Over a year and a half ago, Pete and I were probably sure by May 2013 our troubles would be [nearly?] over. We planned a trip to Hawaii for our tenth anniversary.
One month ago, I was feeling hopeful. Ever since I took off for a weekend in January, things had been rough around here. I'd executed a major detachment, which may or may not have been a major wake-up call for Pete. He turned a corner. SA meetings two or three times a week. Talk of a sponsor. Flickers of empathy. An amorous flame sparked again between us. Hawaii was going to be our second honeymoon.
Two days before our vacation Pete had a quick trip out of town for business. It was overnight, but he would be gone less than 24 hours.
Cue the foreboding music.
He called me in the morning. Crash and burn. Porn and masturbation.
I crumpled on my bed and cried it out. A confession hadn't hurt that bad in a really long time.
There was so much on the line.
He was supposed to be getting better. Couldn't he have just white knuckled it through? Did he really choose porn over me?
And the question that is the demon that haunts my soul.
I had so much to do that day that I made myself busy and before I knew it we were sitting on a plane together flying over the ocean.
Hawaii was amazing. Beaches with sand as fine as flour, exotic fish that dazzled my eyes, papaya and mango for breakfast, hikes in the jungle with real Tarzan vines, girthy Polynesian women whose beauty was only outmatched by their love.
I told Pete that even under the circumstances there wasn't really anyone I'd be more comfortable traveling with. I was glad to have him there. But our vacation in paradise was stricly platonic. It was romantically and sexually anemic.
We only talked about "it" once. I told Pete that this time had hurt worse than usual. I told him that I had seen so much change and felt so much hope. He asked if I had assumed he would never act out again. When I answered I said
"No, I figured there would be slips, but not this soon."
But what I was really thinking was
"Yeah actually. Isn't that the goal? To quit looking at porn? Someday, won't there be a time when you really don't ever look again?"
I don't really want to get into those questions. Now that we're back and I have to face real life I feel overwhelmed with those and even more confusing ideas. What now? More detachment? New boundaries? Is progress real? What is recovery? What am I doing right? Wrong?
I tried out body boarding and loved it. When I'd catch a wave just right I'd glide across the sand until the water was gone from beneath me. I'd keep my eyes on the beach, seeing if I'd come father this time than I had the last time. I would get cocky with my wave-riding skillzzzz.
But then, if I let myself forget the ocean was behind me, I'd wait a second too long and BAM the outgoing tide and the next incoming wave would knock me to my knees.
Friends, I swear I will never figure this out. I just want to say here that addiction suuuuuucks.