is going to suck tomorrow.
He had gone to drop #1 and #2 off at their father's house, and I got out his wallet to see if he had any cash for the pizza delivery lady. No cash, but I did find a receipt for a trip to Shogun, my absolute favorite restaurant in town. I introduced him to the place. It's the only place in town I can get good sushi. Not great, but good for being in Nebraska. And I can get my favorite plum wine, which I can only get once or twice a year because it's so expensive. I took him there for our anniversary and we went there on one of our dates. It's special to me.
The receipt was dated 02/06. February 6th. It was for almost $60. And I know that they had the same ticket that we have every FUCKING time.
He took his first girlfriend there. To my restaurant. To our restaurant. I saw red. I really really saw red. Nothing was fucking off limits. Nothing was sacred. And he lied to me because he told me he stopped seeing her when he got out of jail for our struggle.
While I was out of my mind with grief and crazy, he was dating. While I was taking care of our kids and was barely functioning because I was dying every day. He was fucking dating. He was lying to me.
I flipped. I called him an asshole and told him "I could kill you" when he walked back in the door. I tossed him the receipt and said something about taking his fucking girlfriend to our restaurant. I said some other things that I barely remember and went to the bedroom to cry. And he followed me even though I asked him to leave me alone. Twice. I then proceeded to launch into him again, and I remember that one of the things I said was the he should have just fucked her in our bed, because that's the last possible thing he could do to rip the rest of my skin off my body. I don't know what all I said now, but I wasn't screaming and yelling.
I am not proud of it, but god it felt good to tell him exactly what was on my mind instead of holding back trying to be calm and sweet. Well, I can't fucking do that all the time. Everytime I find out something new it rips the scab off and I am so furious that I should be sedated in order not to attack him. The rage is all I feel. I am getting pissed off again just writing about it. I know it probably seems silly to get pissed off over a restaurant, but it's OUR place. WE made memories there and now he's tainted them, just like he's tainted most of our other memories because they were all made while he was lying to me. He disagrees, of course. He feels that they are still special, and maybe they are to him. I am probably overreacting, but I can't help the way I feel. Everything feels tainted. I feel like it's all a lie. Make-believe.
He took it. He didn't even try to defend himself, he just kept repeating that he was sorry and that he understood that I was upset and angry. He knew there was no defense. He knew that he was an asshole. He said that, too. He waited until I was done crying and calm and then he apologized and told me that he knows he fucked up in the worst way, that he will regret it for the rest of his life and that every day he's making conscious decisions to be a better man, husband and father. Every day. He said that he was so grateful for this last chance, that that's the least he can do. And that words could never describe how sorry he was for hurting me. He was calm and steady and he made eye contact, which made me believe him.
I apologized for saying the things I said and we kissed and sort of made up. I'm not completely ready to make up. I'm still pissed off. My chest is heavy I'm so mad. I would never ever treat him this way, even if I was a cheating fool. Some things are sacred and shouldn't be treated like they don't matter. They do. Making memories of us was special to me, and the places are just as important. He took me to the observatory for a date night out one time and I would never dream of taking someone else to someplace so special, even if it's as small and simple as a look through a telescope. Ever. How could he take someone someplace that he only has made memories with ME there? How could he sit there without thinking about me? How?
Being emotionally sick is one thing, but being callous is another. He just didn't give a shit. He.Did.Not.Care.
And that stings.
I feel horribly betrayed all over again, and I'm angry. Very very angry. I'm feeling very bitter.
Therapy is going to suck tomorrow.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
if if if
I never let the Mr read that letter, but it made me feel so much better to write it all out. I've had only one moment of anger since then, but it was manageable.
Life with a sex addict is hard. I love him, and it's easy to be around him, but learning to forgive and living with that kind of betrayal is one of the hardest things I've ever done. It would be so much easier if all these feelings went away overnight and if I could trust him again.
Life with a sex addict is hard. I love him, and it's easy to be around him, but learning to forgive and living with that kind of betrayal is one of the hardest things I've ever done. It would be so much easier if all these feelings went away overnight and if I could trust him again.
Friday, June 12, 2009
My letter to you
I love you, and nothing changes that. Nothing has changed that. I need to say these things to you, but I can't...I can write them however and I think I'm going to let you read this.
I am so angry at you. You have humiliated me. You lied to me. You treated me like I was inconsequential. Like I was gum on your shoe. You tortured me for an entire month instead of telling me the truth. You treated me like I was the bad guy, like I was holding you back from happiness. That I was a bad wife. That I was a bad person.
You paid attention to someone else and let our relationship suffer. You treated someone else like they were your personal sunshine and talked on your public facebook page for your work (that you hid from me) about how she brought your smile back. I didn't make your smile go away, you did. You were going to leave me for her. You were going to leave your family for her. You texted her about me, and called me names to her, and you both laughed behind my back. You left me for a weekend and stayed in a hotel with her and you lied, but before you left you made out with me for the first time in weeks. It made me have faith in you that you didn't deserve. I absolutely believe that you slept with her. The thought of you kissing her in some fucking restaurant parking lot and holding hands across a table still make me sick to my stomach. This is my town. And you fucking publicly cheated on me in this town. This town where everyone knows me. You devastated me and you knew it, and you kept going. You turned your back on me. You were so wrapped up in yourself that you didn't care what you did to me. You wouldn't hold my hand, you wouldn't let me touch you and you turned your back to me every night. You spent this family's money on her. You took her out for $40 lunches when we couldn't even afford to eat fast food. When we couldn't afford to pay our bills. You hid your fucking phone from me and I knew. I knew something was going on, but you blamed that on me too, for being nosy, when you knew part of the deal of staying together after the first time was that you give up your privacy. You acted like I was an asshole for catching you. You ate your last meal here while you were texting that bitch, and you knew you were leaving the next day. I cooked for you and you were going to leave.
I did a lot of things wrong, I know that. I keyed your truck. I screamed at you and threw you out, and then took it back, repeatedly. I threw your previous behavior in your face. I did treat you badly at times, I know and admit that. I was angry and mean and vindictive. But I was right for not trusting you, even though you treated me like I was holding onto nothing. And I'm glad I did. Because if I had fully trusted you, and you leveled me the way you did, I would have died. But to use that as an excuse for going outside of our marriage is bullshit, and you know it. You know where my rage came from, and when it would blow and I'd tell you why I was mad, you'd roll your eyes and act offended that I could still be bothered by your cheating from before. And that's bullshit. I'm not saying what I did wasn't wrong, because how I dealt with my anger at you was wrong. But to act like I was an asshole for not forgiving you was wrong, and hurtful and only made the situation a thousand times worse. And fyi, I had a breakdown the first time, and then 6 months later when I caught you offering your "appendage" up for service to your ex-girlfriend (your MODEL ex-girlfriend) via text. This is the reason I went to therapy and went back on meds. I had been fine living med-free for years before this. And I was surviving. Until you broke me in two. I trusted you. I thought you were the best man on the planet and I never ever thought that you would lie to me, much less cheat on me. Don't take that lightly...I really did think you were perfect for me. That you were meant for me. I believed you were the most wonderful man on the planet, I truly did. I saw you with stars in my eyes. And then when I found out about your past, and your trauma, I comforted you! I put aside my anger for you. I forgot about me and held your hand through the aftermath of your cheating.
You hurt me. Deeply. You broke my heart. What you did to me was worse than how xfh treated me, even though he beat the shit out of me on a regular basis. It hurt far less than this did. And I kept trying to keep you. To hold on to you. I wasn't done with you, I knew we weren't done. But you still treated me like I was a worthless pain in the ass that you were forced to deal with. You were cold and rude. And I still fought for you. I laid my soul out and stripped myself down to the bone for you, and it was all about you. I was suicidal. I wanted to die because of what you did, and what you were doing to me. You forced me to put the kids in a shitty daycare where they were abused and there was nothing I could do. I was with those kids almost every single day of their lives, at home with them. No one else raised them. You knew I never wanted those kids in daycare, but you didn't think that part through, did you? You were heartless.
You made plans to fuck an 18 year old girl and her sister on facebook, not knowing that you were being set up. An 18 year old. How would you feel if that was one of our girls, being poached for pussy by a 31 year old sex addict? A lying, cheating sex addict. By someone trying to recruit her? JESUS!!!
And then you started to come around. Therapy was working. You were friendly again, even though you were distant. I had more hope than anyone else in the world had ever had. I worked my ass off while you floated through. And then things got even better, but I still cried for you every night. Every night. You would leave the house while I was sobbing without looking back. I cried myself to sleep. I slept on your side of the bed. I didn't wash our sheets once because they smelled like you. I was so sick with heartbreak. I was mentally ill and I couldn't let myself sink. That was the hardest thing I've ever done. I wanted to sink. I wanted to pull the big black blanket over my head and float away into nothing. I wanted to feel nothing.
Therapy and time was still working because we got closer, although you still wouldn't wear your wedding ring, which you knew devastated me. I knew in my heart that the reason you weren't wearing it was because you were hiding the fact that we were in therapy, supposedly working things out. But you lied to me again and told me it was because you were scared. You were crazy to think that I believed that. But I still kept trying. We kept going to therapy.
And when things got good, I was so happy. You still wouldn't make solid plans to move back in, and you still left every night. Even though you knew it killed me. Our relationship continued to get better and I let myself believe that you were being honest and that you loved me and you weren't cheating on me anymore. We made plans for you to move back in during May. You were over every night and every weekend. You were staying the night. You put your wedding ring back on and surprised me with it one morning during therapy. That made me so happy...I can't even being to tell you. I knew we were going to make it. Therapy was going so well. I believe you. I had faith in you.
For two and a half months I killed myself trying to make you realize what you were doing. For two and a half months i was a single parent. I was trying to take care of everything. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I was beyond not functioning. For two and a half months I fought for you. Every minute.
And then you stayed here for a weekend and you brought a suitcase. I was thrilled. And then you stayed Monday. And Tuesday. And we decided you were going to move back in sooner. On April 21st. I was ecstatic. I went to bed floating. But I knew something wasn't right. I felt it. Wednesday, April 8th. You were shaving and getting ready for work, and something told me to go check your phone. And I did. And I found out about Holly, your girlfriend. I thought my knees were going to give out. I confronted you and locked myself in the bathroom to read your phone, and going back through the text messages, each one worse than the previous. I learned you told her you loved her. I learned you slept with her. I learned that you both thought she was pregnant.
I was...I don't even know. I knew it, and I was still speared through the chest. I broke your phone and I cried and cried.
You kept your wedding ring off for her. You were sleeping with me, and you slept with her at the same time. I don't believe you wore a condom. I don't believe it was only one time. It fucking disgusts me that you were inside her at the same time you were coming over and fucking me. Disgusts me. Makes my stomach turn. You risked my health. Fuck, you risked my life. You risked the lifestyle of our family by almost knocking her up! And then as soon as you realized you wanted to come home 2 weeks prior to me finding out, you ditched her. You left her hanging. But you were still talking to her. You were still initiating conversations with her. You were lying to me, and you were lying to her. She asked you "why don't you tell me you love me anymore" and "where were you last night". Fuck you. That's fucking bullshit. She never owned you. You are mine. I'm married to you...only I get to ask you those questions. You just left her hanging, like you had left me hanging back in January. You treated her like she was inconsequential after you stuck your dick in her, treated her like she was a fucking princess (I know how you are) and then you ditched her. At least you ditched her for me, but still...you just blow through them. Like they mean nothing. They are only there to scratch your itch and tools to use to act out with.
I let you come back because I love you. I am crazy in love with you. I let you come back because I know you're an addict, and I knew that if no one helped you, you were going to die old and alone, if not from hiv or an std. I knew what your future would look like. I felt sorry for you. I loved you. I wanted to help you. I even felt bad when you started to cry.
I still feel bad. I still want to help you. But holy christ, I am so so angry at you. You told me I was your best friend. You married me. We made an agreement that you would seek help, and that when you were feeling like you needed to look elsewhere that you would talk to me and we'd work through it together. You never did that. You never went to therapy like you were supposed to. You never finished your meetings. You never did shit.
And I stayed.
And I'm staying now. I love you. I know you can change and heal. Therapy has proven that to me. You are working hard. You are being honest, as far as I can tell. I believe you are on your way to the man that you were destined to be. Meant to be.
But I will never ever put up with this again. I don't care if you're an addict or you have emotional and mental problems. I will never ever do this again. I will leave you in a heartbeat, and you will never have me in your life again. I will walk away from you and not look back. I will be nice to you because you are the father of my children, but it will be false. I will never have respect for you again, and I will treat you as such. Your children will be old enough to want to know what happened. Someday they'll probably find out.
You have to control this. You don't have a choice. You have a family to think of. Me to think of. If you love me, and you say you do then you will keep trying to learn how to love yourself. I am starting to trust you again. My faith is being restored. I know you love me. I know you do. I know you want me, and I know that we're best friends again. You make me laugh all the time, and I love being next to you. Your laugh is infectious. You are an amazing father. You help me out as much as you can, and your concern about me and the kids is back. You work your ass off for this family, and don't think for a minute that I ever forget that. You touch me, we hug, we kiss...we are ALWAYS holding hands, and that makes me really happy. It feels good. I love being your wife. I love you.
I'm trying to forgive you. I'm hoping that by writing this, the anger will dissolve. I'm hoping that by you reading this (if I let you), my desire to make you hurt goes away. I'm tired of being angry, and I don't know of any way else to make it go away. I'm dealing with it every minute, but it's not getting any better. Something has to be done. I have to get this off my chest to see if the heat goes away.
I didn't write this to make you feel bad. I didn't write this to relive the (not so distant) past. I want to heal this marriage. I want to see you heal. I want to heal.
I love you. Please keep doing what you are doing. Please keep being the man I need you and want you to be. That I know you can be. That you want to be. You're on your way there. Let that hurt little boy grow up.
Lu
I am so angry at you. You have humiliated me. You lied to me. You treated me like I was inconsequential. Like I was gum on your shoe. You tortured me for an entire month instead of telling me the truth. You treated me like I was the bad guy, like I was holding you back from happiness. That I was a bad wife. That I was a bad person.
You paid attention to someone else and let our relationship suffer. You treated someone else like they were your personal sunshine and talked on your public facebook page for your work (that you hid from me) about how she brought your smile back. I didn't make your smile go away, you did. You were going to leave me for her. You were going to leave your family for her. You texted her about me, and called me names to her, and you both laughed behind my back. You left me for a weekend and stayed in a hotel with her and you lied, but before you left you made out with me for the first time in weeks. It made me have faith in you that you didn't deserve. I absolutely believe that you slept with her. The thought of you kissing her in some fucking restaurant parking lot and holding hands across a table still make me sick to my stomach. This is my town. And you fucking publicly cheated on me in this town. This town where everyone knows me. You devastated me and you knew it, and you kept going. You turned your back on me. You were so wrapped up in yourself that you didn't care what you did to me. You wouldn't hold my hand, you wouldn't let me touch you and you turned your back to me every night. You spent this family's money on her. You took her out for $40 lunches when we couldn't even afford to eat fast food. When we couldn't afford to pay our bills. You hid your fucking phone from me and I knew. I knew something was going on, but you blamed that on me too, for being nosy, when you knew part of the deal of staying together after the first time was that you give up your privacy. You acted like I was an asshole for catching you. You ate your last meal here while you were texting that bitch, and you knew you were leaving the next day. I cooked for you and you were going to leave.
I did a lot of things wrong, I know that. I keyed your truck. I screamed at you and threw you out, and then took it back, repeatedly. I threw your previous behavior in your face. I did treat you badly at times, I know and admit that. I was angry and mean and vindictive. But I was right for not trusting you, even though you treated me like I was holding onto nothing. And I'm glad I did. Because if I had fully trusted you, and you leveled me the way you did, I would have died. But to use that as an excuse for going outside of our marriage is bullshit, and you know it. You know where my rage came from, and when it would blow and I'd tell you why I was mad, you'd roll your eyes and act offended that I could still be bothered by your cheating from before. And that's bullshit. I'm not saying what I did wasn't wrong, because how I dealt with my anger at you was wrong. But to act like I was an asshole for not forgiving you was wrong, and hurtful and only made the situation a thousand times worse. And fyi, I had a breakdown the first time, and then 6 months later when I caught you offering your "appendage" up for service to your ex-girlfriend (your MODEL ex-girlfriend) via text. This is the reason I went to therapy and went back on meds. I had been fine living med-free for years before this. And I was surviving. Until you broke me in two. I trusted you. I thought you were the best man on the planet and I never ever thought that you would lie to me, much less cheat on me. Don't take that lightly...I really did think you were perfect for me. That you were meant for me. I believed you were the most wonderful man on the planet, I truly did. I saw you with stars in my eyes. And then when I found out about your past, and your trauma, I comforted you! I put aside my anger for you. I forgot about me and held your hand through the aftermath of your cheating.
You hurt me. Deeply. You broke my heart. What you did to me was worse than how xfh treated me, even though he beat the shit out of me on a regular basis. It hurt far less than this did. And I kept trying to keep you. To hold on to you. I wasn't done with you, I knew we weren't done. But you still treated me like I was a worthless pain in the ass that you were forced to deal with. You were cold and rude. And I still fought for you. I laid my soul out and stripped myself down to the bone for you, and it was all about you. I was suicidal. I wanted to die because of what you did, and what you were doing to me. You forced me to put the kids in a shitty daycare where they were abused and there was nothing I could do. I was with those kids almost every single day of their lives, at home with them. No one else raised them. You knew I never wanted those kids in daycare, but you didn't think that part through, did you? You were heartless.
You made plans to fuck an 18 year old girl and her sister on facebook, not knowing that you were being set up. An 18 year old. How would you feel if that was one of our girls, being poached for pussy by a 31 year old sex addict? A lying, cheating sex addict. By someone trying to recruit her? JESUS!!!
And then you started to come around. Therapy was working. You were friendly again, even though you were distant. I had more hope than anyone else in the world had ever had. I worked my ass off while you floated through. And then things got even better, but I still cried for you every night. Every night. You would leave the house while I was sobbing without looking back. I cried myself to sleep. I slept on your side of the bed. I didn't wash our sheets once because they smelled like you. I was so sick with heartbreak. I was mentally ill and I couldn't let myself sink. That was the hardest thing I've ever done. I wanted to sink. I wanted to pull the big black blanket over my head and float away into nothing. I wanted to feel nothing.
Therapy and time was still working because we got closer, although you still wouldn't wear your wedding ring, which you knew devastated me. I knew in my heart that the reason you weren't wearing it was because you were hiding the fact that we were in therapy, supposedly working things out. But you lied to me again and told me it was because you were scared. You were crazy to think that I believed that. But I still kept trying. We kept going to therapy.
And when things got good, I was so happy. You still wouldn't make solid plans to move back in, and you still left every night. Even though you knew it killed me. Our relationship continued to get better and I let myself believe that you were being honest and that you loved me and you weren't cheating on me anymore. We made plans for you to move back in during May. You were over every night and every weekend. You were staying the night. You put your wedding ring back on and surprised me with it one morning during therapy. That made me so happy...I can't even being to tell you. I knew we were going to make it. Therapy was going so well. I believe you. I had faith in you.
For two and a half months I killed myself trying to make you realize what you were doing. For two and a half months i was a single parent. I was trying to take care of everything. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I was beyond not functioning. For two and a half months I fought for you. Every minute.
And then you stayed here for a weekend and you brought a suitcase. I was thrilled. And then you stayed Monday. And Tuesday. And we decided you were going to move back in sooner. On April 21st. I was ecstatic. I went to bed floating. But I knew something wasn't right. I felt it. Wednesday, April 8th. You were shaving and getting ready for work, and something told me to go check your phone. And I did. And I found out about Holly, your girlfriend. I thought my knees were going to give out. I confronted you and locked myself in the bathroom to read your phone, and going back through the text messages, each one worse than the previous. I learned you told her you loved her. I learned you slept with her. I learned that you both thought she was pregnant.
I was...I don't even know. I knew it, and I was still speared through the chest. I broke your phone and I cried and cried.
You kept your wedding ring off for her. You were sleeping with me, and you slept with her at the same time. I don't believe you wore a condom. I don't believe it was only one time. It fucking disgusts me that you were inside her at the same time you were coming over and fucking me. Disgusts me. Makes my stomach turn. You risked my health. Fuck, you risked my life. You risked the lifestyle of our family by almost knocking her up! And then as soon as you realized you wanted to come home 2 weeks prior to me finding out, you ditched her. You left her hanging. But you were still talking to her. You were still initiating conversations with her. You were lying to me, and you were lying to her. She asked you "why don't you tell me you love me anymore" and "where were you last night". Fuck you. That's fucking bullshit. She never owned you. You are mine. I'm married to you...only I get to ask you those questions. You just left her hanging, like you had left me hanging back in January. You treated her like she was inconsequential after you stuck your dick in her, treated her like she was a fucking princess (I know how you are) and then you ditched her. At least you ditched her for me, but still...you just blow through them. Like they mean nothing. They are only there to scratch your itch and tools to use to act out with.
I let you come back because I love you. I am crazy in love with you. I let you come back because I know you're an addict, and I knew that if no one helped you, you were going to die old and alone, if not from hiv or an std. I knew what your future would look like. I felt sorry for you. I loved you. I wanted to help you. I even felt bad when you started to cry.
I still feel bad. I still want to help you. But holy christ, I am so so angry at you. You told me I was your best friend. You married me. We made an agreement that you would seek help, and that when you were feeling like you needed to look elsewhere that you would talk to me and we'd work through it together. You never did that. You never went to therapy like you were supposed to. You never finished your meetings. You never did shit.
And I stayed.
And I'm staying now. I love you. I know you can change and heal. Therapy has proven that to me. You are working hard. You are being honest, as far as I can tell. I believe you are on your way to the man that you were destined to be. Meant to be.
But I will never ever put up with this again. I don't care if you're an addict or you have emotional and mental problems. I will never ever do this again. I will leave you in a heartbeat, and you will never have me in your life again. I will walk away from you and not look back. I will be nice to you because you are the father of my children, but it will be false. I will never have respect for you again, and I will treat you as such. Your children will be old enough to want to know what happened. Someday they'll probably find out.
You have to control this. You don't have a choice. You have a family to think of. Me to think of. If you love me, and you say you do then you will keep trying to learn how to love yourself. I am starting to trust you again. My faith is being restored. I know you love me. I know you do. I know you want me, and I know that we're best friends again. You make me laugh all the time, and I love being next to you. Your laugh is infectious. You are an amazing father. You help me out as much as you can, and your concern about me and the kids is back. You work your ass off for this family, and don't think for a minute that I ever forget that. You touch me, we hug, we kiss...we are ALWAYS holding hands, and that makes me really happy. It feels good. I love being your wife. I love you.
I'm trying to forgive you. I'm hoping that by writing this, the anger will dissolve. I'm hoping that by you reading this (if I let you), my desire to make you hurt goes away. I'm tired of being angry, and I don't know of any way else to make it go away. I'm dealing with it every minute, but it's not getting any better. Something has to be done. I have to get this off my chest to see if the heat goes away.
I didn't write this to make you feel bad. I didn't write this to relive the (not so distant) past. I want to heal this marriage. I want to see you heal. I want to heal.
I love you. Please keep doing what you are doing. Please keep being the man I need you and want you to be. That I know you can be. That you want to be. You're on your way there. Let that hurt little boy grow up.
Lu
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Thursday = therapy
Today we talked more about authenticity with respect to the Mr and how he deals with the underlying tension that he feels between us. When he looks at me and can see in my face that I'm angry, he is scared that I'm going to blow, instead of trusting me to control myself like I've been working on. He doesn't have faith in me yet. It hurts my feelings, but I understand. There has been so little time since I made the changes in how I deal with anger, that he just hasn't had enough time to trust it. I am still in the training stages and honestly, could blow at any second if I don't remain in control 24/7. He talked about how he isn't defensive, but that he hates knowing I'm pissed about it and how bad he feels, and how miserable it makes him to know he made me miserable. The guilt he feels. He gets pissed off at himself. He's afraid I'm never going to forgive him. That I'm never going to let myself forget. And he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life feeling this way. And he's not being authentic by just letting it slide, that he's got to speak up. He's got to talk to me. He's got to tell me that he's afraid. And he's got to volunteer his feelings.
We talked about how I try desperately hard not to blow up at him and say all the things that I want to get off my chest. All the things he did to me, one by one. How unhealthy it is for me to hold them in, and how it could be the cause of the waves of anger I feel almost constantly. Instead of dealing with these things in a manner conducive to my healing, I'm holding them in to protect the Mr. I'm holding them in to protect myself, because I'm not sure I can tell him these things appropriately, and I know if I break my concentration then I'm going to fucking explode and scream them at him for hours. And not only will that probably set us back a few weeks, it will make me feel extremely guilty. But that part of me that wants to tell him every little thing he's done to me is pretty strong, and I really don't know how to get these things out and make them stay out, without telling him. I don't know what else to try. I don't know if it just takes time for them to go away. I've written about here plenty of times. Bah.
I don't know. 2 steps forward, one back sucks. I feel like we're making progress as a couple, but I'm trailing.
Went to see my psychiatrist yesterday and she thinks I'll be ok, as long as I continue to seek therapy and practice a lot of cognitive behavioral steps to find an even keel. I'm ok with recognizing my moods as long as I focus and take the time to pay attention.We've started the weaning process off of lamictal first. That will take 2-3 weeks. Once I'm off of that successfully, then we'll start with the geodon, which will take another 4-5 weeks. My dr gave me a physical today and said we were good to go. She prescribed me a prenatal vitamin and is sending in a referral to tricare for my ob. That will take awhile. We'll continue to wait to see if I can handle living off the meds and while we keep working together in therapy. I'll get my mirena out and then we'll start trying.
still moving forward.
We talked about how I try desperately hard not to blow up at him and say all the things that I want to get off my chest. All the things he did to me, one by one. How unhealthy it is for me to hold them in, and how it could be the cause of the waves of anger I feel almost constantly. Instead of dealing with these things in a manner conducive to my healing, I'm holding them in to protect the Mr. I'm holding them in to protect myself, because I'm not sure I can tell him these things appropriately, and I know if I break my concentration then I'm going to fucking explode and scream them at him for hours. And not only will that probably set us back a few weeks, it will make me feel extremely guilty. But that part of me that wants to tell him every little thing he's done to me is pretty strong, and I really don't know how to get these things out and make them stay out, without telling him. I don't know what else to try. I don't know if it just takes time for them to go away. I've written about here plenty of times. Bah.
I don't know. 2 steps forward, one back sucks. I feel like we're making progress as a couple, but I'm trailing.
Went to see my psychiatrist yesterday and she thinks I'll be ok, as long as I continue to seek therapy and practice a lot of cognitive behavioral steps to find an even keel. I'm ok with recognizing my moods as long as I focus and take the time to pay attention.We've started the weaning process off of lamictal first. That will take 2-3 weeks. Once I'm off of that successfully, then we'll start with the geodon, which will take another 4-5 weeks. My dr gave me a physical today and said we were good to go. She prescribed me a prenatal vitamin and is sending in a referral to tricare for my ob. That will take awhile. We'll continue to wait to see if I can handle living off the meds and while we keep working together in therapy. I'll get my mirena out and then we'll start trying.
still moving forward.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Just add water
What set me off was this: We were cracking jokes to each other about how, knowing our luck, we would have twins. Or eight babies. It was funny.
I said I doubted that would happen since you had to go through fertility treatments to have that many babies. He made a joke about having sperm of steel (which he does), and it set me the fuck off. Instant rage.
I got up from the patio table and said, "I can't believe you almost got some girl pregnant. I don't believe you only slept with her once, and I don't believe you wore a condom. You'll take that risk with some strange girl you don't even know, but you won't take it with me." and I went inside. I went and got into bed and breathed. He came in after awhile and apologized, but didn't explain himself, which still pisses me off. I was irrational.
This has been a not so great weekend so far. And now it's cold and rainy outside, so we are stuck sitting 2 feet away from each other. And I'm mad. He could have had a baby with someone else. Reckless. And it pisses me off that he denied us the chance to have a baby for the last two years because he was scared. I'm not happy that there's going to be more than 4 years in between Caiti and the maybe baby.
And I look at him and I am overwhelmed that he is mine and that he loves me and that he really really is working hard at being the man he needs to be. He wants to be together. This isn't a trick. But god, sometimes I just want to backhand him. He was so stupid. Sick and stupid.
And before we go down the baby path, the rage towards him has to be dealt with. Forgiveness is ideal. I want to get there.
Would the wife of a drug addict have another baby with her addict husband? Alcoholic? Is it different? I don't know. I don't know answers to a lot of questions these days, and I'm starting to get it that I can't always have the answer. That I'm just going to have to jump sometimes.
But that's scary as fuck for a control freak. For real.
I said I doubted that would happen since you had to go through fertility treatments to have that many babies. He made a joke about having sperm of steel (which he does), and it set me the fuck off. Instant rage.
I got up from the patio table and said, "I can't believe you almost got some girl pregnant. I don't believe you only slept with her once, and I don't believe you wore a condom. You'll take that risk with some strange girl you don't even know, but you won't take it with me." and I went inside. I went and got into bed and breathed. He came in after awhile and apologized, but didn't explain himself, which still pisses me off. I was irrational.
This has been a not so great weekend so far. And now it's cold and rainy outside, so we are stuck sitting 2 feet away from each other. And I'm mad. He could have had a baby with someone else. Reckless. And it pisses me off that he denied us the chance to have a baby for the last two years because he was scared. I'm not happy that there's going to be more than 4 years in between Caiti and the maybe baby.
And I look at him and I am overwhelmed that he is mine and that he loves me and that he really really is working hard at being the man he needs to be. He wants to be together. This isn't a trick. But god, sometimes I just want to backhand him. He was so stupid. Sick and stupid.
And before we go down the baby path, the rage towards him has to be dealt with. Forgiveness is ideal. I want to get there.
Would the wife of a drug addict have another baby with her addict husband? Alcoholic? Is it different? I don't know. I don't know answers to a lot of questions these days, and I'm starting to get it that I can't always have the answer. That I'm just going to have to jump sometimes.
But that's scary as fuck for a control freak. For real.
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