There are People Who are Passionate About Things and There are Those Who Have Had Their Passion Punched, Beaten, and Kicked, Out of Them.

It's February. I went back to work part time in November. Some days I love the work, others I could claw my eyes out for feeling trapped and unhappy. My mood swings are not what they were a year ago. I don't cry much anymore. In fact, I don't feel a whole lot, other than uncertainty.

So why do I stay now?

Where would I go? What is self respect worth and will it alleviate loneliness? I don't want to be the 56 year old single lady. If I lived alone I would become a hermit. If I lived alone I would have a neat little house or condo with a few things that I carefully mind and I would go out once a week and shop. I wouldn't have the financial security I have now. I wouldn't have a good friend who keeps me from becoming a hermit, who shops with me, and cleans house with me.

Where would I go?

Leaving wouldn't solve whatever the problem is. Pride is cold. I've already been disrespected and humiliated. There's simply not much pride left to salvage. I'm beaten.

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