Esalen.

I should be excited. I should be happy and looking forward to five days at Esalen in Big Sur, amongst the trees and healing waters. Happy to see a sage teacher and mentor, and happy to gain knowledge that I can pass through to others via my hands and intention.

I am not.

Today I would rather die. I would rather cry and scream and get rid of the deep ache in the pit of my stomach once and for all.

I fear so much.

It's fear, really.

Fear of my husband reverting to his old ways, calling prostitutes and women to entertain him, and then lying to me about it, until his actions show up on the next phone bill and bank statement.
Fear of leaving my child at home with him.
Fear of not being good enough.
Fear of being in pain because the beds are uncomfortable.
Fear of not sleeping.

It's fear of being lied to by my husband that is the worst.
I have done a lot of good work to not let the uncertainty of the past taint my future.
I fear what I have done is not good enough, because I am so, so scared of being hurt again.

I must remind myself constantly - still! - that I am not responsible for him nor his actions.
I must accept what is present here and now.
I must expect nothing of my partner, to stave off disappointment.

This is what happens when one gets constantly shut down in conversation. THIS is what happens when not allowed a perspective of something that affects oneself and own being. THIS is what happens when betrayed by a partner who tells bold-faced lies when asked about a phone bill or bank statement, or when asked for clarification of what has happened between us that we are RIGHT HERE, at the edge of understanding the reasons for lies.

Rebuff.

Just before I had my hysterectomy, I yelped in pain during sex. He had bumped against a fibroid tumor that was particularly painful.
I've asked him about it several times - "When did you start to not want to be intimate with me?"
He claims he always wants intimacy.
A few years down the road, I find out about calls and emails to schedule dates with prostitutes and others on his work travels.
I guess the intimacy was fulfilled with others?

I remember one Thanksgiving when his family came to our house - the first Thanksgiving we hosted. He had a tenuous relationship (to put it best) with his parents, and I remember him being physically ill, sweating, vomiting and literally five minutes after they left, he was fine.
His brother noted that during dinner, and he kinda sloughed it off at the time, but later mentioned it after everyone left.

It's interesting what we do as a reaction. Our brains are still very active during sleep too, and I've noted that - just as actions speak louder than words - the actions show up in sleep too.

He puts physical barriers between us when we sleep. All the blankets get shoved up between us, two pillows, and he props himself up with pillows (and ultimately, I can't even get near him in our bed).
There is a ridge in the middle of our mattress, only three years old. It's to the point now, where we sleep in shifts. I get up and then he goes to sleep. He naps throughout the day (his job is such that he can do this), and I don't get to practice, vacuum, because he is tired and needs to sleep.

There was a time (shortly after D-Day) that he said he didn't find me attractive any more. I was too aggressive. too angry.  All the time. He developed ED and became very uncomfortable when I tried to show him any affection. He had no problems with gaining an erection at night time during sleep, and he masturbated just fine too.

So, in an effort to find safe, non-sexual ways of intimacy, I took a massage class (and followed through thankfully - now I'm a CMT), hopeful that this might be a good way to be intimate with him, but not press him to perform.

I am a person that needs lots of "good" touch. Contact. Connection.

I've learned a lot about boundaries in these last four years. I am sensitive to people's "tells", and gain more insight into their comfort and release of pain, etc with each passing day of practice.
So I get it when my husband turns me down for a massage when I offer him one.
I'll see him in pain, ask him how he's feeling and if he responds "sore" or whatever, I'll offer.

Then he stopped wanting one.

So I got a massage chair ("I don't like lying on the table.").

I offer again. Numerous times.

Because I want to connect with him. I like touch. I know he used to.

People change.  Husbands change.
It would be lovely to hear it though, rather than thin excuses.

Is it an excuse, or another lie? What's the difference, really.

I respect his views.  It still hurts to be rebuffed and rejected in new ways, all the time.

So I stopped asking to gift him something.
I told him that to expect nothing from, of and with him, is the only way to stave off disappointment. Once in a while, I forget that I most likely will be turned down - again - and ask him if he'd like a relaxing massage, and without fail, I'm gifted back with that sunken pit in my stomach, the tightening chest and welling of the eyes. Rejected, again.

I've asked him on his terms, how he would like to connect with me. I've explained that I need touch, and I want to experience intimacy with him. He winds up being exasperated, and I wind up feeling bad for bringing up intimacy yet again, and no closer to anything - feeling farther away from him.

Expectation creates the environment for constant, unfailing disappointment.

It reminds me of a song I sang with a choir once - the last line:
Poor girl...
Rejected.

It is too much to ask, I fear.

The hope-ium sniffer

I think some people can smell the hope-ium about me.
I am one of those people who is rather "open book".

It takes losing my soul, to convince me that it's time to guard what's left of my heart and mind.

It's so hard - the guarding. I shut down in an instant - the smiles turn off, my eyes and ears suddenly hypervigilant.

Time stands still in the paralyzing shadow of the past and all the heartache the past represents.

How to be hopeful? How to be forward-thinking? Anticipatory of a future?

Maybe I am depressed. I certainly feel like I may be.

Will I?

Most days I feel I do pretty ok, in terms of getting over difficult times in the past. Occasionally, a word, action, someone bringing up something from those troubled times sends me spiralling downward into a pit of despair, literally. I wind up coming out of it eventually, sometimes he bothers to ask what is up, and I find I can speak frankly. It really doesn't matter if I do though, because he only sees anger when I do.
He perceives anger in me so much, when that is the furthest emotion from me. It's projected most of the time.
Forgiveness is hard. What do I do with the remembering? What do I do with the heartache and unresolved questions?
He seems basically - decent - now. I think if I had his truth to my questions, it might be more than just "seems".
I wait for my world bubble to pop.
I'm not surprised by the notion, nor wishful that it won't.
Everything comes to an end. It's a matter of time.
I expect nothing. Everything - and I do mean everything - is a such a superficial face value.
I've learned a lot about judgement and pre-conceived notions in the last year, and acceptance.
I remember these hurtful times every day still.
The past doesn't go away. The past doesn't own me like it used to, but it hurts me daily.