Questions and Answers

1. How come I didn't know about my husband's infidelities?

I did know. Not details, mostly suspicions. I didn't want them to be true. I didn't want to know the truth. It's not as if I consciously lied to myself, but since I could not catch my husband in the act I chose to believe I had either caught him before he cheated or that I misunderstood what was going on.

But that's not really true either. I knew he was fucking the woman in Cheyenne who he went to school with. I knew it enough to drive to her apartment and wait beside his car. But I didn't want to know so much that I couldn't bring myself to knock on her door and didn't wait for him to come out. I had real reasons for not doing either of these things. We were in the military, I had to get back to work or get in trouble, I didn't want the police involved, I was humiliated, I didn't want my coworkers to know, I couldn't stand him looking me in the eye and telling me nothing was going on and I was misreading things, I didn't want us to lose our careers. Yes, yes! They were excuses and they were also real reasons.

Over the years every clue was denied. I loved my husband and he loved me. Surely if he wanted to cheat he eventually want to leave me. Surely. Surely not.

2. Why did I stay?

At first I stayed because I had nowhere to go. I had no job, I was in school in the middle of my internship, I needed the financial security even if I didn't have the emotional security. Yes, yes! These are all excuses but they are also real reasons.

Then I promised I would stay while he sought treatment and decided who he wanted to be. I had no idea if he could change or if he would want to change. I knew that in 6 months he might continue to seek sexual gratification. I knew that it might turn out badly. But I also knew something else. I have the power to decide. If he acts out he will screw up and I will find out. I know now that I know when he is cheating. I know now that I can leave. I have tried to work with him to build his honesty. I've tried to show him that I will not melt down again and I will not threaten to kill him. If he cannot stay committed I understand. He will need to indulge his lifestyle without me and since he's already cheated I am not learning anything new about him, I will just change my life choice.

3. How can I tolerated being treated so disrespectfully?

Once upon a time I, like most women, announced that if my husband ever cheated on me I would cut off his nuts and stuff them down his throat. That was when I was young and ignorant. My husband didn't just cheat on me, he was obsessed with sex. He was addicted. He is an addict.

4. Why do I stay now?

I could write a book.

365 Days

As I grow older my calendar has become peppered with days marked as special. My parent's birthdays, the days they died. My sister's birthdays and the day my brother died in a car accident caused by a drunk driver. The date of my first marriage and the date of my divorce. The date I met my husband, the date we married, the date I discovered he was fucking Terri Cusic, had seen a dominatrix, had sex with a couple, surfed Craig's List sex pages, and had a very robust on line sex chat life.

The days we go to marriage counseling, the days my husband goes to Sexaholics Anonymous, the days we go to Recovering Couples Anonymous. The days we work our 12 Steps, the days we do a State of the Marriage meeting.

365 days ago today. 365 days ago I was shattered and sick. 365 days ago I could not believe I would survive and that I would still be here. 365 days ago I lost my past and had no future. 365 days ago today.

So where am I at now. I still don't know for sure. I hoped that 365 days later I would not be navigating terra incognito but I am. I am still shuffling forward, my hands out in front, feeling for dangers and pitfalls, hoping to see some light.

It's all so complicated.

Truth and Sadness

I haven't worked since May 13th. I applied for one job and was secretly glad when I didn't get it. I have taken the summer for me. I may take longer. My husband says he is happy to support me while I heal but his body language betrays him.

I used to love him. I used to adore him. I used to lie to myself about him. I used to put up with disrespect and cheating in order to make him stay. This recovery has been all about him. It's truly remarkable how he has changed. Let me say that I am not sure he's changed or simply learned to act differently to cover his actions. At this stage, nine months after I discovered the depths of his sexual exploits, I still don't trust him. And I don't love him anymore. At least not in the way I used to. I am not sure life with him without that kind of love is worth it.

I think I will leave my husband.

Last February, when the pain was still red hot, our dog went blind. The specialist called it SARDS. Sudden Acquired Retinal Degeneration Syndrome. There is no cause. It is linked to no illness. He just went blind. Here we were. Two very broken beings. One who couldn't see and one who wouldn't see. We spent the summer getting to know the new beings we had become. We walked every day. We practiced navigating the yard. I learned to be his eyes and he learned to rely on me. He inspired me.

We healed together a little bit at a time and then...on Labor Day after a normal morning of walks and breakfast he became very ill. He shook and paced and drooled. I took him to the emergency vet. He seemed to get better. I brought him home. Late that night be become much worse. Much worse. He went back the emergency vet. They made an appointment for a neurologist and the next day we took him. The vet said he thought it was a kind of meningitis dogs get and he had treated dogs who were worse off. My hopes rose. There was a 75% chance to save him. That afternoon the vet told us that while intubating him for an MRI they discovered he had blood in his lungs. Severe pneumonia. His chances dropped to 25%. We tearfully opted to have him humanely euthanized while still under anesthetic. We didn't even get a last hug.

Now no more walks. No more watching to ensure he doesn't run into the bench or the table. No more training on "stop" and "walk" and "slow." No more big, warm hugs, no more stares from those sightless eyes, no more scouring the net for articles about living with a blind dog. I have to heal alone. He left me to heal alone. And I can't do it.

I hate myself more every day. I hate my aging face. I hate my sagging body. I hate that I adored a man for 20 years who didn't give a shit about me. I hate that I cannot trust him. I hate that at some point he's going to want a normal life and I can't give that. I hate that my past was lie. I hate it when he's happy because it might mean he's met someone. I resent it when he's happy because I can't be. I hate it that he just changed, just like that. I hate it that I can't change. I hate so many things while acting as if I'm happy.

I think I'm going to leave my husband. I can't see a life ahead of us that gives me anything I need.

The reason for the sadness of this modern age and the men who live in it is that it looks for the truth in everything and finds it.
Edmond De Goncourt

In an Effort to Heal...

...we took a vacation to Italy.

No that's not true. I had planned a vacation for three years. For the three years I worked on my MS I had planned a vacation because we hadn't been able to take one and as a graduation gift.

My husband, I note, gives me things in an effort to ease his conscience.

It was a wonderful vacation.

Now we're back.

During this vacation it was easy to slip into old ways. It has always been easy for me to pretend that what I don't know can't hurt me. That's why this blog is valuable. It reminds me of just how badly something I didn't want to know hurt me. It is so easy to slip back into the old ways now that we are home. I am supposed to believe everything he tells me. I am not supposed to pry into his email or Facebook. I am supposed to be happy. But I am not happy. I am not good.

One of the worst casualties of my husband's addiction is me. I hate what I have become. I understand that I do this out of self-preservation but I read his emails, I check his credit cards, I log into his Facebook and I question every contact and every message. I hate being a bitch. I could end this by leaving. I would never had to pry again. I will never, ever trust him. I don't think I will. What sane person want's to live this way?

The Worst Pain a Man (or Woman) can Suffer: To have Insight into Much and Power Over Nothing

My husband and I went to dinner. The hostess asked his name because there was a waiting list. When he told her she said, "Oh! That's my Dad's name!" I thought that was humorous because my husband can be vain and just being equated with this attractive young woman's father can be annoying to him, so I asked him what he thought about it. He stated he didn't even notice.

I  used to tease him, back when I thought this was a far-off possibility, that if he left me not to leave me for a 20-something Senior Airman but at least choose a mature woman. So I told him that if nothing else positive could be gained from this whole sordid event at least he had slept with a woman who was his age. This seemed to piss him off but I really didn't care. I'm done thinking about his feelings.

As we sat there and waited in silence a family walked by and one of the women had an extensive tattoo across her upper back. My husband commented on it and immediately I had a visual image of my husband's two tattoos. He has a badge from the British Special Forces on one upper arm and a picture of the cartoon "lil Devil" on the other. For some reason, while visiting his parents and apparently trying to impress his younger brother, he had my name added to the Devil tattoo so it read "XXXX's lil Devil."

I knew in that flash of a moment that Terri Cusic had run her hand across that tattoo and my name while they made love. At that moment the hostess called us and I could not stand up. I was frozen in place by this image of her, her hand over my name while my husband penetrated her. She had to see it. Was she filled with glee? Was she smug? Was it exciting to make love to man with his wife's name on his arm? I was sick to my stomach.

My husband looked back to me and asked me if I was alright. I stood and followed him to the table. What happened back there, he asked me. You don't want to know, I replied. I do, he said. And I told him. My eyes filled with tears I could not stop as I experienced the humiliation of his lover looking at my name while she fucked my husband.

The response from my husband was the way he would have responded before I found out about his addiction and affair. Before he went into counseling. He went on the offense. Why doesn't this ever end, he cried. Why does this happen when we sit down in a  public place to eat? Because you caused this, I said. I can't control when the pain comes. We often eat at the same place and it is on the same street as the motel he took his lover to. This hurts me too but I never said anything until that moment.

He hung his head. He  pouted. He cried that what was the use of all his work when I kept bringing up the past. Why? Because for me the past never ends. I live with the pain every single day. I never know when I will find out something new about him, like the fact that he said he met her once but in fact he met her four times. And he met another woman. Like when his Blackberry buzzes and I stiffen because he used to text her while we were shopping or eating.

Why can't he just accept that I hurt?

Therein Lies the Defect of Revenge...

My husband is on a business trip. Only a week but the peace of these few days is so relaxing. I am having a hard time finishing my school work or completing a home project because I just want to relax.

I am not in love with him anymore. I used to adore him but that's the turf of Terri Cusic now. I no longer adore him. I love him still. All the things I loved about him are still there. He's funny. He's smart. He's strong. He enjoys plays and movies and books and travel. We love our dogs. We love our home.

But I'm not in love with him anymore.

For this week I don't have to think about who he fucked. I don't have images of him and Terri Cusic naked in a motel room. I can enjoy my garden.

When I think of him and Terri Cusic I can feel my breathing get fast and my heart speed up. I can feel the tension in my jaw that causes a headache. I become anxious. I think of revenge. I don't like thinking of revenge but why does she get to walk away from this pain? Fucking bitch. I'd like to fuck her up. I'd like to ruin her life.

Revenge is never as good in real life as in fantasy. What a bummer. I'd like to ruin her life.

"Therein lies the defect of revenge: it's all in the anticipation; the thing itself is a pain, not a pleasure." Mark Twain

I Always Hated "The Ugly Duckling"

In May of 1991 a man pursued me. He was strong, and blonde, with blue, blue eyes and he pursued me. He leaned close to me. He kissed me. I felt powerful when I was around him. We were both tall and blonde and strong. We were both smart and funny. We towered over the others. We wanted each other.

Finally, I thought, a man who sees my value. He doesn't care if I am beautiful but I am beautiful when I am with him. He cares if I am smart, and I am smart. He and I will make a team. We will care for each other and when the world is cruel we will shelter each other. We will have each other's backs. We will protect each other. We will build an empire even if it is a small empire.

We will be the world to each other.

What a crock of shit.

I didn't even know I believed in fairy tales.

So now, over 19 years later, this same man is pursuing me again. He is in counseling for his addiction. He goes to support groups. He listens. He calls. He tells me he loves me. He accepts responsibility for his actions. He reads books on sex addiction. He put a blocking software on his computer and he let me set the password.

So why should I believe in him now?

Is this another of my fairy tales?

Is this just another crock of shit?

How a Predator Hunts

When I still worked in my civil service job, I knew a woman named Ellen. She worked in the same office as the registrar. She was funny and outgoing, all the things I am not. She would say the most personal and outrageous things and I really liked her.

The Air Force had always blocked Facebook from their servers. Active duty and employees were not allowed to go to social networking sites but in 2009 they unblocked access. Ellen loved Facebook, I did not have a profile. She often told me to make a profile. 

Her cubicle was behind mine and one day she loudly exclaimed, "Tell your husband to quit contacting me!" Huh, I asked. What are you talking about? He's instant messaging me! Why is he doing that?

I jumped on my email and sent him a message to knock it off. Not only is Ellen a very sexual woman she cannot keep her mouth shut. Her comments brought up my insecurities. We talked about it at home. Please, I asked. It's not really appropriate to be messaging her. Why, he asked. She  invited me to be friends and I was just messaging her. Don't ask why, I told him. She is just so loud and she sees sexual advances in everything a man does. Please just stop. I'm asking you to do this for me. It's embarrassing at work for her to announce to the entire office that you have contacted her. It doesn't matter if it's innocent, it sounds guilty when she says it. He promised he would stop.

One day in late 2009 Ellen came to my cubicle and in a loud voice said, "Is your husband a freak, or what???" I froze. I turned to her and said, well, we've been married for almost 20 years, I'm pretty sure he's a freak, why do you ask?.

"Why does he keep contacting me? He's on my Facebook and he said he hadn't seen me for a week and wants to know what I'm doing? What's that all about? Why does he know how long it's been since he's seen me? Why does he care what I'm doing?" 

I felt so angry and humiliated. I wanted to yell at her to shut up. I wanted to throttle her for being so public. I couldn't say a thing. I turned back to my computer and told her she should ask him those questions. She hovered for a while and then left. I typed an email to my husband. I asked you not to contact Ellen again. What is wrong with you? Why can't you leave women alone? Why can't you leave her alone? I've just been humiliated in my own office so thanks for that.

A few minutes later he showed up outside my office. I went outside to talk to him. He said he was just being friendly and he didn't understand what he did wrong. I told him of course he didn't understand. He never understands why his interactions with women are so inappropriate. I said, you promised me you wouldn't contact her again but you did. Now I'm embarrassed, my whole office heard what she said. Why did you have to do that?

He apologized. He said he didn't understand the big deal. He never meant it sexually. I tried to have a conversation with him about how married men interact with women. How things can be misinterpreted because of people's experiences and that part of being married is self-censorship. He rolled his eyes and promised he would never contact her again.

I could not bring myself to speak to Ellen again. I wanted to tell her how she might act a bit more civilized but I knew my husband's problems were not hers. I wanted to suggest to her that she could have pulled me aside and told me quietly about her suspicions, but what was the point. I wanted to tell her that she stirred up so many emotions, but how was she to know? I wanted to tell her to mind her own bloody business but I suspect she was accurate in her feelings. My husband is a predator. He cannot help himself.

He has no idea what appropriate relationships between men and women are much less appropriate relationships between a married man and women. I'm not sure he was even aware that he was hunting. He was sniffing the wind, trying to find out her vulnerabilities. He was always sniffing the wind. She knew it and so did I. 

The Worst Thing that Happened

In the weeks that follow betrayal, life becomes something different. I felt I wasn't present. I felt the ground shift under me constantly. I couldn't balance my emotions or my life. What did I know? What didn't I know? What was my fault? What was his fault?

I had to go to work. I tried to distract myself. I felt physically weak and mentally groggy. I sleep walked. And one day, I realized I didn't know anything. I thought about the stories I had loved to tell about our life together. How I traveled for 24 hours to Korea. How I didn't want to go and how I cried the entire way there. How the four hour bus ride to my base left me exhausted and enthralled by that beautiful country. How confused I was when I stepped off the bus.

My entire shop was there to greet me. All 10 or 12 of them. I was the first woman in my career field to ever be stationed in Korea. They all came out to see me. And as I stepped off the bus I saw the disappointment in their eyes. I wasn't hot. I wasn't fun. I wasn't even pretty. They melted away without even saying hi. My supervisor dripped sweat as he told me there was no private NCO room for me so I would have to share with an airman. He literally ran away. My husband stayed. He looked at me and asked me if he could buy me a beer. I nearly cried in gratitude.

We sat and talked. He took me to billeting because I refused to settle for a room less than what my male counterparts had. I wanted him to stay. I thought it was the jet lag, the stress. I wanted him to stay but I didn't ask. Later he told me he wanted to stay.

What a fairy tale. He had me at, "Can I buy you a beer?".

Now I saw with clarity what happened. He was a sexual predator. I was a vulnerable woman. It didn't matter to him what I looked like or who I was, he wanted a piece of ass.

A mutual friend told me years later that my husband said he was going to marry me even before he met me. After December 15th I emailed the friend and told him I knew the truth. My husband had said he was going to fuck me. My friend said I knew my husband too well. Sadly, I didn't know my husband well enough.

Everything I knew about my life was false. All my cherished stories were lies. My past disappeared in that instant. 20 years of relationship faded away. I could never tell how we met again because it wasn't love, it was lust and addiction. 19 years of marriage and I might as well forget every single day of it because every single day of it was a fabrication.

This was the worst thing that happened. I lost my past. 20 years became a gaping black hole and I found I could not even recall a single day without being laid low by the pain. Never go back, I told myself. There was a new narrative. My husband lied to me every single day of our marriage. He lived two lives and I let him. My real husband was a combination of the man I thought I knew and the man he really is. Remembering the past would serve no purpose, only pushing forward and integrating these two men into one would be productive. As I type I cannot remember a single day of our past before December 15, 2010.

I know there was one. I remember where we were stationed, where we lived, our pets, and our jobs. I don't recall how we acted. I remember we took vacations but I don't remember whether they were fun or not. I remember visits with family but not what they were like. I am erasing that past because that past never existed.

And worst of all terrible things we both destroyed our past. He did by marrying me and not being honest. I did it by marrying him and not being honest with myself. Strange, isn't it? How two people who are willing to live a life of lies and deceit can find each other halfway across the world. I suspect we would have found each other anyway.

The Worst Thing that Happened

She had a son. A grown son. Of course I didn't know this. I didn't even know about her or about anything.

We had to watch American Ninja Warrior. We had enjoyed Ninja Warrior but my husband told me the son of a woman who worked down the hall from him was entered in the American trials. He was going to win and kick ass at the Japanese event.

We watched and I rooted for American Patrick whose mom worked down the hall from my husband. He did well. My husband held me on the couch while we watched. We cooked dinner together while we watched. Yay, Patrick! Go!

Weeks later, just as I was beginning to breath again, I looked at the leader board for American Ninja Warrior.

Patrick Cusic. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....

Humiliation. My husband was in the kitchen. What's the last name of the guy you were rooting for? The one whose mother works down the hall from you? He didn't look up. I don't remember, he said.

Could it possibly be Cusic?

I don't remember.

Lair. Cheater. Liar.

He is the son of the woman you are screwing.

Oh Lord, won't this ever end? You cheat on me. You surf porn. You engage in Internet sex. You cruised Craig's List. Now this. This.

Jesus Christ.

The Worst Thing that Happened

What hurts the worst.

In the weeks afterwards I tracked my husband across the Internet. Why didn't it occur to me before?

He had a profile on every on-line dating or affair site. He used my beautiful dog's name as his password. The dog we both loved and had to euthanize. The dog we cried over. He used his name as his password to cheat on me.

Fucker.

Pain Pays the Income of Each Precious Thing

I have examined my emotions so often that they are almost disconnected from me now. A quick look at the emails I saved bring them right back into focus.

What hurts the worst about this betrayal?

The morning after December 15th I screamed at my husband. I screamed at him about how disgusting he is. I screamed at him about how vile his is. I screamed insults at the diseased and filthy woman who used him and who hurt me. I called her names and wished her a slow death. He said, "Stop calling her those names."

Why? Does it bother you when I call her names?

Yes.

Why?

Because she's a human being.

My heart shattered. My chest was hollow. My world ended. My reality shredded.

I howled at him. She's a human being? SHE'S a human being? That fucking whore?

I went downstairs. I sat at the table. The pain was unbearable. The pain was more intense than any pain I had ever experienced in my life.

The pain welled up in me and overflowed and tore its way out of me. I made sounds I had never heard before. Surely God heard me.

She's a human being. What am I? I can't insult her because she's a human being but I am just someone to be hurt. She's a human being. This woman whose own unfulfilled and empty life intersected with mine was a human being entitled to respect, and I was....what was I?

When my husband told Terri Cusic about how I neglected him did he ever think, "My wife is a human being not deserving of this betrayal?" When he had coffee or lunch with her did it ever cross his mind that I was a human being? When he fucked her did he think, "My wife's a human being who will be hurt?"

Why was she entitled to defense but I wasn't? Why?

I knew then I wasn't a human being. I was a thing who annoyed my husband. When did I cease to be a human being? Was it always this way? I was a lump of pure pain. I was less than human. I was an animal. A hindrance. A thing.

I screamed until I was hoarse. My husband held me as I rocked and screamed. Later he said he didn't remember this.

In My Shoes

Good Lord. Unless you've been there you cannot imagine how quickly things unfold. How traumatic events are. How unconnected you feel. Randomness becomes the norm.

How could you do this to me while my dog was dying?
Right before Christmas.
You used my beautiful dog's name as  your password, you whore.
Right upstairs from me. Right in my home. You brought this into my home.
My life has been a lie.
My memories are a lie.
Nothing existed before I knew this about you.
Why, why, why.

What Happened After

A nightmare happened after. That's what happened. The nightmare I had been avoiding for 20 years. How do I describe all the emotions that flooded through me? Anger, betrayal, hatred, violence, fear, loathing, loss, you name it.

How could this be happening? How long had my husband been seeing someone else? And not just her. There were emails to prostitutes. A dominatrix. A man who placed an ad on Craig's List. Oh my God, oh my God. So much more than I ever imagined. Not just phone sex. Not just web chats. Women all over the country. Men too.

Fear. AIDS.

I wanted to die. I wanted him to die. I wanted to disappear.

She adored him. MY WORDS. I adored him! I adored him! He is MY husband. She didn't have a right to adore him. There were chatty emails and jokes. Just like they meant something to each other. As if I didn't exist.

She called him and slapped him back to reality. He took advice from her that he would not take from me! I was sick to my stomach. I emailed her and called her a whore. I posted on his Facebook page about how he was fucking a whore named Terri Beuerlein Cusic.

He called her Terri Beuerlein in his emails. That was classic. Use her maiden name to alienate the husband. That way neither of them felt so guilty. I forwarded the emails to my account to save them.

I can't even remember what happened that night. I don't really want to remember. The emotions are enough. Even now I can feel the panic of that evening. I wanted him to feel my pain. I wanted him to FEEL my pain. I hit him. I slapped him. I threatened to kill him. I screamed and screamed and screamed. I screamed my pain.

He started telling me the truth at the point of a gun. He had been sleeping with her. He had slept with other the woman early in our marriage. 19 years of lying. He had lied to me for 19 years. I had been right all along. I was right about everything. I lied to myself more than he lied to me. I was disgusted with him and me.

He had seen the dominatrix several times. He never met the man from Craig's List. It was a nightmare that even I had never imagined. He told me to kill him and then cringed when I said I would. I screamed until I was exhausted. He tried to hold me and I slapped him. Get away from me you filthy, lying, cheating, male whore. You are nothing but a whore. A lying diseased whore and you sleep with lying diseased whores. You made me into a whore.

Finally exhausted. Beyond all words and accusations. Beyond misery. I made him sleep in the same bed with me. I didn't want to be alone.

Life Goes On and Things Change

Life goes on even after the death of a beloved pet or dear friend. Life returned to normal. My husband gamed and surfed upstairs. I watched TV and did homework downstairs. I became more and more remote and reluctant to have sex with him.

After he returned from a trip to visit his parents I was sick and for weeks afterwards I refused to have sex with him.

In November we decided to adopt a rescued dog and we brought a sweet little girl into our home. She filled up space and was a delight. She kept me company and I convinced my husband to go with us to novice obedience classes. I enjoyed seeing my husband work with her. For an hour he left the Blackberry alone but afterward...back to his true love.

November became December. Only a few more months of my internship. My supervisor was having problems at home and she took them out on me. We clashed a few times and I felt I like an indentured servant. I couldn't push back because I needed her to review my skills but I didn't trust her objectivity. I was tense and on edge.

On 15 December 2010 I came home late to find my husband was not yet home. I decided to check his email as I tended to do. As usual there was nothing suspicious until I checked his sent email.

It's the end of the world as I know it.

End of Summer and Life as I Know it.

September came and the heat continued. The heat was my dog's enemy. It tired him out. We had already had the fluid drained from his chest twice. The vet was honest with me. If it is only several weeks between treatments we have to consider his quality of life. On the 18th he was playing tug with my husband. On the night of the 19th he could not lay down. He stood in the center of the bedroom and his eyes told me he was finished. My husband rolled over to go to sleep.

I took him to the specialist as 11:30 at night. The on call vet told me what I didn't want to hear. It was time. My dog told me it was time. I called my husband and he came. I wept and watched as his life left him. I wanted to take it back and tell them to give me my dog back. I knew I could never get back what I had lost. In the early morning hours of Sept 20th my beautiful, unique, clever Italian dog slipped away.

We drove home in separate cars and cried all night.

The Heat is On

My dog continued to slide downhill and I continued to worry. The Blackberry glared at me and laughed at me.

One hot summer day my husband and I went to the store. He hates grocery shopping but will do it. He offered to go get some items on one aisle while I went to another. Agreed. I got the items I was looking for and went looking for him. I found him on the freezer aisle. His back was to me. He was bent over the Blackberry. Even here it controlled him.

I walked up behind him. Quietly. On purpose. I looked over his shoulder...and he reacted like a kid who is caught shoplifting. He instantly whipped the Blackberry behind his back and turned to me. Oh, there you are! Did you get what you were looking for? He started to push the basket away. So what's up with the Blackberry I asked? Huh, he said. Nothing.

Why did you hide it? I didn't hide it, he shrilled. You surprised me. I was answering an important email and you surprised me. On Saturday, I asked? Well yeah, work doesn't stop on base just because it's Saturday. I couldn't bring myself to argue with him in the store. I knew I was in deep trouble. I knew this was serious stuff. I quit speaking to him. He quit speaking to me.

He knew and I knew. What could I do about it? He still held my hand. He still told me he loved me. He was my adored husband.

The Summer of Love

The Blackberry. Hated device. Evil interloper. Divider. Enabler.

One evening as I walked past the desk where the Blackberry held court it buzzed. I looked at it and saw it lit up. I picked it up to see an email that read, "It's cold here in the command post." As I tried to see who it was from my husband literally flew across the room. Put it down, he yelled. I did.

What the hell? He grabbed it up and hugged it close. What the hell, I asked? Why so touchy? There's classified on this that you can't see, he whined.

Oh, come on, now. My husband and I had shared a Top Secret clearance for many years. We shared a lot. I knew classified emails were encrypted and that he wouldn't get them on the NIPR net. Classified emails came via a secure line. So what was so important I couldn't see on his Blackberry?

The police blotter, he told me. I was incredulous. The blotter? You're kidding. No, he scowled at me. There are social security numbers and you don't have a need to know. I'm sensitive to need to know stuff but my husband had never given a shit about that in the past. Not with me. We shared a classified career field. I had no interest in the police blotter or social security numbers. What did he think I was going to do? Steal someone's identity?

I had seen this kind of panic before. My sister is an alcoholic and once I took her to the hospital after a seizure. I walked into her room with her purse (I had already found the bottle of gin in it) and when she saw me with it she practically pulled the IVs out of her arm in an effort to wrest it from me. She was panicked I would know her secret. She was angry and panicked. I saw the same emotion in my husband's eyes.

I was angry. I challenged him. He got angrier then refused to speak. I should have pressed the issue. I should have put my foot down right then. I should have...I should have...I should have...

But I didn't. I let it go. I brought it up many times and every time he blew it off. Why was he so afraid I would see his Blackberry? Why could he never put the damn thing down?

I hated that fucking thing.

2010

2010. I hope I forget that year someday. I wish I never lived it.

We discovered my beautiful dog who we had brought from Italy had an enlarged heart. He was put on a ton of medications and I wept. He was such an unusual dog. So sensitive but with a killer's instinct. Our Italian neighbors called him "furbo," clever. Sneaky. Wiley. All the above, but one of the most loving animals I've even known.

All summer long we refilled prescriptions and took him to the vet. When our vet could no longer stabilize his heart we took him to a specialist. In my best way I convinced myself that he could go on for years. When he started getting fluid in his chest and had to have it drained I cried. The vet said if he could manage six weeks between drainings we would carry on. I celebrated as each week went by. I worried. I held him. I talked to him in Italian and remembered how I chased him through the streets of our Italian village and how he once staged a great escape with our neighbors dogs. I wanted him to behave like a dog but every time he raced outside to bark I agonized over how much of his life the effort cost him...and me.

Early in the spring my husband was given a Blackberry at work to carry. I hated it. I hated that thing as much as is humanly possible to hate anything. I loathed it. It became my enemy. He never put it down. It went everywhere he and we went. It buzzed and he jumped. In the middle of dinner. All evening long. He ignored me and fondled it. I knew it was a link for him to the outside. A link that I could not touch because it was government issued and heavily passworded. I knew I would never break the password.

I knew he could not access porn on the Blackberry. The government blocked those sites and archived emails. Still, my husband became angry when I demanded he put the damn thing away. He told me he had to answer it. That's why they gave him the device. I told him he was entitled to dinner without being disturbed and that he should get overtime for all the time he spent answering emails. He growled. I yelled. It became an entity between us and more than once I wanted to smash it to hell.

In 2009 I left my job as a contractor and took a civil service job that sounded wonderful. It was in training, a job I loved and it meant I would have the security that was lacking in my contractor job. I would have one boss, one office, one mission.

Unfortunately it was not as I anticipated. I loved the job but the people I worked with were largely incompetent. I couldn't understand why my boss kept hiring people who were incapable of making decisions or of thinking creatively. He failed to support us when we needed it. I chaffed at the restrictions and the annoyance of dragging my coworkers to think outside the box.

I was approaching the end of  my coursework in grad school and looking forward to starting my internship. We had changed programs from Marriage and Family Therapy to Mental Health Counseling and the requirements had changed too. It became apparent to me that I could not work full time and do 20 hours a week of internship. I didn't have that kind of energy anymore. Since I disliked my job, in 2010 my husband and I decided I would quit work and concentrate on my year-long internship.

It wasn't an easy decision. My husband was worried about making ends meet but I reminded him that we did fine when he was out of work. I needed the time to really concentrate on my new profession. I realized that I was getting older and needed to really immerse myself in the profession. In May 2010 I left my government job (without any regret!) and started my internship at a substance abuse treatment hospital.

This was not the position I wanted but it was difficult finding a place to work at. The list the school gave us was out of date. I had no idea where to begin and my first few interviews were awkward. We had only six weeks to find a location and I just barely found my site in time.

For the first time in years I was truly excited about doing something! I loved counseling! I could not believe I was actually doing what I had dreamed of doing for so many years. I knew I would not ever make the money I had as a contractor but I also knew I could work at this profession for many more years. I dreamed of having my own office and my own clients. Once licensed my husband could retire and with my income and our retirements and savings we would live the good life!

At the same time I noticed my husband became less happy. He more often complained about his boss when he came home from work. I offered him my best advice but it made no difference. He was miserable. He started looking for new jobs. Sadly, my husband's aggressive nature had burned many bridges. One of the hardest times was when a man my husband had hired got a job and a promotion that my husband applied for. I didn't know how to help him. We had often talked about his aggressive nature and his lack of filters when he criticized people but my husband only defended his actions. He said others didn't understand that he was right.

And he was right. My husband is a very smart man but I was often appalled by his lack of sensitivity to others. He had no empathy and when others expressed remorse over someone's misfortune my husband would make really thoughtless and cruel comments. I hated this side of him but he was so sensitive to me and he loved our dogs.

I suspected this was a front my husband put on to cover some deep insecurity in himself. I had an inkling of my husband's past. His family was not healthy. He had hinted at abuse when he was a child. I wanted to know more but I didn't want to disturb what my husband seemed to have come to terms with.

Friends made jokes about my husband's lack of sensitivity. They seemed to think it was just a part of his personality that made  him who he is. I tried not to make a mountain out of what might be a molehill. I ached for my husband because I saw him limit himself because of his behaviors. I didn't understand this self-destructive part of him but I loved him and supported him in all he did. Who's perfect? Don't we all struggle with personality deficiencies? I am not exempt.

I really didn't put two and two together. I probably didn't want to.

In the Eye

We settled into a rhythm. I worked as a government contractor, he as civil service. We shared our stories when we got home from work. We had parties and we attended parties. As we begin to remodel the master bath, I decided to go back to graduate school.

I had wanted to work in the counseling profession for years. I had began my Masters while stationed south of my husband but when I was promoted and the Air Force offered us an assignment in Italy I quit. My boss was going to the University of Phoenix majoring in counseling and I suddenly wanted to too. For the next two years I worked full time, helped remodel and did my homework. It was grueling. Far more grueling than I remembered from my first grad school. So much time was spent reading and researching and housework never stopped. I steadily gained weight after my retirement from the AF. I was approaching middle age and suddenly I found myself experiencing night sweats and hot flashes. It was disconcerting. I was uncomfortable and unhappy with how I looked and I seemed to enter a spiral of self-loathing.

I traveled quite a bit with my job and I enjoyed it, Hill AFB, Minot AFB, Whiteman AFB, Kings Bay Naval Station, Kansas City, Amarillo, Newport RI, Knoxville TN, Okinawa Japan. I worked on papers and did my research at home. A routine developed. I would sit in front of the TV downstairs and work on homework while my husband played video games on his gaming computer upstairs. I knew he wasn't just gaming. When I went up the stairs and down the hall to his office I announced loudly, "Woman on deck!" and "Turn off the porn!"

My husband would get angry when I did this. I had seen porn often enough as I entered his office but he just got angry at me. He would swivel his chair towards me to block the screen, he would fumble the mouse to close the window or turn off the monitor. I knew this. I struggled with this. Worst of all were the nights he wanted to make love.

My husband would be downstairs with me and then restlessly he would pace into the kitchen. Silently he would walk through the back hall and quickly jump the stairs without saying a word. If I asked him where he was going he would say he had work to do or I was busy and he wanted to get in a video game. Hours later he would come downstairs and throw himself across the chair. He would look at me and smile. He would roll his eyes and make faces like a child. He would get my attention and tell me I looked beautiful. He wanted to make love. It disgusted me. I was not about to be the convenient outlet for my husband's lust stoked by the porn he was surfing.

No fucking way.

I knew exactly what he was doing. What I didn't know was the extent of what he was doing. I had no idea bout the instant messages. The chats with women. The other stuff. I didn't want him to touch me. When he did the heat of his body threw me into sweaty hot flashes. I wasn't sure if that was caused by menopause or my disgust with his behaviors.

I struggled with this. Fights between us accomplished nothing. I didn't want to see what he was doing upstairs. I saw the sex toys in his desk drawers. I didn't want to know. I didn't want a divorce but I didn't want him to touch me. I wondered if we could just live together but he would not leave me alone. I wondered if I could sleep with him without thinking about his other life. I felt like a whore. Why should I feel like a whore when I was doing nothing wrong? There were weeks when I refused to sleep with him but even I needed to feel loved and even I needed human contact.

I poured over his computer to search for porn but I also realized he was getting better at hiding what he did. He spent hours pursuing his needs and I didn't have hours to follow him on line. I suspected he might have other email accounts but how could I find out? Life became unbearable but I bore it.

This became our life. I still adored my husband, beyond all reason. He still held my hand and told me loved me. This became our life.

Professing to Believe What he does not Believe

I came home from work one day, still raw from my husband's lunch with a woman he met through classified ads, to find him sitting on the couch, head in hands. He looked up at me in utter misery and my heart stopped. What's wrong, I could barely speak. What happened?

I had to resign my job, he said. I couldn't make sense of this. He had to resign? Was this because of some sex encounter at work? He said he had been having problems at work because he would take on work that was not at his level. It went against his grain to sit in a cubicle and not have any work to do, but the others became angry because they were higher pay grades than him and felt he should not try to do their work. He said his supervisor told him he could resign before they fired him, so he did.

To say I was floored is an understatement. I had never heard of anyone being asked to leave civil service, even in the probation period. Were you surfing porn, I asked? No. Did you hit on one of the women? No. Did they figure out you were creepy? No, no, no. This made no sense to me but that feeling was overtaken by fear we could not pay our bills. Oh my God, this was the first time in our lives when we weren't both working. I panicked. I started making plans about what we could cut in order to get by but my husband reassured me. We had my income and I was earning more than I ever had before. We had both our military retirements and we had no bills but our house payment.

For the next nine months we settled into a routine. I was the breadwinner. My husband bricked in the patio. He did the dishes and cooked the meals. He looked for work and was inconsolable when he didn't get hired. He vacuumed and did laundry. He seemed fairly happy. I had never been the breadwinner before and while I was proud of myself, I was also worried about what would happen if my husband never went back to work.

He seemed peaceful during this time and I realized that I could not track down his activities while he was at home all day and I was at work. We continued to see the counselor and gradually we reached a state of balance. My husband's worse days seemed to be behind him.

I was almost disappointed when he got a job offer as a civilian with the Air Force. He was happy and returned to work and things seemed pretty good. We started remodeling our master bathroom and I decided to return to school to finish my Masters program.

Once Upon a Time

Life trudged along. I suspected my husband wasn't happy in his job but when I asked him directly he said he was fine. I made it clear he didn't have to stay in his job but he told me it would get better. He continued to spend hours on his computer playing videos games and, I suspected, surfing porn. I knew he was surfing porn because I found it on his computer. I solved this problem by not entering the office when my husband was on the computer. Ignorance is bliss. We worked on the house and shared our work frustrations. I got a pay raise but the life of a contractor was difficult and I worried constantly about my company losing the contract I worked on. I made some inroads and tried to make myself indispensable.

I traveled quite a bit. One of my first trips was to Germany. Others followed to bases in the US as I begin teaching accident response classes for the government.

One morning I noticed my husband forgot to take his cell phone to work. It had become habit to check his email but the cell phone was sacrosanct. There it lay and I picked it up and checked his voicemail. It required a password but as before, a couple of tries got me in. My heart sank and breathing became almost impossible as I listened to a woman's voice thank my husband for lunch and "everything." She said she really enjoyed talking to him and would like to see him again. She gave him the times she would be at her studio and told him she looked forward to seeing him.

Why couldn't I pick up his phone or read his email or check his drawer just once and not find anything! I was sick to my stomach. I had suspected he surfed porn and suspected he visited chat rooms but this was real. This was right in my face. He met this woman for lunch. I didn't know what to do. My head spun. I went to work. I sat at my desk. My husband was as cheerful as always when he left for work that morning. Cheerful while he was meeting this woman for lunch. Cheerful and loving while he was, what, sleeping with her? With who else? I couldn't think. I was angry. I was sick. I was frightened. I called him at work and told him I heard his cell message.

The pleading began immediately. Wait, wait, he said. Don't do anything, it's not what you think. Please, please he begged. Let's talk about it. Don't do anything. I hung up. In minutes he was walking through my office door. He was shameless. He begged me not to leave him. I told him to be quiet, my entire building would hear him. He cried and I made him walk outside with me.

We sat in my car and I tried not to scream but I told him how disgusting he was. How this was the last straw. How I was filing for divorce. My husband looked devastated. He looked devastated. He begged me not to do anything right away. Not until we could talk about it. My world was crumbing around me. Everything I thought I knew, everything I lied to myself about was laid bare and it was ugly. It was as ugly as I never wanted to know it could be. I sent my husband away and told him I would see him after work.

I had never known such pain in my entire life. It was like being buried alive. I could not breathe. I could not break out of the pain that engulfed me. I could not see the future. I could not think of the past. I cried and moved out of our bedroom. My husband begged me to stay and I told him I would on one condition; he needed to find a marriage counselor for us. I stayed away from out bedroom for a week and then crawled back. I needed any kind of comfort I could find. My husband found a therapist and met with her. She was not a licensed marriage counselor but she felt comfortable and my husband was willing to go.

He dismantled the computer bunker and asked me to stay in the room with him while he was on the computer. I moved a treadmill in there and started exercising. We went to counseling and made some headway and after a while the pain dulled...but the suspicion never did. I often found phone numbers on his phone from women who were not related to his work. He deleted them and told me they were old friends.

In the midst of trying to get better, things got very much worse.

Imitation is the Sincerest form of Flattery

There were other signs. That's easy to say and it's not as if I didn't notice them when they happened. But what did they mean?

My husband often took credit for things I did. When I wrote an article for the base paper but never submitted it, he did...but with his name on the byline. When I discovered a new band or some off-beat TV show, he could be heard telling his friends about the cool new things he discovered. When I protested he said, "Everybody does it."

When I designed home improvement projects, picked out the tile, the paint, and the fixtures, he let people praise him without mentioning my part in it. When I protested he said, "WE did it, honey, WE did it," meaning, when he got credit it applied to both of us.

It often seemed he didn't have a personal style but relied on my style to give him substance. I thought he just needed more praise for the things he did. I praised him often. I told him I adored him. I noted how hard he worked, how he didn't drink, smoke, or gamble. How good he was with money and how kind to animals. It was never enough. He sought out people so he could show them how cool he was.

Most bothersome were the times he would talk to me about work issues and I would make suggestions about how I thought things should be done or not done. Often he ran with my ideas and the next thing I knew, he was being rewarded for some change he had instituted but I had developed. I didn't mind because he was the one who put words into action, but shouldn't he have mentioned me as a partner? We both worked in the same area, in the same career field. I would not have instituted a subordinate's idea without giving him or her credit.

The integrity of this bothered me. But life was so busy. Surely this was just a quirk and not an indication of my beautiful husband's values.

Life, Depression, and Other Things

I hated my new job. It was a staff position. My boss was an independent retired E9 who never tasked me with anything. Projects would pop up and I would go to him and ask him what the scope of my authority was. He would tell me not to worry about it, he would take care of it. Back to my cubicle I would go to surf the net.

One day an old friend called me and told me a big government contractor was looking for employees and a couple of months later I dropped my retirement paperwork. It was a sudden decision. I had hoped to make E9 but it became apparent that was not going to happen. Better for me to move on. One day in December 2003 I walked across the street to the MPF and told them to start the retirement process. Two months later I was retired and two days after that I started my new job as a civilian.

Two weeks before my retirement, my father died. I had tickets go to visit him. He had been bed-ridden for two years after a severe stroke. I knew he was going downhill. One morning my sister called and asked to speak to my husband. Now that was weird. He was already at work. She called back and told me that she didn't want to be the one to break the news but since she couldn't get hold of my husband she had to. My father was dead. I was heartbroken. I loved my father.

We went home for the funeral. I could hardly bear to see my father's coffin lowered into the dark earth. He was so vital. He was such a child of the sunlight. I said my goodbyes to a wooden box and watched a lay minister giggle during the service because he forgot the words. The priest was too busy for my father's funeral.

It was hard learning about life in the civilian world. Fortunately most big contractors are made up of retired military so the transition was a bit easier. The job was challenging but I slipped into depression and I could feel it dragging me down. Menopause crept up on me. Hot flashes signaled the end of my life as a fertile and desirable female. I stopped exercising and gained weight.

I wondered every morning why I bothered to get up. Nothing was important anymore. I had no more inspections to prepare for. No classified to protect. No training to take or conduct. No performance reports to write. No airmen to counsel. No promotion test to prepare for. No deadlines. No commander demanding immediate talking papers. No crisis to avert. No free world to keep safe. God that sucked.

But you get up every morning and you find solace and satisfaction in the things you can. I made a good salary. Better than I ever expected to make in my life. My husband I went back to Italy. I traveled on work to Germany. It got better. Not great but better.

In 2005 my husband retired. He had reached high year of tenure and had to. He missed E9 by only a few points. He was devastated. I was angry at him. He got a job with the DoD and left the physical work of weapons maintenance behind. He traded his uniform for a suit and a cubicle in a dark office in a secure building. I worried about him. I knew that office. I knew those people. It was a soul killing place to me but he told me he liked it.

Less than a year later....

All Things Bright and Beautful

My husband is beautiful. He was raised in England but has no accent. He played soccer and American football. He is rugged and has deep blue eyes. He bears scars from a motorcycle accident. His hair is reddish-blonde. His chest is big and powerful. He can be very tender.

My husband can do anything. He can replumb the bathroom. Rewire the house. Weld. Fix the car. He built his own computer. He drinks socially. He does not gamble. He loves the outdoors and hunts. He loves our dogs and would protect them with his life.

My husband is very smart. He can read something once and understand the implications of it. He excels at his job. People like him. He's funny.

My husband can be cruel and I often tell him he has no filter between his brain and his mouth. He can say things that most people just think. I have cringed at his bluntness. But his incredible competence at what he does makes up for his lapses.

My husband and I have remodeled kitchens, bathrooms, yards, and laundry rooms. We've traveled all over the world. We've loved and fought and I loved him almost from the moment I met him.

My husband is also terribly flawed. He was abused as a child. I knew for many years although he never told me. I listened to what he said and I knew. I thought he had learned to cope with it and I did not know enough to understand that trauma of this kind will find a way out. Even when you think you have it stuffed so deep it doesn't bother you anymore, it will come out in boundary issues, in inappropriate behavior, in sexual acting out. I know now. I didn't know then.

What?

I loved entertaining in my home. I wanted to share what we had with others. One day several old friends from a past assignment called and said they would be in town. I invited them for dinner. My husband was not home. He was traveling on Temporary Duty but I saw no issue in having two men for dinner. We were professionals.

It was a beautiful evening and we sat outside, talked over old times and drank Italian wine. I showed them around the house. When we walked into the office my husband had created my friend took one look and declared, "What is your husband doing, surfing porn? What's with the bunker?"

I was offended and surprised. Yes, what exactly was he doing? This man just gave words to something that had bothered me but been unable to address. I now knew that what nagged at the back of my mind was apparent to someone from outside. I was truly bothered and concerned.

We continued dinner and as several bottles of wine were consumed one of my friends noted he needed to stop so he could drive back to their motel. No need, I said, we have plenty of space right here and they could stay the night. My friend very kindly told me that he would never do that. The appearance of impropriety was not a good idea both for his wife and my husband.

Wow. I thought that was really appropriate. I had seen too many people's marriages fall apart because of loose boundaries between friends. This is how adults behave. They consider the implications and they make decisions based on the consequences. I appreciated this man's comment and felt chastened that I had tried to put him in a position that might appear to be inappropriate. Why was this kind of reasoning missing from my life?

Living a Dream

In 1999 we moved to Italy. It was like a dream. The area was far more beautiful than I ever imagined. My husband had found us a small house at the base of the Dolomiti, the Italian Alps. I stood at the window staring at the peaks that seems to soar out of the fields behind the house. I learned the rules of the road, how to order off a menu, and to shop at the Tuesday market. I discovered what cheese is really supposed to taste like.

Our Italian neighbors were more than wonderful. They included us in family dinners and took us to their home in a tiny village clinging to the side of the mountains for New Years. We drank and ate away our fears over Y2K and the world surivived. I thrived.

Work was a pressure cooker for both us of. Everything in Europe was different. We traveled in the local area and I marveled that this beautiful country was a birthright for the Italians. Our time was not without heartache. We had to have our beloved dog put to sleep after struggling with the Italian veterinarian system to stop his cluster seizures. My husband and I wept together and huddled against the knowledge we had chosen to end his life. It made us draw closer.

We traveled to Germany, France, Rome, and Egypt. It was like living a dream. The best four years of my life...oh, I still kept an eye on my husband. He still behaved inappropriately towards women, often touching them and getting far too familiar. We argued when I brought it up after all, the other guys did these things too. But the other guys were single and their touching sent overt sexual signals. Is this what my husband meant to do? I told myself that he simply was blind to what his actions meant.

People loved my husband. He made friends quickly but very, very few male friends. Still, I never suspected him of anything inappropriate. I was largely the happiest I had ever been in my life. One issue bothered me. My husband set his computer up in the basement of our house and surrounded it like a castle with bookcases. When I entered the basement I could not see what he was doing. I was relatively sure he was not surfing porn becuase Italian porn laws are very strict, but what was up with this bunker mentality? Well, men have to have a man-cave don't they? My husband purchased our first laptop so I could get online without having to go downstairs. It was very cool. I put any concerns out of my mind.

We tried everything to remain overseas but in 2003 the assignment system caught up with us and we returned to the states.

Our time in Italy helped us save some money and along with the money from the sale of our last home, we were able to buy what for me was my dream home. I hated the city we lived in but I loved my house. I filled it with all the things I had collected over the years. We brought our beautiful and unique Italian dog who joined us before we moved and  he made the house his. I hated my new job at in a staff position but I loved being surrounded by my personal things. The dresser from my Grandfathers house, pictures of my and my husband's families, dishes, paintings we bought on travels, and all the things that spoke to who we were.

My husband picked a back bedroom for his office and the bunker was set up again. The computer was surrounded by bookcases and I surfed the brand new wireless laptop downstairs.

Storm Warning

There was another event during those first seven years of marriage that made me see my husband differently. I always thought I could count on him when I needed him. He always told me he would be there for me and he never disappointed me. Until one dark and stormy day.

My husband had come down to my duty location for a few days and I followed him back north to our house. Halfway home it began to snow. By time we left the last city behind it was full blown blizzard. I could barely see a few feet in front of my car. But one thing the AF taught me was how to drive in a blizzard and on ice. I had been stationed in some pretty remote spots and I knew how to drive on snow. Besides, my husband was in front of me blazing the way in his four wheel drive Jeep.

The blizzard became so bad I could barely keep up with him. It was almost dark when he began to pull away from me. My windshield wipers could no longer keep up with the snow that was packing on the blades. I slowed to 25mph and watched his tail lights grow dim. I flashed my headlight, I didn't want to be alone out there. If the freeway was closed ahead I would be stuck on the side of the road. If I lost traction and left the road I would be stuck. My cell phone lost coverage. He kept driving and in a few minutes I could no longer see his taillights.

My head ached from the tension of trying to see through the driving snow. The wind gusted against my small car. My hands gripped the wheel as I tried to relax and concentrate on the road. I concentrated on what I knew about driving in bad weather. I squinted into the blizzard trying to make sure I didn't drive up on someone stranded. Slowly taillights appeared and I pulled up on an old pickup driving about 20mph. It had Montana license plates and it doggedly moved forward, never slowing. I kept as far behind as I could and still keep his lights in sight. It grew dark and we just kept moving forward. The world shrank to halo of light around the driving snow and the two dim taillights up ahead.

I recognized the rocks that marked the state line. Only about 15 more miles to go. I had to try and reach around the window to knock snow off the windshield. I thought about stopping and clearing the snow but I was afraid I would not be able to get traction again. There was the weigh station. Eight more miles. The first entrance into town. The truck and I hadn't seen any other vehicles. Should I take the outer road home? The visibility would be low. Should I take the in-town exit? Snow might be packed up at the intersections.

I took the exit into town thinking that if I got stuck at least I could knock on someone's door. The truck from Montana kept heading north. I wished the driver well and thanked him for making me feel less alone. My car slowly made it's way through the snowy streets drifting over now. I hit the low hills before my subdivision and tried to keep a steady speed so I wouldn't lose traction. The last two intersections before home were heavily drifted over. I plowed through them and managed to stay on the road. My driveway! My home! I was exhausted. My head felt like it was going to explode.

I walked into my house, warm and well lit. My husband getting some food in the kitchen smiled a welcome to me. I burst into tears.

What's wrong, he asked. I didn't know what to say. Why did you drive off and leave me? Leave you, he said. You know how to drive in the snow. I couldn't help you. The Jeep couldn't go that slow. I figured if you got stuck someone could call me at home. No sense both of us being stuck. You're OK. You made it. I was too tired to be angry. Fuck you, I said. Just go fuck yourself. A good offense always being the best defense my husband turned away and launched into his favorite tirade. I guess everything is my fault! It's my fault it snowed! And then he pouted. He scowled at his feet. He slumped onto the couch. He pouted. I cried out of sheer frustration and exhaustion.

Like all things in my life if given enough time things eventually look better or disappear. This did too. But the fact is he drove off and left me.

Seven Years Under the Mast

Looking back I wonder just what I was thinking. I had ample proof something was going on with my husband. I had resources; a job, a future, family. I should have been able to stop this cycle. I should have had the confidence and the self-esteem to walk away from whatever was driving my husband. I knew exactly what was going on.

My husband became more and more enamored of the computer. He played video games into the night. I didn't know much about the Internet until I was transferred south. There I had time to surf and I soon discovered the vast Internet porn industry. When I returned home on weekends I found porn on my husband's computer. I found chat sites and contact he had made with local women. He had excuses for all these things but in reality, it didn't matter. I didn't want to know. I didn't want accept that my husband could not stay away from sex.

Our sex life was wonderful. He was a dedicated lover who paid attention to what I wanted. We had a rich and colorful fantasy life. But as the years moved on I began to  have concerns about the fantasies. During sex he would ask me if I would promise to make the fantasies come true. I would say yes, knowing I never intended to. He would push, promise me you'll sleep with someone else. Promise me you'll wear something see-through out to dinner. He brought home huge amounts of lingerie. He pushed me wear revealing clothing even though I knew I would look ridiculous. I didn't want to do these things but I enjoyed fantasizing about it during sex and I wanted to make him happy.

Still, I began to feel creepy about our fantasy life and I began to pull back from sex with my husband. The more I pulled back, the more he pushed. I didn't like it but I thought I could control it.

In 1999 we received orders to Italy. All my concerns were pushed to the back as I worked toward selling the house, packing up our belongings, and getting all the military requirements done before we left. My husband moved to Italy six months before I did leaving me to sell the house from three hours away. I took our dog to my apartment at my duty station and finished my work while preparing to move. This was a good time for me. My husband was 5,000 miles away. I couldn't worry about him. He called me and told me he missed me and loved me. I missed him. And I loved him with all my heart. I adored him.

Even a Happy Life Cannot be Without a Measure of Darkness, Right?

I noticed something else about this time. I began to focus on the tone of my husband's voice when he spoke to me or others on the phone.

When a man called he would give a hearty "Hey!" When a woman called it was a lower, more intimate, "Hey, what are you doing?" If I called him at work and he was "busy" he would answer with a very gruff "Ya, I'm busy." If he wasn't busy it was a "Hello, my love!" I realized he didn't want to say that in front of his co-workers so I asked him to just say hello and let me know he was occupied. He told me when he was busy he didn't think about being nice. I told him that when he talked to me like that it made me feel unwanted and second-class. When others called and he was busy he didn't answer the phone that way. He told me that it was different when I called. I was his wife.

It seemed like such a small petty thing. To demand someone talk to you in a specific tone when you called seemed so controlling. I decided it was a quirk I had to live with.

The Best Policy

It seemed like every time I came home I would find something else. One time it was a couples seeking classified under the bed with an ad circled. The explanation was that he had circled this as a joke for co-worker and forgot to take it in.

Another time it was a comment dropped while out with friends about someplace my husband had been or something he said.

I noticed a trend when he traveled for the military. When he first arrived at a location he would call me several times a day, in the morning, at lunch, when the duty day was done, after dinner, before bed. Then he would tell me that he was going out to dinner with his work-mates. Then the afternoon calls stopped along with the after dinner calls. Then he would call only in the morning.

This meant something but I tried not to think about it. For military people, socializing is a big part of work. Forging bonds, drinking, and sharing war stories. Men who won't socialize are often ostracized and my husband was a very social person. I told myself I was being controlling again. And I was. If my husband was an honest person.

Fear and Loathing in...

I hated myself.

What's Goin' On?

I enjoyed my job which involved a lot of travel. I discovered that for me, out of sight was really out of mind. I simply traveled, worked hard, and didn't obsess over what my husband might be doing. No one made comments about his behavior. There were no broad hints from friends that perhaps his behavior was creepy or inappropriate.

But what the hell. I didn't need them to know what was going on. One Friday afternoon, while happily unpacking my bag, waiting for my husband to come home from work, and getting reacquainted with my dog, the phone rang. It was an automated call telling that it was my lucky day! Susie or Linda or someone had left me a message and I could claim it by dialing in. I called the number. It required a password. I took a wag, a wild ass guess, and I was in. The message said Susie or Linda had read my ad and was interested in meeting me. She thought I was hot and wanted to have sex with me. Badly. Only it wasn't me. It was my husband. I was floored.

I listened to the ad my husband left about how good looking he was, how big his chest was, how hot he was, and how ready to please some lucky woman he was. I left Linda a message telling her that I was this guy's wife and she was a slut.

I sat down and got my breath back. OK. I needed to leave this guy. This was over the top. This was sick. This was bringing it into my home, my life, again. This was not in any way acceptable and I needed to leave and divorce this man, yada, yada, yada. I knew I wasn't going to leave him. I knew this because as I sat there I knew this was all my fault. I wasn't desirable or good enough.

When I fell in love with my husband I thought I could conquer the world. I had finally met a man who was my match. A man who appreciated a hard-working, tough woman. A man who respected me for my capabilities and not my looks. What a liar I was. I lied to myself. My husband didn't love me and it was my fault. I was sick.

We were both in the military working in highly classified career fields. If we went to marriage counseling we would lose our security clearances. If we divorced in our small career field we would have to face each other daily and I would bear the brunt of blame, no matter what. My mind reeled. I didn't want a divorce. I wanted my husband. I called him on the phone. You scum I growled. You pig. You fucked up this time, although I already knew I would fold. I'm leaving you. Then I waited.

My husband came screaming home. Oh God, don't leave me! It's a mistake. I was only screwing around! I never met anyone, I was just bored and playing around. Please, please, please! I love you! I cried buckets. I begged and threatened and all the while I knew I would let this man use me. I didn't want to admit I had made a mistake and married this man. I didn't want the world to know I had made a terrible mistake. I didn't want to be a failure.

I wondered how many of our friends knew he was screwing around on me. I was humiliated...again. I screamed through the night. I screamed until I was hoarse. I cried until my eyes swelled so much I couldn't see. My beautiful husband cried too. He looked miserable. He promised if I stayed he would make it up to me. He would never do anything like this again. In the morning I walked around like a zombie. I refused to talk to him. He waited on me. I went back to my duty station and talked to him on the phone. He promised he would never do anything like that again. I begged him not to hurt me again. He promised.

And I learned to live with it. I let it go. I filed it away and convinced myself all men did these things. My only comparison was the men I worked with and they were always marrying, divorcing, and sleeping with others. This was what men did.

I never talked to anyone about it. I never told my family. I never went to counseling. I never told a friend. I was ashamed because my husband did this to me, because I wasn't good enough, and because I let him do it.

My Reality or Yours?

Over the years my husband showed a behavior that baffled me. He would often wait to tell me things until we were surrounded by our friends.

One night while out with a group he announced he was going TDY. Another that he was being assigned a new job. These were things I felt he should share with me first since I was the person closest to him. To share them with others at that same time as me reduced me to the status of a friend.

Naturally he didn't see it my way. He didn't seem sly about it, he simply said he didn't understand what my problem was. The things he announced were things he had forgotten about until that moment. He didn't think they were that important. It wasn't a big deal.

I questioned myself. Was I being controlling? Was this nothing but a control issue? Was it really that big of a deal? So he dropped a few nuggets that I felt he should have shared with me first. I convinced myself that the more I tried to rein him in, the more I tried to demand compliance, the more I tried to make him do what I wanted, the more he would rebel. He needed some freedom, after all, he was independent and headstrong. He needed some privacy, after all even I needed privacy. It must be me.

My Husband's Keeper

In 1996 I was transferred to base three hours south from where my husband and I were stationed and from our home. It was a promotion for me. A chance to do a job a no other woman in my career field had done. I talked to my husband and we agreed that in order to get promoted I needed to show breadth of experience. So in November of that year I rented a small apartment and for next three years made the three hour drive home every weekend.

One day my husband called me and asked me if he could sponsor the bachelor party for a good friend of ours. This friend was in his late 30's and getting married for the first time. My husband wanted to hold it at our house and that meant I couldn't come home Friday evening as usual.

I struggled with this. I know what bachelor parties are like. My husband assured me there would be cigars, poker, and lots of booze but nothing sexual. "I don't get into that stuff! I have a reputation to protect!" he assured me. I was torn between being a trusting partner or an over-bearing wife. "Just say the word and I'll tell them no," he said. I never had children, I didn't want one now. OK, I agreed. Just please, don't get stupid.

The night of the party my husband called me several times to tell me how boring the party was and how much he missed me. That was kind of strange. The next morning I left very early so I could get home and survey the damage but to my surprise, my husband was up and doing dishes. The rest of the house was immaculate. This just didn't smell right. My husband was so cheerful and proud that he was able to host our friend and have a good time that I almost believed him.

Almost.

The next day he went to the store. I opened the drawer to his dresser and on the first pass found a video tape. The tape started with lots of young men lighting cigars and toasting our friend. The doorbell rang. Two very young women entered. They stripped. They lap-danced. They used my kitchen towels to wipe sweat off their breasts. They walked around MY house naked and sat on MY furniture. Naked. They went on my deck which overlooked all our neighbors homes and got beer from a keg. They sat on laps and made themselves comfortable. The video went blank. I wonder what happened next.

I packed my things and drove back to my apartment. My husband called me on my cell phone. I didn't answer. I was sick. I wanted to burn my furniture. I wanted to scream at my husband. I was insulted. Angry.

He called me when I got home. He was frantic. What happened? Where are you? Why did you leave? I told him about the tape. Denials. I can explain. It's not like it looks. I hung up. He called me all week. I'll come there he said. I'll drive down there. OK. Come down here. You owe it to me.

He arrived. Where's the tape? I sent it to the wives of your friends, I said. His face went white. No, I didn't do that, I only wanted to. Then the excuses. He didn't hire the strippers. Someone else called them. What could he do? Once they arrived he couldn't tell them to leave.

Why not, I asked. You know it's my home too. You knew I wouldn't approve. You live there, why couldn't you just say no? Because, how would that look? Look to who?? Then the coup de grace. You should have told me no if you didn't want this to happen.

So I should have been the one with morals. I should have acted like your mother. I should never trust you. We argued on and on. It was like talking to a wall. He simply refused to give an inch. What if one of them had brought drugs, would you have let that happen? That's different and you know it he yelled. Why? It just is.

Nothing happened, he told me. It was just some strippers. You know I don't get into that. The tape cut off because the party ended. You saw it all. On and on and on. I didn't believe him but I couldn't get to a divorce over a bachelor party. Surely he learned a lesson. Surely I was over reacting. Surely it was a momentary lapse of judgement but I wondered how a man could think so little of his wife that he wouldn't consider her feelings about something that went on in her home. I couldn't shake that thought. We shared a home but he didn't care enough to consider my feelings. And he wasn't honest enough to tell me that.

Like many storms, this passed. But like many storms, this left damage behind.

Beyond Reason

There were more good times than bad and the human capacity to not think about things is truly endless. I simply didn't obsess over my husband's behaviors. I loved him. I adored him. He was wonderful and interesting and funny and smart and clever and talented and I loved him beyond reason.

Next up: The Bachelor Party.

Hindsight

What is normal and what is not in a marriage? When do minor annoyances become pathological behaviors? Is it me, or is it really him?

This habit of abandoning me and ignoring me when we went out continued. I complained about it and he told me to grow up and start socializing.

It wasn't just that he talked to others, he would become annoyed when I found him and tried to hold his hand or participate in conversations. Later he would deny he was annoyed. He would say he didn't remember scowling or walking away or refusing to hold my hand. It must have been me.

Why could I always find him with guys half his age? The ones who were competing for the single women. The ones who were bragging about their sexual conquests. Why was he always the loudest, the most sexual, the most bragging? Why was he so attentive to the young women? How come he could find humorous things to talk about with them but not with me, his wife? Those were his troops he would say. He needed to be around them and let them know they could talk to him. It must have been me.

We disagreed about his daughter. When she came to visit he devolved into an adolescent. One of our biggest disagreements concerned this statement to her as he sped down the freeway at 90mph. "It's only illegal if you get caught."

I was horrified. Are you her father or her friend? What kind of role model are you? Don't you see what you're doing? If you want to speed, fine, but don't make it glamorous to you daughter. Why would you want your daughter's admiration as a rule-breaker instead of her admiration as a father? He simply denied he was doing that.

He never denied anything with passion or anger. He was always vaguely bemused. He would look at me completely unfazed by my accusations and deny them and then move on.

Looking back these behaviors seem like a warning. At the time my husband's behavior was pretty mild compared to what I witnessed among military men. It must have just been me.

Filling the Shelf

My husband is a smart man. He grasps concepts quickly. His Bachelor's degree kept him pretty busy. He was a wizard with something I had never spent much time on, the computer.

The phone would ring and the woman would say, "Can I speak to Bill?" I always found this annoying. As a woman in the military I was very aware that when I called my subordinate's homes and their wives answered, I needed to let them know who I was. I wouldn't call another woman's home and demand to speak to her husband.

After talking to this woman on the phone my husband would tell me his study group was meeting and he would take off. This grew very old, very quickly.

The phone would ring and the woman would say, "Can I speak to Bill?" "Who's calling?" I asked coldly. "This is Shelley." "He's not in," I lied. I was becoming very suspicious of this woman. We had words over her calls. Why, I asked, is she rude and why when she calls must he leave? My husband was so patient when I mentioned this. "It's my study group." So why doesn't anyone else ever call? I dunno, he replied.

One night she showed up at the front door. My husband ran down the stairs and stepped outside. He shut the door behind him. I thought about opening the door and inviting this woman in, but I couldn't do it. He came back inside.

What was that all about? Homework. Why didn't you invite her in? Didn't think of it. You stood out there in the cold and didn't think of inviting her in? Yeah, I guess. I felt my temper ramping up. Nothing seemed right about this situation. Why don't you invite the study group here? We can't study here! Why doesn't anyone else ever call you? Why do you leave the minute she calls?

She needs my help! He finally snapped. Her husband got transferred out of town and she's here all alone. She needs my help because no one is here to help her! Warning bells screamed. Vulnerable woman in jeopardy. I've seen enough movies to know how this works. How does one make this feeling known without sounding heartless?

She needs to learn to take care of herself. Let other classmates help her once in a while. I have traveled all over the world and always took care of myself. YOU'RE DIFFERENT, he replied. You're different.

I'm different? How? You can take care of yourself. Well she should have moved with her husband if she couldn't take care of herself. She has a child. So what? More reason to stay with her husband. Who helps your other classmates with their homework? You're just mean, he stated.

Are you sleeping with this woman?

No! Oh, no! How could you think that? Some people like to help others. Some people care about others. Then care about her here, bring your study group here. I can't demand where the group goes! The group decides where to study.

Look, there are certain conventions that are followed. A married man doesn't spend this much time with another woman unless his wife is included. It is not acceptable. Acceptable to who? To you? You just don't get it....you just don't care about other people.

I am not sleeping with her! She needs my help, what don't you understand about that??

This was getting nowhere. Was I overreacting to a husband who was really a nice guy? My gut said no, my brain tried to override it. I didn't want to think he would do this to me. I found out her address.

One day I called my husband at his office. He wasn't in. I drove to her apartment. His car was outside. I thought I would throw up. I wanted to run away but I walked to her apartment and knocked at the door. No answer. No sound from inside. I knocked again. Nothing. I had to go back to work.

That night, my jaw tight, I asked him where he had been. Nowhere. Then why was your car at her apartment building? Oh, that! I forgot, I had to drop off part of my project. Why doesn't she come get it. Why did you have to go inside. I just stepped inside for a minute, how long did you wait out there? I couldn't tell him I had gone to the door. I couldn't tell him. I was sick to my stomach.

You're blowing this out of proportion, he told me. Between work, school, and working on the house, I don't have time to cheat! Why can't you understand she needed help?

The phone calls stopped. I never heard from her again. I pushed my fears to the side. I didn't forget them, I boxed them up and put them on a shelf and labeled them "Fear."

Give Sorrow Words

I have less sympathy for myself when I go back to the beginning. The only problem is, I'm not sure where the beginning is.

We bought our first home in 1992. We had a housewarming party. I was happy. My husband was wonderful and he avoided me like the plague. We had our first fight as a married couple over my finding him with a thin, giggling blonde slung over his shoulder. What part of housewarming was difficult to understand? What conversation between a man and woman he doesn't know ends with the man throwing her over his shoulder? Why wouldn't he spend time with me in our own home?

He called me clingy and I called him thoughtless. He said he was mingling and I said I needed attention too. He told me I was irrational and I thought I wasn't.

I thought we would celebrate our home and our love. I thought we would show the world what a strong and dedicated couple looked like, instead I was filled with jealousy and concern. I was obviously too overbearing and fearful. The fight passed.

We worked hard and we learned we liked home projects. We hiked and laughed and made love. We started building a life. He was so different from me. Often he would ask me if I wanted to go out to dinner and I would ask him if I needed to get cleaned up. No, he would say, we'll just grab a quick bite. But when we arrived there were all his coworkers. Surprise! He forgot. He didn't realize they were there. And so we would  join this group of people and my husband, my beautiful, loving husband would forget I was there.

It was my fault of course for expecting a husband to be attentive. After all, we were with friends and they deserved to enjoy his presence. I was just too stuck up to enjoy our friends. I didn't know how to have a good time. I was jealous.

Our quick bite would turn into a late night with my husband to be found among the young, single men who tried to impress the young, single women. He's just competitive, I thought. He can't help himself. He sees a challenge and he can't help himself, but never, ever would it be more than that. I hated myself for being so old-fashioned that I expected my husband to associate with me, but I saw my friends attend to their wives and wondered what was right and what was wrong.  Our fights increased over these nights out, but no matter how often I begged him to please tell me if we were meeting friends, he seldom did.

Several years after we married my husband began to work on his Bachelor's program. I was proud of him. He worked hard and he studied hard. All marriages have bumps. I was living my perfect life.

Past is Indeed Prologue

If I start with 15 December 2010 I can actually feel some sympathy for myself. It was Wednesday. I got off work about 4pm and headed home. My husband usually gets home about 5 or 5:30. I turned on my laptop and checked my email. 5:00. Nothing much going on. 6pm. I checked his email. Nothing of note. For some reason I checked his sent mail box and there were two emails, forwarded to a yahoo account with his nickname.

They were just some jokes but I had no idea he had a yahoo email account. It was unbelievably easy to get in. My husband is a creature of habit when it comes to passwords. There they were. My worst nightmare. Worse than my worst nightmare. Emails between him and a woman he worked with. His lover.

 "I adore you" she wrote. "You are wonderful" he wrote. "This is who I am" she wrote, "I do feel your pain, I feel the ache... I feel the desire and feel responsible... I should have said no... " "There aren't enough words and using mortal words would be an insult to the beauty and joy that is, and always will be, Terri Beuerelein..." he wrote. "I so enjoy being with you" she wrote. Time stopped. My heart stopped. My breathing stopped. What had kicked me in the head? What was that? An earthquake? Did a meteor hit the house? A plane fall from the sky? How could the air be sucked out of the entire world?

Why does infidelity feel like horror.

I called him. Come home now. Why? Because we're getting divorced. Why? Because I saw your yahoo account. Dead air. Dead space. Dead heart.

I was incredibly cold and my first thought was to get a coat. My second, a gun. My third, save the emails.

He got home so quickly I hadn't even processed what happened. I remember this. Insanity followed.

It was awful. It was the end of everything and the beginning of a nightmare. I tried to breathe and be sane. I tried to use reason and be calm. I failed at everything. I raged at him and he lied to me. He begged and I howled. It was me. It was me. I failed at everything. I failed at making him love me. I failed at being a wife. I failed at making a home. I failed at growing older with grace. I failed at fulfilling him. I failed at taking care of him. I failed at marriage. I failed at love. I failed at life.






. 

Valentine's Day

It's dishonest to say that Wednesday, 15 December, 2010 was the first day of my crash into darkness. It might have started sometime in May 1991 when I met the man who would become my husband. It might have started sometime in June 1992 when we had our housewarming party. It might have been any one of the events between then and now...the inappropriate attention to other women, the abandoned woman who needed extra help with her homework, the phone sex chat line, the ads for couples seeking...it should have been one of those but to be honest, it wasn't and that is my deepest shame.

I met my husband when we were both serving overseas in the military. If I believed in love at first sight I'd say it was. But I don't. I guess it was lust at first sight. He obsessed me. He was smart, strong, funny, and sensitive. He wanted me. I knew it could all end very badly but it didn't. It didn't end at all. It lasted and it turned into marriage, and marriage turned into a house and dogs and two careers. It was my perfect life. My wonderful perfect life with my headstrong, competitive husband who challenged my conventional view of life and who surprised me daily with his unconventional ideas. He released the sexual person in me and I loved touching him and holding him and all the things that belong between two people who make a vow to share their lives.

But the last 20 years are gone now. They don't exist because they didn't exist. I lived with a man who wasn't the husband I had created in a life that wasn't the life I had created. To look back now is pure pain. Deep and dark, hot and white. So our past must disappear because if it doesn't it will kill me. How do you grieve for a past that didn't really exist?