Could we have been so mistaken in the men we married?

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Our library of recovery books just keeps growing and growing.  I love to read but I can't say that I love to read recovery books.  I follow my gut and read the things that speak to me.  The other night Pete was reading to me from the book Alcoholics Anonymous, and there is a chapter for wives.  I highly recommend it, especially if you are just embarking on this journey.  Ultimately the goal of the chapter is to provide guidance to wives of alcoholics, but the beginning reminded me so much of my own experiences with Pete's pornography addiction, and the experiences I've heard from friends, that I wanted to share it here.

I'm sure we don't relate to all the problems or all the feelings, but I think we can all probably relate to many of them.  What part speaks to you?

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"We have traveled a rocky road, there is no mistake about that. We have had long rendezvous with hurt, pride, frustration, self-pity, misunderstanding and fear. These are not pleasant companions.  We have been driven to maudlin sympathy, to bitter resentment.  Some of us veered from extreme to extreme, ever hoping that one day our loved ones would be themselves once more. 

Our loyalty and the desire that our husbands hold up their heads and be like other men have begotten all sorts of predicaments. We have been unselfish and self-sacrificing.  We have told lies to protect our pride and our husband’s reputations. We have prayed, we have begged, we have been patient. We have struck out viciously. We have run away. We have been hysterical. We have been terror stricken. We have sought sympathy.

Our homes have been battle-grounds many an evening.  In the morning we have kissed and made up.  Our friends have counseled chucking the men and we have done so with finality, only to be back in a little while hoping, always hoping.  Our men have sworn great solemn oaths that they were through [acting out] forever. We have believed them when no else could or would.  Then, in days, weeks or months, a fresh outburst.

We came to live almost alone.

There was never financial security. Positions were always in jeopardy or gone. An armored car could not have brought the pay envelopes home. The checking account melted like snow.

Perhaps at this point we got a divorce and took the children home to father and mother. Then we were severely criticized by our husband’s parents for desertion. Usually we did not leave. We stayed on and on. 

As animals on a treadmill, we have patiently and wearily climbed, falling back in exhaustion after each futile effort to reach solid ground.

Under these conditions we naturally made mistakes. Some of them rose out of ignorance of [addiction]. Sometimes we sensed dimly that we were dealing with sick men.

How could men who loved their wives and children be so unthinking, so callous, so cruel? There could be no love in such persons, we thought.  And just as we were being convinced of their heartlessness, they would surprise us with fresh resolves and new attentions. For awhile they would be their old sweet selves, only to dash the new structure of affection to pieces once more.  It was so baffling, so heartbreaking. Could we have been so mistaken in the men we married? Sometimes they were so inaccessible that it seemed as though  great all had been built around them.

As wives of [addicts] we would like you to feel that we understand as perhaps few can. We want to leave you with the feeling that no situation is too difficult and no unhappiness too great to be overcome.”

LIAR!!

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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? 

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**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?

Insanity Returns

Morocco - Cavallo13

I had a horrible nightmare last night. I was at Pete’s office and there were pictures of Jennifer Aniston all over his walls.  But they were photographs, like he knew her personally and he had developed them from his own camera.  There was a third person in the room with us, but I can’t remember who it was.  Pete was pulling the pictures off the wall and it felt awkward and embarrassing in the room. He made some jokes about it, and then he randomly poured his paper cup of root beer on my shoes.  The next thing I knew we were at home, talking about the pictures.  I was lying in bed and he climbed on top of me.  He started groping me.  I begged him to get away, to leave me alone but he just laughed and told me to “lighten up.”

When I woke up I couldn’t stop the sobs from coming.  My response was visceral and I felt violated and abused.  I cried my tears into the pillow for a few moments and took deep breaths until my mind accustomed to reality and I fell asleep again. 

Pete has never been forceful or abusive.  That is not in him.  He doesn’t operate from power or brute strength.  I have no blame toward Pete for that dream.

It is my subconscious I blame.  And my subconscious blames my conscious.  And my conscious blames my insanity. 

I have to let go of the fear.  I have to.  Insanity would have me believe that the worst case scenario is even worse than my conscious can imagine.  Insanity would have me believe that my circumstances are incapable of offering me peace and a meaningful, joyful existence.  I’ve been letting insanity hang around too long.  Insanity wore out her welcome. Again.

 

It's not easy to shrug off the kind of pain that comes from a dysfunctional marriage. And I have no intention of shrugging off any of my pain.  But I know I need to work through it.  The only way is through. And on the other side of the pain is the place where I can start to feel gratitude and joy again.  The place where I banish Insanity and all her drama, and allow myself to feel optimism and appreciation.  The place where I make a key lime pie and attempt to practice vulnerability.