Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum

Year Two

5 Comments

As the second year came around, I felt I was starting to find my feet somewhat.  All the anti-versaries had been and gone, and I was still here.  He was treating me extremely well (he always has really) and I seemed to be getting just a smidgen better.  It was still a roller coaster, and I still fell deeply into the holes of despair as my worldview adjusted to my new reality.  I had chosen a cheater.  He didn’t view fidelity the same way I did.  How could he to do what he did?  He said he did, he really did view fidelity as incredibly important, but if he really did, even when he was lost and mentally unwell, he wouldn’t have broken my heart. Broken my soul. Because no matter what, no matter the lies he told himself to justify what he was doing, even if he was unwell, he HAD to know I would be devastated.  And that meant nothing. Obviously. I just didn’t count.  My support and total love wasn’t “enough.”

Another walk down memory lane.  When our eldest daughter was nearly two, he went on a hunting trip, and was gone for a couple of weeks.  We didn’t spend many nights apart, an annual hunting trip was about it,usually just a couple of nights, this one was longer than usual as he was going farther afield. Neither of us had to travel for work, or anything of the like, so spent almost every night together.  We were both terrible apart, really pined for each other, weirdos that we are/were.  It had been a tough time, I still wasn’t really sure if he had asked me back into his life because we had a child together, I FELT loved, but I guess there was some insecurity (I didn’t really identify it at the time.)  We had recently bought his parents’ farm, and it was a little tricky, juggling his parents’ needs and his sisters’ wants, I was the meat in the sandwich.  I attended one of my oldest friend’s wedding while he was gone.  My daughter had recently been weaned, and it was one of my first “big” nights out since becoming a mother.  Lots of old friends came, and we had a ball.  A guy I knew really well while we were growing up was there, he and I got talking, laughing and did a lot of dancing.  Was fun.  He had been the boyfriend of my boyfriend’s sister, and we had spent a lot of time together in our teens and were good friends.  He had a major car accident that left him fighting for his life with a traumatic brain injury and major lacerations for months in hospital in our youth, had recovered, gone to uni, fathered a son with his childhood sweetheart, but they had split up not long after.  I knew he had become a leading research scientist, and that he had married and had two daughters with his wife, and she wasn’t there as she was expecting their third.  He ended up driving me home that night, and sadly (I was quite drunk) he came onto me, really hard.  In my tipsy state, I definitely considered it, but only very briefly.  You know what stopped me?  Not his very pregnant wife (but I did feel for her, what kind of man does that?) Not Roger.  Not daughter, S.  Not even that he was obviously a scumbag.  All of these things were good reasons not to sleep with him.  The big reason was, that even though I was tempted, I had to live with that. Forever.  I could NEVER undo a drunken shag with a married man, while I was living with a good man who loved me.  On Roger’s return, I confessed to kissing this guy. We talked it through.  I asked him if he was okay, he said it was no big deal.  I have revisited that in the aftermath of his affair.  Was he really okay?  He says he was completely okay with it, mostly because it really was no big deal, but also because I told him all about it straight away, so he trusted me.  I can’t keep secrets about stuff like that, it would eat me alive!  He still swears it never bothered him.  It took me until I learned the truth about his shagging a working girl that I fully believed that.  He didn’t care, because he had already actually had sex with another woman. What is a little drunken kiss?  Also, not that this counts at all, as we were separated, but he had sex with six women when I was in the UK, and I have never been with anyone else.  So, dear reader, are you counting?  I am just now.  Since I met and fell in love with him, 26 years ago, he has slept with:1. his ex-girlfriend 2. a prostitute 3-8. various women while we were separated (don’t really count, but, you know, lol) 9. his ex-girlfriend.  My score: 1. him.  OMG.  Why was I even thinking I should stay?  Seriously, when you write it out that way, it’s pretty damning. huh?

I ended up very low again, and rang Chrissy, the shrink.  I went back to her for another session, and she immediately referred me to a psychiatrist.  She felt that despite my saying I thought I was dealing with long-drawn out grief for the life I had lost, she felt I was suffering from pretty severe depression.  I met the psychiatrist, he was lovely, listened well, and suggested we try a two-pronged approach, of anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds.  I was strongly opposed.  But I went along with it.  In the first fortnight, I waited and waited.  I expected some kind of mild lift.  Nothing, went back, he doubled the dose, I waited again, this time more anxiously. Nothing, he trebled the original dose.  Again, nothing.  He switched drugs.  We went through the same process, and the anti-anxieties were making me VERY anxious,so I didn’t use them.  We also changed them, and the new ones just made me want to sleep 24/7. More fiddling with dose rates, still no improvement.  By now I was starting to feel very desperate.  So, he ended up putting me on good old-fashioned tri-cyclics.  I gained 9kg in a month.  Now I really was depressed, not grieving.  I had kept 15kgs off (and looked and felt great about my body, at least) for nearly two years, and now, in a month, over half of it had piled back on, and I was doing nothing different, same exercise, same diet.  After seven months of trying the drug route, I stopped.  I was worse than when they first put me on the drugs.  

You know, when you live a life, a good, simple life, you have this idea that if things go amiss, if you get mentally unwell, there’s therapy.  If the therapy doesn’t work, or isn’t enough on its own, you have drugs.  That was what I thought.  I was strongly opposed to drugs, I had tried a few natural remedies first, of course, but had faith these professionals were going to “fix” me.  They didn’t, because I wasn’t broken in that way.  My heart was broken, not the chemicals in my brain.  

That was pretty much the story of my second year after I discovered the man that I loved with every atom of my being was a cheat.

Advertisements

5 thoughts on “Year Two

  1. Oh horses I feel for you. Honestly I couldn’t have grieved more if he had died (before I knew). Of course I wouldn’t have had the comparison then but I can look at it now. I’ve lost the lot even though he’s sorry. It doesn’t matter how sorry he is he can’t fix it because to fix it is to undo it. I, too, wonder if I can keep going like this. He’s a fine husband now, the kind I thought I had all along, the kind I could have grown old with. But now he’s damaged goods. I know he loves me (and in a twisted selfish way he always did) but I don’t think I love him. And that’s something I never had trouble with before. I was always good at loving. I *am* loving to him, but I don’t feel it in my bones anymore. Not like I did.

  2. I have thought that, even wished for that. I wish he’d died. I’ve told him that. He understands. I wish he’d died before he fucked up my sanity! We had 21 amazing years. I couldn’t have been more in love, felt more loved, or been more happy. Hey, it was a real life, I didn’t dance around naked under rainbows every day! But I was loved. I know I was. And I loved. Hard.

    I have a friend whose darling husband died after 18 years of marriage, it was a good marriage. They have two lovely sons, and she can mourn him properly. He died of cancer five years ago, and on their wedding anniversary last year she posted a lovely post to him on Facebook, with Van Morrison’s Moondance. I cried. I didn’t used to cry. That was my life. If only he’d died before he fucked her. I would have been able to mourn a really awesome man, I would be able to tell our kids about how fabulous their father was. Now I have this one. The one he turned into. And I don’t get to mourn that, because the man that looks like, and sounds like my love is still here. He is also sorry. Incredibly sorry. I don’t love him the way I did either. I like him, He’s still my best friend in the world. We are actually very close in many ways. But my bones have lost that feeling, too. I felt I still loved him the same up until about a year ago. No event to change it, it just seemed to float away.

  3. So, I went and saw the crap film “Noah” last night. I didn’t think I’d have any triggers from that movie — wrong! What made me sad and stare into space for like two minutes before I realized what I was doing was one of the more dramatic points in the movie. Noah’s wife is begging him not to kill his first grand daughter. She’s practically inconsolable. And what struck me, besides the fact that she’s a quality actress (Jennifer Connolly), is her apparent heartbreak. I read that scene as her heart breaking. And it made me think of the day after his Dday when I felt my heart break.

    Medicine will never help heartbreaks. Never.

  4. As I read this, I felt relief, because what I’m feeling is normal…I love my husband, but I like him a whole lot more than I love him….We are good friends….but I feel so disconnected from him, I’m not “in love” with him anymore.
    There is too much hurt. Too much anger inside me still.
    I hurt for you Paula, Nephila, and Tempted…My H had a EA, Emotional Affair, the Cow was hundreds of miles away, so no sex involved. But I do know this, there is no way I could recover from that, because I can’t recover from his EA…of course, my H is passive aggressive, and that has a lot to do with my anger and frustration now, but the hurt and pain from his betrayal still cuts deep, so I do know that I could jot recover from a sexual betrayal!!
    You are amazing ladies, I hope you know that!!

  5. Too kind, lonelywife. One thing is sure. Life and the way you love, and view life and love are completely changed. Unfortunately, not in a positive way. You just keep learning to adjust. Adjust your expectations. Adjust your emotions. Adjust your entire worldview. The way you view love affects the way you live. Who knew???

    I think any kind of betrayal, but most poignantly a love betrayal, makes everyone a survivor. No stronger than the next. No comparisons of who had it worse. It all requires massive amounts of unknown strength.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s