June Gloom.

The pandemic affects us in the oddest and most unpredictable of ways. Productive life as I knew it has been suspended until God knows when. I hate doing anything, yet do my best to stay upbeat and doing something for the greater good, even if that means getting my teeth brushed, or taking my medication.

June Gloom is a saying around here, as June is typically grey and foggy - the nice months are September and October.

This June was particularly gloomy. No work, no music except for online (which is just so, so weird). Being at home all the time because that's the only place we can be!

Then, my husband's anxiety went through the roof, brought on by a friend's phone call, reminiscing of the Hacker Days. And my life fell apart.

He came to me, looking for reassurance that he only really hacked two sites, and didn't do anything with the data, and that he wasn't going to be caught by the police. I reassured him, and I went "well, what about THE ONE..." You know, the one that you gave me as a reason you were contacting women and prostitutes, doing research?

Yeah, that one.

"So you only said two.. which implies that the other one was a lie then?"

"Yeah."

Which, interestingly enough, when I asked him about showing me proof of what he was doing (to substantiate all these calls to prostitutes and other women) he got angry and said he had deleted it all. And I think around March or April, I had finally come to my own realization that he lied, and that I have to consider all the good work on himself that he has done in the last two years, and base our relationship on that.

And then he admitted the lie. And my head felt like it was going to blow up and I couldn't breathe. I went about my day, steely and numb.

After the gaslighting, the lies, the blaming me for being so angry about ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, saying how I had anger issues (that I ultimately went to counselling over for three god damned years), and screaming at me that I just had to trust him that he wouldn't call or text other women to do the things I wanted to do with him.  The denial that he didn't call or text, and then seeing pages upon pages of the cell records, and being screamed at for looking.

Oh, and my favorite - the crowning glory on our troubled times - when he set me up to fail by putting prostitute's numbers in his cell address book, telling me not to look at his phone, and then telling me he did it because he knew I couldn't resist looking.

Yes, June was particularly gloomy.

I need to call my counsellor to talk. Of course, it would be nice to talk in private over all this, but yeah, everyone is home.

I mean, how does one handle this? Finally "come to terms" with the past, or so I was let on the past was, and then - boom.  The truth I ultimately surmised, but didn't hear, and was not "his truth" until his paranoia got the best of him, was now "The Real Truth".

I somehow felt better, knowing that I was right all along about what he had been doing, and covering up, and lying about, and making me feel like I was in the wrong about. A big weight had been lifted off my chest, because he FINALLY told me. And then, he clammed up.. won't talk about it because "it was the drugs". Well, the drugs didn't pick up a phone. They didn't make him not think about me, or us, or everything that I and we have done to build something for us together.

How dare I not trust him.

How dare I want him to actually own up to his actions.

How dare I be angry because he strayed from us.

I don't know how to move forward. It's not like he actually came to me for my sake, or for our sake - self-justification and self-preservation only.

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.

How do I...

(As noted from August 14, 2017)

How do I:

1. Be a wife that listens without responding critically or coming up with answers?

2.  Remove skepticism from my thoughts?

3. Not Be the one with the Problem.

4. Know what are critical words/behaviour and what are loving/thought provoking/conversational words?

5. Have conversations without asking questions?

6. Get over the hurt? I feel like I still need to protect myself and weigh-in on the present and i am tired of evaluating and guarding my emotions; as much as I want and need to develop our intimacy, I feel like a major obstacle to myself in this.

7. Believe him? I'm taking more leaps of faith, but sometimes it is incredibly difficult to take what he says at face-value, even simple day-to-day things about tasks he says he will do.

Is it okay to not ask questions about my husband’s day? I feel compelled to catch up on things about him/me/family etc, talk about things/events/appointments coming up this week.
How do i gain insight into him and his day, if it is not shared firstly, and if I don’t ask?

I don’t want him to feel he is being put through a questioning period.

Safe and secure self-attachment.

From the interwebs, collected July 2, 2017

Relationships consist of a series of bids for love and support from our partners, that we hope will ward off that scary feeling of not being loved. Will you comfort me in this situation, or invalidate my feelings? Will you make me feel wanted, or reject me? Can I depend on you for this, or will you disappoint me? In other words, we’re constantly looking to our partners for feelings of security – security within the relationship, and security with ourselves. When they don’t fill this need, it hurts, and it feels scary. It triggers that deeply buried and powerful fear – that maybe we’re not loved… maybe we’re not even lovable.

The self is the only dependable source of security.

The only true source of security is from within. We might exert all kinds of effort trying to control the rest of our world, but the only thing we can really control is ourselves. So what if we put as much effort into mastering our ability to choose the perspective we take of the world? What if instead of trying to change our partners into people that are better at making us feel secure, we change ourselves into people that fill our own need of security? What if we could provide ourselves with our own secure attachment to ourselves?

True love:
“It is a caring enough about the person that you do not wish to interfere with his development, nor to use him for any self-aggrandizing goals of your own. Your satisfaction comes in having set him free to grow in his own fashion.”