A few months ago, when Pete wasn't talking to me about his recovery because I had emotionally withdrawn, I wondered about his sobriety. A friend told me how to check a google search history. At first, the search history wasn't on, so I turned it on. I checked it every day for a few days, and it always came up clean. This gave me some peace of mind (obviously it's not fool proof) but Pete had also agreed to tell me when he broke sobriety. So I went with it.
After his confession on Monday I kind of had that annoying nagging feeling. During his confession I specifically asked if this was the only "episode." He reassured me that it was a one-time deal. A blip. A slip.
Yesterday I had the idea to check his google history. I hadn't done this in a long time. But I decided to do it. I'm not a fan of snooping if it's done out of codependency. I had never needed to snoop before. He always confessed. But I went ahead and pulled it up. I looked over it. It didn't match what he had told me. There were other searches. A lot of them, on two different days besides the day he had confessed about. I tried to work it out logistically in my head but it didn't make sense. My heart started to race. I started to sweat. I called him. He admitted to it.
My trauma went to a couple new levels yesterday.
1. I've never caught Pete before. (Except one time I read a text conversation with his dad.) I've never seen searches or images. I've never had that nauseating feeling when you read the words your husband typed into the Google box. The names of the women who are the objects of his fantasies. I could not stop sweating.
2. Pete has always been honest. Or I thought he had always been honest. Except that one time, when he wasn't. And now I feel so ridiculous saying it. I've told everyone else that there is always more than what the addict is admitting to. But I'm the exception. Addicts are liars. But Pete is the exception. Yeah, Pete has been mostly honest. But once there are lies, how do you EVER know what's a lie and what isn't? Trust is so fragile. So easily and quickly destroyed. And such a painful, excruciating reality check.
I hate those old feelings of being a fool, being deceived, duped, manipulated. I HATE those feelings. I want to scream and throw up and run until my lungs are on fire. I want to punch pillows and break plates. I want to curl up and sob. I want a hug that never ends, from a friend. I want to be manic and active, and the next minute I want to be lazy and lethargic.
I thought I was at the beginning of the end. I thought this was going a new direction. I thought my posts on this blog were winding down.
But he is still sick.
Eventually I won't be angry at him for that. Eventually I'll find acceptance. But today it hurts.
There have been times in years past when I worried that if he got better, what would I do with myself? This was my new identity. But I have long since relinquished that identity. I REALLY wanted it to be over this time. I was REALLY ready to move on to our new life. Of course I knew it would always be there. But I have friends whose husbands have a year or two sobriety. Why can't I have that? Why does it elude him, and me?
**After I wrote this I went back to link to the post I wrote about the last time I discovered that Pete had lied to me. It makes me wonder why we ever trust at all?