Faking Healing and Healing.

Since I am through the PTSD trauma of that horrible d-day and weeks and months following in which The Player fucked up multiple times and hurt me, and lucky me, has now been seared into my beautiful brain from over 2 1/2 years ago, I’m trying to figure out how to navigate my next steps.

I’ve done my part. I allowed The Player time in our home to get his fucked up self some help that has helped. During the last year and greatly the last eight months The Player has been highly motivated to fix himself. First for me and us, which didn’t work, then finally for himself, which was and is the only way this will work with us. I did give him a lot of grace and compassion and in doing so and it has been difficult for me to hang in there. I’m sort of surprised I did, if I’m honest, because he did not make hanging on easy.

I got my own therapy and help in multiple ways. I’ve written here and privately. I’ve tried alternative therapies including hypnosis. I’ve built a community of partners who have been betrayed so we can support each other and that has helped me feel normal in my craziness. I have let go of a lot of pain and resentment, not for him or us, but for myself. I started paying more attention to me and less to him. I’ve made a conscious decision to stay with him and let go of a lot of some bullshit in order to move on to create a calm and peaceful home for my kids and myself.

Truth be told, my kids were the only thing keeping me here for a many number of these months. They are a great reason to do so and I feel a lot of pride that in the face of great personal pain, I put them first. I do love him, but I have struggled wondering if I love the idea of who he was and what we had? Or do I love him as a person, even if I didn’t know all of the parts of him for 20 years?

The Player has done a lot of work on himself and he’s doing well. I even like the person he is becoming and if I was just meeting him,  on the outside he’d look like a great catch. Because he has continued to work on himself (and let’s fucking face it, it didn’t hurt he passed a polygraph just a couple of months ago) I want to move forward for my kids and our family unit. For me too? Not quite yet. I’m hoping to get there someday and in order to get there, I am faking it.

Until I make it, I suppose. Since I am generally a happy person, I am acting like a happy spouse. A happily married spouse. I am helpful, supportive. I am charming, even. I do all of the things I did before (his acting out of 20 years was realized) and in the 2 1/2 years since d-day but I am doing those things more calmly and seemingly joyfully. I welcome home The Player with a hug and a kiss. I have let go with enough of the resentments I have towards him that I’m able to  do things for him without hatred or wishing him pain. I am surprised by how my positive behavior changes are helping me with my attitude and caring towards The Player and the marriage. Is that fake, too?

I doubt it’s THE answer to our healing woes, but maybe it’s a step in the right direction. I had the realization, as per usual, that I am the reason our family is together. If this works, I am the reason it will. It’s taking a great amount of discipline and caring of my children to make this marriage work. I am a badass to do this, I don’t mind telling you.

I think it might take me a while to let go of the resentment towards him that he put me in this position in the first place.

 

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He Passed!

That is a sarcastic exclamation point, if you must know.

I mean Jesus Christ, I still can’t believe I am married to someone I feel I must have polygraph tested. It’s such major fucking bullshit.

So The Player passed the polygraph in February. The polygrapher called me immediately when he was done and said The Player passed with “flying colors,” but he mentioned something that The Player “remembered” and came clean about.

I know you’ll be surprised to know that The Player remembered he told me a lie about meeting “Christi” at that bar and them having such a short conversation she didn’t even sit down. A lot of partners in the Afterlife of Infidelity have firsthand accounts about this phenomenon called “Parking Lot Confessions.” The Player told the polygrapher before the test started he wanted to clear the air before the test because he didn’t want testing to show his deceit. Apparently, as the story is told now, Christi did sit down at the bar, so the visit wasn’t so much so a “quick visit” as much as it was, “she sat down long enough to have a beer visit” and that my friends, is an example of The Player not wanting to deal with the discussions that would ensue because of his actions.

That is fucking not cool. That is however, being A Dick, and that is one type of person I am strongly against being married to. You know, now that I have a choice. Here’s the thing, is this how it’s going to be now, “little” white lies to navigate? I’ve asked that several times and he’s maintained that is a thing of the past, that he’s strong enough to have hard discussions with me, even when I disagree with him. He’s “solid” in recovery and even as the CSAT calls me “formidable” because I am healthy, know what I want, and am insightful and not afraid to speak my truth, The Player says he can now deal with things head on.

He has been wanting to avoid these types of conversations (this would be the third lie he has come clean to me since New Year’s Eve) because we were doing well, and I had turned the corner out of the trauma. In these three cases, he omitted the truth to cover the appearance or hint of impropriety. The polygraph test revealed what he has been saying for months, he has not tried, in any form, to begin a relationship of any kind with a woman. Even with Christi.

The real kick in the face has come with the conversations surrounding the bar incident since the bar incident. He has been steadfast that the entire situation was fine, that he was never at risk of losing his sobriety. We’ve talked about that for three fucking months. I am not okay with him giving any women (outside of work) his phone number and especially women he wants to help.

This is not negotiable. It won’t ever be negotiable if The Player would like to stay married to me.* I had to state this again recently to The Player and his CSAT because something must keep being lost in translation from betrayed to asshole speak. The Player recently had an epiphany about the situation, yay him. This fucking Christi incident keeps coming up for me though, it is not buried yet. The CSAT asked me why it wasn’t dead yet, why, The Played, why!? I’ve thought a lot about that the last two weeks and I finally know why.

Stay tuned.

*The Player signed a boundaries agreement with me in December and has agreed to this stipulation so I feel safe. There have been many conversations about this general philosophy. 

 

Progress?

Is progress really just not having flashes any longer of a woman and your husband kissing in an elevator on the way up to his hotel room right after he tells you goodnight and he loves you on a business trip?

Maybe progress is your cheating, lying, sex and “love” addict husband passing his second polygraph in a row! Well, to be fair, it was only his second polygraph of two so, I guess we could say he’s passed them all!

I guess progress could be not feeling traumatized any longer by the disclosure and months after that you kept learning one awful and more awful thing.

I have made significant progress. I don’t connect it to him. I’ve been in some form of self care for two years and in many instances I’ve done several things at a time. I feel like hypnosis brought it all together and peace washed over me.

The Player has made significant, real progress and I’m happy for him. Finally, I think, he’s turned the corner and the insightfulness is oozing out of him. We’ve talked about that a lot because it’s his way of showing he’s changing and growing (in absence of working 12 step) because he knows measurements are important to me. He went on new medication for depression and it’s like the light turned on. Since September he’s been able to work on very hard issues and keep his head up instead of spiraling into darkness.

He’s recently said even though he was trying to work on the marriage last year, he realizes now that he was doing it without really understanding why he is the way he is, that he was trying to have a new marriage with the old him. 

His inability to deal with my pain was why I would pull back all the time and he’d pull me back in out of fear of losing me. Over the last several weeks we’ve made a lot of progress because of his hard work and my willingness to listen. I’ve been willing to listen because I’m past the trauma. I’m no where near healed and our marriage sure as fuck isn’t, but we’re moving in the right direction. For now. I guess. 

So. Progress. I’m all “meh, whatever,” which is odd, right? Or maybe this is it. The new normal. 

Where am I?

I had a friend who texts me frequently and not always about The Player and his shenanigans. Sometimes we text about the mundane, sometimes about our kids, our work, our stay-at-home life and television. She benigningly texted the words, “Where are you?” and I knew she didn’t mean that I was sitting at my desk in my home office. It had been a while since we had spoken about “it,” the absolute most fucked up thing in my life and that quite possibly might ever be the most fucked up thing in my life. Hopefully, anyway.

I was silent for a bit before she wrote, “?” to which I replied that I was a little bit here and there, meaning I’m okay, I’m so-so, I’m happy, I’m sad, I’m meh. I told her I wouldn’t say I’m all over the place because I don’t feel out of control like I was over a year ago after full disclosure, or even three months ago before hypnosis. It isn’t like it was over two years ago and my world was falling apart right before someone close to me died. No, I am definitely more stable. I’m even calm and at peace a lot of the time, if I’m honest. I’m not always those things when I’m in therapy with The Player or he is out of town and has to be in the same space as one of the whores, but even then, I’m not losing sleep anymore. Not really for anything he is doing or not doing because I am in control of me and my world.

There is beauty in being in control of yourself.

All is (mostly) calm, but don’t get me wrong, he can still piss me off. Recently The CSAT and The Player were surprised to get an update from me that included me telling them about my hypnosis and how it is working for me and how I am coming to a place of peace with what IS and not focusing on WHAT WAS or WHAT CAN BE. Let’s face it, odds are against The Player, as much as he believes and I want to believe he can remain monogamous, the stats aren’t good. It was maybe not so much of a challenge for one short affair and a one night stand, but for two decades’ worth of emotional and sexual affairs? Not looking great. He is, however, doing mostly everything right at this point in progressing to awareness and understanding and that is all good. Empathy and 12-step work? Not so much good there and so that is sort of blah.

An overarching theme for us is The Player’s lack of empathy, which I believe leads to poor decisions on his part (like the recent bar and phone number debacle). He will tell you he just can’t communicate empathy but that he has it for me and he brought up a couple of examples and he’s right, those were instances of empathy. It’s interesting though that the examples he brought up to show historic empathy on his part were for situations he wasn’t a part of, meaning it wasn’t pain he had a hand in causing. It sort of made us both say, “hummm” to each other. The CSAT took note of that as well. A few days later when I asked him about it, he said he realized he was going to have to analyze that and figure out why.

That’s the thing, there is a fucking long line of analyzing both on his part and my part. I had to analyze myself and my motives for staying to make sure I wasn’t staying out of fear of being alone. I’m not. I still spend some time analyzing if what he is doing is enough. I explained to The Player and the CSAT that for now, what is going on, is enough. Or rather I have recently come to peace with that through hypnosis.

I said that after we talked about the lack of 12-step work and empathy. We discussed that I am constantly trying to find the balance to be in the marriage for recovery as well as be at a place that serves to protect me. The Player doesn’t like that I say, “for now,” after some of my sentences for obvious reasons.

What you are doing is enough. For now.

I am okay with your progress in recovery. For now. 

I am okay with things the way they are. For now. 

I am okay with no step work. For now. 

Long term, I have concerns I will not be able to recover fully without The Player doing 12-step work or similar program-like work that he and the CSAT come up with. It’s the measurables  I am missing. He knows this. I question if I am capable of staying under any circumstances that do not involve some kind of program work.

That’s my truth. That said, I do believe you can recover from addiction without a 12-step program. There are people that do it everyday. The success rates are higher with a program, that is well documented. I just think the odds of me recovering fully in the marriage are lower without that type of work on his part, but that is his choice. I can’t change it or control it.

There’s peace in that knowledge, like I said. There’s peace in knowing my limits and needs. There’s sadness too, in that truth.

 

Blind spot. 

Earlier today we were doing something and I was triggered by a memory of something I know The Player did with the last whore so I texted him while he was out for an errand and said, “I’m a little triggered so I’m going to meditate.”

His reply? “Okay.”

He asked me a little while later how I was and I said “a little better.” He said nothing else. 

Later when I had a chance without any of the kids in the room, I said, “You know that (thing) we were doing earlier? I was thinking back to two years ago when we did that and how bold you two were. After d-day I remember finding the whore’s comment on your Facebook update about me and the kids.”

He gave me a compassionate look (I think) and said nothing. About an hour later we were both in the kitchen and I said, rather calmly and non-accusatory, “You know, I’m  wondering if you don’t know what to say, or if you don’t think about how it might be a good time to offer a little kindness and empathy when a situation arises and I’m sad by something you did.”

He said something about how he knows anything he says will never make up for what he’s done…and he said something about how he was sorry he missed two more chances to comfort me. 

I explained I didn’t need much. I wasn’t expecting to get into a huge  discussion at these moments but to get nothing from him is rather fascinating to me. I mean really, what the actual fuck is this?

When we have a scheduled “checkin” (I’ve grown to hate that fucking word) with each other he does better. He’s focused I guess? He’s on task, maybe? 

One of my last sessions (hypnosis isn’t really a long term thing) was focused on not being thrown for a loop or downward spiraling of emotions when The Player does something fucking stupid (like, for example, sit in bar for 9 hours, hand out phone number to woman, not siez a moment to show me empathy, etc.). The hypnotist reasoned after all, I shouldn’t be surprised he’s capable of being fucking stupid, should I? I should expect what I need and firm boundaries in place, but letting his behavior dictate my happiness and mental state is just wrong. My hypnotist was right. Since that session and listening a couple of times to that session, I was able to talk calmly, not let it mess with my head, not let it mess with my day or evening. 

Now this doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences if he’s fucking stupid. I’ve started a written boundaries list and the consequences list, should he choose to be stupid again (bar/woman/number). Immediate move out of our bedroom and a halt on reconcilation. Space for me, both physical and emotional. 

The Moment He Knew

The Player and I are in reconciliation. I just had to resist the urge to put quotes around the word reconciliation because typing out “reconciliation” feels more comfortable for me right now.

The Player had a rough start to the week. He was a little down, depressed and had to leave town on Monday afternoon, so his “check-in” with me didn’t happen. He didn’t do it. He didn’t mention it and he needs to take responsibility for it so I didn’t mention it either.

The Player left town for an overnight business trip on that same afternoon. His traveling is always suspect now. Literally, he would go out-of-town on business and hook up with colleagues, women he called his “friends,” several of whom I knew personally. So anyway, he started to check-in more frequently. Just a simple text when he lands, maybe when he was heading from a meeting to the hotel and then at dinner or event or on the way back to the hotel. So he left town on Monday and no text. Not when he landed, not around dinner time. Not around my bedtime. I relented, checked GPS on his phone and he was at the hotel. I texted him.

I texted him, he called me and we talked about the anxiety I had because of his lack of communication. He said he understood and would do better. The next day around two in the afternoon he texted and sent a “Good morning” text saying he typed it out but didn’t hit send.

It had been a few weeks, for various reasons, he’s missed group therapy and he hadn’t attended a 12-step meeting in at least 2-3 weeks. He hadn’t mentioned he spoke with his sponsor. I saw no visible proof of him “working” on sobriety.

This morning, he overslept and missed a SLAA meeting. He intended to go, he said, because he was dropping an SA meeting during the week that wasn’t working for him. He liked this meeting and has said that several times to me.

I couldn’t help it, but I could physically feel my anxiety rising. Over coffee I told him I knew I was supposed to stay out of his recovery business and I could only decide what to do about myself and myself felt super stupid. Like a fool. “Why?” he asked. I had to tell him it was because it felt like as soon as I said, “reconciliation” he quit working on his recovery the way he led me to believe he would.

The Player seemed stunned. I had to point out, “There’s been a lack of communication this week when you traveled, you completely forgot and ignored our “check-in” and now, no meeting. I have no idea if you are even talking with your sponsor or working on anything, so yes, I feel like a fool. Just like the first 20 years of our marriage.”

In one week that is what happened. ONE FUCKING WEEK of changed behavior on his part – in not a good direction – and I was in a spiral of feelings like he was disregarding the new rules for reconciliation he set up and agreed to. I told him as much, probably with a few more vulgar words. He just never put the things together and added them up like I did. Why? Because he’s The Player and the emotional equivalent of a teenager.

Because that is what I fucking do now. I add up things he does or does not now and I try to figure out what the hell he is thinking or even if he is fucking thinking. I wish I didn’t. I wish he didn’t create this in me, I wish he didn’t create me having to look at things differently forever.

I saw the moment he realized what it looked like from my end. He stood up, sat close to me, put his hand on my leg and spoke from a place of truth that he understood how it must have felt for me and explained each point I brought up on why it happened and accepted full responsibility for his actions for my feelings of uncertainty. Both because of what he did the last 20 years and what he did the last week.

I believe at that moment he had his very first empathic revelation without it being pointed out to him by myself or our CSAT.

Pigs may have just flown.

Hell might have just frozen over.

Money may be growing on trees.

A betrayed wife’s heart may have opened up a little bit.

History and a New Vow to Monogamy

There’s a therapist who said, (sorry I can’t find the link) something about how history begs us to remember that serial cheaters like my husband aren’t likely to all of a sudden be able to keep true to a vow of monogamy.

If that doesn’t slap you in your already stupefied face as a betrayed spouse, I don’t know what does.

I’ve searched many, many times to try to find statistics because they comfort me (usually) and I’ve not been helped by what I have found. Anywhere from 90-97% for those with behaviors of Sex Addicts relapse. That means very nearly 100% of people like The Player do their acting out behavior again. The main behavior would be sex outside of our marriage, but there are so many behaviors leading up to and related to sex outside of our marriage. Those behaviors would be considered “slips” like flirting/inappropriate language (which I argue leads to sex outside the marriage) with the opposite sex, drinking in bars to find people to flirt with to feed his ego and too close of hero type friendships with women.

The Player takes exception to these numbers – of course he does – because he says numbers and percentages don’t apply to everyone, they don’t know his intentions, and those numbers don’t know how much he “will never risk” his family again. He even said, “Those numbers don’t know what is in my heart.” The problem with this thinking is that everyone thinks they’re the exception (like me) but obviously some of us aren’t, right? Some of us – most of us if we believe the research – will be lied to again, cheated on again, hurt again by the people who beg us to stay and try to trust them again.

I want a peaceful and loving home for my kids. If I can somehow accept what he’s done, I will not hate to have an authentic person to share my life with even though I feel shafted in what I was promised by him for a quarter of a century. I’m not stupid. I go into our reconciliation with the best intentions but realize the odds are against me. The difference this time vs. last time I found out is that I now know he is capable (and likely) to cheat on me. I won’t be surprised. I also know I will survive. I will even thrive if we split up. I have as many safeguards as I can in place, with the big one being a polygraph exam annually, so number two is coming soon.

So, I’m moving on with serious trepidation and realistic expectations, I guess.

The Blindness of Assholes

A couple of months ago we took a family trip to our favorite spot. The place where all of the important things in our life together happened. We have recuperated there from tragedy, conceived one of our children there, and even named all of our children there. It’s where we have talked about retiring to someday. That’s how special this place is…

Until.

Almost a year ago at “full disclosure” I sat in silence as he said, “I didn’t and don’t want to tell you this. In fact, I called CSAT yesterday and asked if I had to reveal this or if I could reveal part of it because it’s bad, it’s really bad. I have so much shame around what I did. The last person I’m going to tell you about is Whore.”

The Player continued, “I know this is going to be painful because of who it is and what I’ve done. I’ve seen Whore very sporadically for 13 years on and off since a few years into our marriage and until a few years ago when I lost interest.” He took deep breaths. He started crying and said, “I took her to [vacation spot] when you thought I was there alone. I am so, so sorry.”

I shook my head, laughed/sighed in disbelief. “You what? You are an unbelievable asshole.” The CSAT told The Player to stop. No more for a few minutes while he checked in with me. I was in shock. My throat closed, I felt dizzy. Tears streamed from my face but I couldn’t put together a sentence. CSAT said, “Do you want to take a moment and take a break?” I shook my head yes. I stood up, grabbed my purse. He asked if I was returning and I said I didn’t know. I stepped outside to the parking lot and threw up a few seconds after the brisk air hit my face. Since I was already holding wads of tissue, I used them to clean my mouth. I got some gum and took a minute to decide if I was entering again. I decided I wanted to ask some questions I’d prepared. So I walked back in the room and sat back in my spot. I was calm. I was the kind of calm one should be afraid of and he was afraid.

He reached to hold my hand to comfort me. I looked at him like, “You did not just blow up my life AGAIN and want to comfort me, did you?” He pulled his hand back. “You can’t touch me. You don’t get the right to comfort me.”

“Let me get this straight. You took her to OUR place, our house. You fucked her on a trip I planned for you? A trip I encouraged you to take because of your stress? A trip I packed you for? Bought your groceries for? Are you fucking kidding me?”

He wasn’t kidding.

I find it hard to believe I will ever get over this particular betrayal. I’ve been back to our place but first with a friend and a short trip with him a couple of months later. I will not let those two assholes take my special place away from me. I refuse. I can’t lie though, it was hard to face it.

Those two fucking, fuckwad assholes.

Oh, and to add insult to injury he said didn’t invite her, she invited herself. He just didn’t say no. He knows (well, he says) it’s really bad and he isn’t trying to minimize how bad it is, but he wanted me to know that he didn’t want her there. He didn’t invite her. He wanted her to leave the whole time she was there because he really did want to be there alone and decompress.

What a shitty, weak, wuss of a man.

He better up his game in 12-step and figure that shit out. My “sponsor” (a woman who has been through a very similar story as mine) said he is too new in recovery for him to have even analyzed fully the relationships with these women that there isn’t even a way for him to address it with me yet. He better figure something else out because “I just couldn’t say no!” isn’t going to cut it for long. He is so blind to his behavior.

But hey! Let’s reconcile! Gross.

Hell no, mutherfucker.

So, I found myself pulled back into therapy with The Player. I take responsibility for letting it happen. I don’t even know how he did it, but he got me there for three visits/weeks in a row. The second and third times it was a waste of time, in my view. The second visit I stood up abruptly while they were ending talking about money and the next appointment to a stunned CSAT’s face. He said, “Are you leaving?!” I said I was and The Player asked me to wait in the parking lot because we’d driven separate cars.

As mentioned in the pervious post, we’ve had an ongoing disagreement with his saying the relationships with the whores weren’t “relationships” and that over the many years he knew them as friends he didn’t consider them dangerous friendships until they turned erotic or sexual until very much later. I voiced my strong opinion that even if he wasn’t getting fucked or using fantasy with/about them as an “escape,” then the relationships were fine. He argued they were “safe” even. He could do that now, just be friends with women because 1) He knows what he can’t do and 2) He’s “solid” in his recovery. He believes he could have friendships with women in the future and be “safe” from sexually acting out.

Besides him fucking other women or planning to fuck or talking about fucking other women (because DUH), I’ve found I have a deal breaker, or as I like to say, a “Hell No, Mutherfucker Requirement.” No way am I okay with him having women as friends. Ever. Not up for negotiation. Period. We had a lengthy discussion in therapy about this and the CSAT talked about it being impossible to avoid business contact with women. I guess he thought I was stupid because of course, I said, there isn’t a way to avoid women in business but I do see a difference in The Player doing business with women and The Player being the spontaneous, flirty, complimentary, “friend” that makes all the (homely especially) women swoon over him. I argued well, I think, that the reason he could insert his “dick in the vaginas” of several women, several times is because he laid the groundwork for it during the friendship years with the giggling and back and forth ego kibbles.

He wasn’t addressing the future personal friendship with women thing, not really. I felt like the CSAT and he were kind of ganging up on me about it, as the CSAT was saying The Player was “doing really hard, great work.” That’s all well and good and yahoo for him, I said, “I feel like you two want me to recognize how great The Player is by the work he’s doing but let’s not forget he got us into this mess.” It pissed me off The Player kept saying, “That’s not what I’m focused on right now in my recovery. I’m focused on fixing the why so I never get to that point again.” I was pissed off because he wasn’t doing something I needed from him in order to move forward. I said in therapy and directly, “I will NEVER be comfortable with you having female friends outside of our marriage! Never. If that is something you feel you need and deserve, then you’ll have to do it without me. You may very well be able to “handle” it because you’re “solid” but it doesn’t make me feel safe to reconcile with you. I feel like you are being selfish and it’s all about you – like it has been for some months now – and that MY needs aren’t as important. I’m telling you this is something I need and I’m hurt and pissed you don’t want to give it to me.”

So, the last blog post early July we had decided on weekly check-ins as was recommended by our CSAT. They’ve been going fine, he just shares where he is in recovery and if there’ve been any threats, slips or relapses since the last check-in. He’s been (he says) 100% honest about his recovery since November 2014 and I still know all the details. No more remembered instances of his dick landing in any vaginas since he was found out. I guess it’s good to have them somewhat structured instead of a free for all.

So, during our check in last week we talked about the pretend future friendships with women issue and he said he rethought it and it was a boundary he was okay with if it made me feel better and safe. He said he was wrong. If he felt he was getting friendly with a woman, we would address it right then.

In the few days after that I decided to tell him we’re reconciling. I feel I’m settling, but I was all along because I did want to stay because of our children. He’s done a lot of hard work and he has more to do. Limbo was killing me and hurting the way I was mothering, hell, it was hurting the way I was human-ing.

So, it’s complicated but he needed me to say “reconcile” and I needed to be out of limbo. So we both win in this shitty, fuckedupness of infidelity. Yay for me! I won back a cheater! I know, it’s sarcastic because that’s the way I am coping right now. In all seriousness, I am somewhat at peace with it all. I had to make some peace in order to stay.

On to the trials and tribulations of true (as much as I can believe he is in) reconciliation.

Knowing Oneself

The Player is going to counseling alone now in the place of marriage counseling. In marriage counseling he was working on a lot of his issues anyway, even though I was in the room. I guess it showed me that he was indeed working on himself. I was proud of him, because it was hard work.

I have known for a long time he had confidence issues but never to the degree he actually does. I have known for a long time he needed therapy but could never entice him into going and because he was playing the perfect husband while the was the perfect screwed up, cheating, mutherfucker, he was hiding a lot of the pain and suffering he was experiencing. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get him to do more things for him. Like a hobby or a sport or even calling a friend. His hanging out with friends were few and far between. He didn’t really put himself out there. Years ago I realized I couldn’t be in charge of his happiness and I let that go.

I’m at peace with how I handled that, even while I look back and wish it had been different. I wish he had listened and been encouraged during any number of the two decades to help himself. His issues are so deeply rooted that even he forced them down until recently and even then, it’s because he’s been forced to if we have a chance at staying married. He wouldn’t be in our home if he wasn’t in therapy and group and attending a 12-step program (can’t say he’s officially starting working with his new sponsor, either, but whatthefuckever.).

The truth is, I know him best of anyone, even out of the whores. They just saw the lying part of him and didn’t know the sweet person that is buried in there that has shown himself over the years. I can’t believe it was all lies; the supporting one another, the good times and survival of the bad times. Or was it all a goddamn farce to cover up the really ugly, selfish person he is? I wonder as I get to know The Player who is broken and trying to rebuild himself if I will even want to be with him when he’s better, if he even can get better.

Can I stay with him knowing what he is capable of? Truth is, if he was capable before, he still is and will be capable again. I have to say, right now, I don’t know if he is worth the risk. It’s not because I can’t picture being married to someone who is remorseful, apologetic and heals himself and the marriage, it’s because he doesn’t know himself very well at all and it’s taking a very long time for him to get to know himself. It’s that I can’t picture The Player ever allowing himself to be split open to see the ugly parts and embrace them, heal them and move on.

If he can’t do that – or won’t do that – there is no way we’ll ever heal the marriage. I honestly don’t know if he has it in him because, let’s face it, he’s a pretty superficial person. I question if he has the depth to do what it takes. I’m not willing to do “this” without someone who is fully committed to the hard, sad work ahead. He says he is, but is he really and at what pace?

Life is too fucking short.

I read somewhere that “Everyone thinks they’re the exception.” They say about 90% of people like him, relapse and go on to fuck other people again and I think to myself, “Is he the exception?” I don’t know. I wouldn’t necessarily step in front of a train with only a 10% chance at stopping before it ran me over.

What. The. Actual. Fuck. Am I doing?