Cancer of the soul

My husband has a childhood friend who is dying of cancer. It is heartbreaking in every way. He has three young kids, a wife that adores him, and is a good man. They've tried everything, and it has been a long battle, but it looks like it may draw to a close within the next year.

I can't even begin to imagine the pain, heartbreak, and desperation they feel. I know their testimonies have been strengthened. I know they have given it everything they have and they have a long road ahead of them still. It isn't fair. Not in any way.

The one, small silver lining is that they have learned to appreciate the present and never waste a moment. They are busy making memories together. In fact, there are a number of charitable groups that have provided them with trips to Hawaii, Jackson Hole, and more, just so they can make memories as a family. People have organized fundraising softball tournaments and dinners. Neighbors stop by and bring dinner, tend their kids, and provide a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on. They have felt an outpouring of love from their community, and they deserve it.

For the record, I would never want to be in their shoes. Ever. My heart truly aches for them as they experience the ongoing pain of chemo, tests, bad news, and the constant passing of time.

The thing is....sometimes I feel like my home is being invaded by a spiritual cancer. This addiction crept in long before either of us realized what it was. It grew in secret and isolation. It's ugly symptoms took over and changed everything, and we're both left feeling hopeless and scared. It eats away at love, trust, intimacy, confidence, and our entire family life. It is destroying our souls.

There is no cure.

We weep behind closed doors. We petition the Lord for help. I spend hours scouring the Internet, trying to find some bit of information that can help. Maybe this therapist? Maybe that book? Maybe a new program? We try to live a "normal" life and put on a happy face at family events so nobody will know about this soul-cancer. We joke around with friends as if stealing the bedcovers is the biggest sticking point in our marriage.

After a new lie is discovered I look around in despair at my messy house, my demanding children, my church calling, and my part-time job, and I die even more inside. My head and my heart are a mess of emotions and pain. Trying to fix waffles for my kids, while keeping my back to them as silent tears stream down my face, drains the last bit of energy that I have. I wish desperately that someone would show up on my doorstep with a casserole, some cleaning supplies, a fun game for my kids, or even just a hug.

But no one comes. The shame of this addiction silences my cries for help. The fear of judgment, the fear of not feeling safe, my pride - all keep me from telling people what is really going on in my life. I even sugar-coat things for the ladies in my 12-step group, because I feel like my pain and my challenges don't compare to some of the things they've endured, so how can I ask for something from them? I feel alone, even though I know there are others in my shoes.

All my memories with my husband are tainted. Everything, even the birth of my children, is changed by the knowledge of his lies and betrayals. I wonder if we can ever make new memories, clean from the darkness this addiction brings.

There is no cure for this...but there is healing. I am trying to heal. It feels like a fight. Some days it feels like too much, some days it feels like there is hope. I am trying to learn to live in the moment, not in the pain of the past or the fear of the future. I am trying to trust my God.

I am grateful we are not dealing with a devastating physical disease that could alter our lives forever. Please make no mistake about that. But sometimes, I wish that cancer of the soul would be recognized and supported, too. I wish there were no shame or judgment around it.

I wish someone would come to my door with a hug and a listening ear. A casserole wouldn't be bad either ;)

Lately

I've been thinking a lot about posting over the last few weeks, but I just haven't been able to do it. When I sit down to write, the words don't come. Same with my journal. There's no words willing to come out of my fingertips. Lately I feel like I feel everything, and I feel nothing. It seems impossible to package things up into a bundle of letters and words and sentences.

A couple of days ago the husband hit the 30 day sobriety mark. He talked about it a lot and gave me high fives and was really happy. Which was great! I was happy for him. But...why was he so happy about it this time around? I didn't get why it was different. Haven't we hit 30 days a bunch of times since we started pursuing recovery last fall? I was certain we were in about a 6-8 week relapse cycle.

I brought it up to him. And once again, we're living separate realities, unbeknownst to me. Aside from his first sobriety streak last fall, he can't remember ever having hit 30 days.

Ummm... what?

Over the last several months we've done the relapse cycle thing. Every time I discover something and call him out, he "comes clean". He makes speeches about honesty and commitment and on and on. And now he tells me he still wasn't totally honest. He was living with one foot in recovery and one still in the addiction. But, can he remember what was actually happening? Of COURSE not. He has no recollection of any of it. It's just this big guess as to what real life has been the last 6 months.

And naturally, he doesn't think it's that big of a deal, because look at how good he's been doing the last 30 days! Wheeee!!

I feel like I've been run over by a dump truck. I feel as traumatized as I did the first time I discovered any of this years ago. Because even though I realize he was lying to me for so many years, I kind of knew he was. It was the status quo. It sucks, but I understand he was just totally in his addiction.

But this time, we had a deal, you know? I thought last fall was a fresh start for us, in a way. I knew it would be tough. I knew there would be ups and downs. But I thought we were on the same page. I idiotically believed him when he said he had told me everything and he was committed to the truth and making me feel safe. I once again gave him the benefit of the doubt that he wouldn't really hurt me like that. I believed him! It's almost laughable now!

I can't believe anything anymore. I can't trust anything. I don't even know where to go from here. I alternate between feeling intense pain and absolutely numb.

I've been doing a lousy job of working my steps the last few weeks. A combination of busy-ness and change of schedule, plus laziness and wanting to live in denial that this is my life. This is the kick in the pants I need to get my head out of the sand and start facing reality again...whatever that actually is.

Grateful for gratitude

A recurring theme in recovery work is gratitude. Same thing in the church. A general authority gives a talk on trials and mentions gratitude as part of it. What?

I'm realizing, though, that all these people are on to something. Gratitude is a silver bullet that dispels the feeling of despair. It keeps a bad day from becoming a bad life. It keeps a bad moment in perspective, you know? Is it weird to say I am thankful for gratitude? Cuz I am.

Sometimes gratitude is a choice, and sometimes I feel like gratitude floods my veins when I least expect it. It is hard to choose gratitude in a bad moment. When your husband lies to you again and your world feels completely unsafe, it's hard to feel grateful that the sun was shining when it happened. But the times I've been able to do that, the stings of life are slightly less painful.

Today was one of those days where the gratitude seemed to spontaneously fill my heart. We got invited to a party to celebrate the end of the school year. I was nervous because we moved in just a couple of months ago and I hardly know anyone here, and I tend to be shy as it is. I didn't know who was hosting the party, but I thought it would be a great way to go and meet some friends.

As I pushed my toddler in the stroller and watched my new kindergarten graduate ahead of me on her scooter, I felt so grateful. The weather was perfect. I have these two beautiful, healthy, happy kids as my sidekicks. We live in a nice neighborhood with good people that are reaching out to us. I realized that even if my husband relapsed a couple of weeks ago...even if we had some of the worst fights we've ever had...even if my future is uncertain...that doesn't mean I have a bad life. My life is so full. I have so many other good things to be grateful for. So many good, kind people to fill it with. How lucky am I?

The older I get the more intense the highs and lows seem to become. Life gets pretty hard at times. But then other times it is so, so good. I'm trying to relish those times, be grateful for every little moment in them, so that when the trials come I can draw on the good memories and associated warm fuzzy feelings, and hopefully see the other good things around me too.

Healing steps

Over these many years of being aware of my husband's problem addiction, I never felt able to talk to anyone about it. It was my private, shameful struggle. How could I explain it to someone without them pitying me, criticizing me, blaming me, or telling me to leave him? None of those things helped. I was on my own.

There were times I wanted to talk to my bishop about it, since I felt like that was the one person obligated to listen to me. My addict husband wouldn't hear of it. He didn't want me advertising his secret. Probably even more, he couldn't accept that porn was not ok for me or our relationship. He wanted me to just get over it and be ok with it. If I pursued help, that meant I was serious about things not being ok.

This week I took ownership of my story and my recovery, finally. I had been feeling prompted to meet with my bishop, so I did. It was scary. I've never really done that before. Even worse, I had never even met my bishop! We moved into our ward a few months ago, and due to our church time and the size of our ward I've never spoken a word to our bishop. This totally wasn't how I wanted to get to know him, but hey, what can ya do?

The husband knew I was meeting with him and was supportive (yay for recovery). I've heard horror stories about meetings with bishops not going well - being blamed, chastised, or blown off. I was prepared for things to not go well. Thankfully, they went fine. It wasn't earth-shattering necessarily. My bishop seems to be a man of few words generally. But he listened and tried to empathize. He encouraged us to get some counseling and offered to have the ward help pay. He gave me a blessing. He asked us to meet with him together the next week. It was good. I felt good, because I felt brave.

Last night the husband and I met with him together. It was another brief meeting, but it was good because we went together. It was good because my husband had a good attitude. He was open and willing to do this as a team. At one point, he even volunteered the info of when he last acted out and what the bishop would like him to do in terms of sacrament and temple attendance. That was a surprise for me! We're going to get some counseling. We're going to have the bishop to be accountable to and to help us.

Keeping secrets is the worst. Keeping a secret that isn't even your secret but somehow becomes your secret is especially painful. Letting a secret both drag you down and tear you apart as a couple is ridiculous and heartbreaking. It doesn't have to be that way. Now that we've finally started TALKING, to each other and to other people, it feels like this secret isn't as powerful and shameful as we thought it was. Still, we have a long way to go, but I feel proud myself -- and of us.

Day by day

This last week has been the epitome of a roller-coaster week.

The previous weekend seemed nice with nice Mother's Day surprises.

Monday I discovered the porn viewed over the weekend and hidden from me, with multiple boundaries broken.

The next several days were spent in a rage. I sunk into a pit of despair. I seethed with anger. I stewed over how I was going to make it as a single mom.

Wednesday I let him in, just the tiniest bit, and we watched an addiction webinar together and tensely talked about a few things.

Thursday he messaged me to let me know he had acted out again. I tried to respond appropriately, but that night when he came home from work, it was the full-blown addict. No air of humility about him or gratitude that I was understanding earlier that day. He came home on the offensive, lashing out in his guilt and stress. He criticized, belittled, blamed, and acted arrogant and selfish.

I lost it. LOST. IT. I was angry about him acting out. I was even angrier at his entitled, selfish attitude and that he was attacking me unfairly. I yelled, I threw oven mitts, I smashed utensils on the counter. I shoved him once. I told him to get the divorce papers. I hated him. I felt utterly broken that night as things continued to worsen throughout the evening. I had asked him to leave, he didn't.

Friday morning I couldn't even bring myself to acknowledge him. But at some point, I felt pangs of guilt for my rage the day before. I emailed him to say sorry for my poor behavior and to explain some of my feelings. He promised he would be gone that night.

That night, he came home a different man. His eyes were soft again, not cold and steely and distant like the day before. He took care of the kids. He was helpful. Then, at about 9:30 pm, he packed a bag and got ready to leave. But....my anger was gone. What on earth was wrong with me? I wanted NOTHING to do with him ever again just 24 hours before. What had changed? I didn't want him gone really. I knew he didn't want to leave, but he was trying to respect my wishes.

I asked if he wanted to talk. He instantly dropped everything and came to sit beside me on the couch. We talked in kind tones. We were honest about our feelings. We came up with a plan to avoid angry outbursts in the future. He listened. He reached for my hand, and I let him. The "real" husband was back. I didn't make him leave that night, but he did still sleep in the basement.

Saturday was busy getting ready for a couples baby shower we were hosting that night. Things almost felt...back to normal? That wasn't right, was it? That's not how it was supposed to be. I didn't want to see him ever again, right?? But that day I was reminded of my own humanity and tendency to sin, and I was humbled.

Sunday I felt raw, needy. I needed love. I needed it from him - the very man that has caused so much fear and hurt. I turned to him and wanted him. It still feels crazy to me, but it feel like the right thing too.

I don't know what the future will bring, but right now, I'm trying to live one day at a time. It is confusing when each day feels so different. I don't know if the way I'm feeling is "right" or "wrong". But is there a right or wrong? It's just how I feel. I can't really control it, I can only respond to it in the healthiest way I know how.

Husband has a new sponsor that actually seems to be doing something. He started writing in a journal. Hopefully, this is a more permanent change. But, if it is not, I know what I need to do, and he knows what will happen also. Until then: one day at a time.

Red hot

My daughter has a book called "Today I Feel Silly". It is a cute story that chronicles the many moods that we go through: joy, anger, confusion, silliness, sadness, frustration, excitement, etc. In my experience with Betrayal Trauma, some days I feel like I cycle through every emotion at least once. It is exhausting.

Today, though, I just feel angry.

Deep, red-hot anger. I feel it churning in my stomach, creeping up my spine, and eating away at my brain. My muscles have been tense and twitchy. My breathing has been shallow.

Dealing with an addict is the most crazy-making experience on the planet. It's like dealing with a giant two year old - someone only in touch with their reality, their desires, and what they want. Someone prone to mood swings and being irrational. Except, the problem is, their adult mind is developed enough to know how to lie and manipulate and get what they want. It's an endless exercise in insanity.

I'm angry about all the lies. I'm angry that this is what my life has become. I'm angry that I feel like a victim. I'm angry that I've been used. I'm angry that I'm the only one really working hard at recovery. I'm angry I'm the only one that has been faithful. I'm angry about all the broken promises and all the manipulation.

And the part I'm really not proud of: I want revenge. I want him to hurt the way I've hurt. I want him to know betrayal and fear and how it feels to be used and criticized, to feel worthless and unloved. I want to tell everyone we know exactly what he's done...and is still doing! I want him to feel for once in his life, without an escape.

I think I've completely gone off my rocker. I don't know what is happening to me lately. It's like every ounce of rage and hurt and sorrow over the last 8 years is bubbling to the surface and I feel out of control. I've stuffed it down and pretended it away for so long that now it is coming back with a vengeance. I'm worried it's going to eat me alive.

Maybe when it's all said and done, it isn't him who destroyed our marriage -- it will have been me.

PTSD, Porn, and Boundaries...Oh my!

Ooooohh boy. Where to begin? How can I even begin to sum up the last couple of weeks.

We had a hellish week, complete with the stomach flu and speeding tickets and even a load of white laundry stained pink (it's the little things that send you over the edge, amirite?!) I was feeling...off. And not just because of all the bad stuff. Because I could sense where we were in our cycle and our pattern, and I wasn't feeling safe.

We reached the point where husband thinks he's doing great, all is well, and then the communication starts to die down. Recovery stops being a point of focus and discussion. It's done when things are convenient. And that's when things start to get dangerous. Based on past experience, I know it is only a matter of weeks before the slide into relapse. What will be the trigger that sends him there?? I start feeling anxious, depressed, irritable, withdrawn, and slightly crazy.

So we talked about it, and it really didn't go anywhere. His response was exactly what I expected: "I don't understand what you're upset about. I've been feeling really good lately and doing well. I can see you being upset if something happened, but nothing has!"

He tried to be "understanding" at first, but after a day or two things really unraveled. The communication stopped. When I tried initiating a conversation, things blew up. I mean BLEW UP.

Anyway, I had some really major realizations slap me in the face. I thought maybe it was time to separate. I prayed, and I prayed some more. I wanted to be SURE with a big decision like this. I mentioned it in my share during S-Anon (and the lovely ladies were so kind and supportive). I went home and talked to him. And then...I chickened out. Shocker? Nope. Instead of telling him he needed to move out now, I had a last minute decision to tell him he had the end of the month and I needed to SEE real changes, not just hear promises. He wasn't happy, but whatever. He promised things would change, things would be different. That night I tried sleeping on the couch again, but I was exhausted and my head and body hurt, and the baby woke up at some point in the night. After rocking him, I climbed back into my own bed next to husband, because a good night's sleep was more important than anything else.

And then...things kind of stayed that way. I kept sleeping in our bed, but I stayed guarded. Husband went to his meeting on Saturday, texted and asked a new guy to be his sponsor, and made me leave the house that afternoon so he could prepare a super elaborate Mother's Day dinner that he did with our friends. All very nice. Sunday he had to speak in church, which he was super stressed and terrified about. Sunday morning he tried to initiate sex, but I turned him down because I didn't want to be used to alleviate his stress, as that is one of his biggest triggers and I knew he was stressed and nervous about his talk. Turning him down stressed me out, but he made this little speech about how it's all about making me feel safe and it was ok. We ended up having sex later that night, which I wasn't 100% about, but whatever.

Fast forward to Monday afternoon. My toddler has the Kindle and hands it to me. I randomly decide to check the browser history, even though there's never anything in there. Except this time...there it is. Porn. Graphic porn, viewed about 15 minutes after I left the house on Saturday. I felt like I had been punched in the gut. All the wind was knocked out of me. I immediately felt cold and started shivering. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. My mind was racing. All my senses seemed to be going haywire at once. I wondered if this is what PTSD felt like?

The husband was on his way home from work. I debated what to do. Prompt him and give him a chance to come clean? Spit it out and keep it short and sweet? I decided on the second option. He came home all nice, tried to give me a hug, and could immediately tell something was wrong. He asked me about it, I told him we needed to talk upstairs.

I told him I found the porn on the Kindle. He froze. I gave him a chance to explain. He had nothing, and then started to get defensive. He knew he was trapped. I ranted for a short bit. I left the house and went shopping and drove around. I secluded myself in our bedroom while he slept in the basement.

He sent me an email and text to apologize. I didn't respond to either. He created a Google Doc to act as his journal and added me so I could read it whenever I want. Stupidly, I have read it, even though I know I just need to detach. I feel like it's just another show, another manipulation tool. He talks about missing me, being afraid I'll leave him, wanting me to quickly see the changes he's making because he needs me and my friendship and love.

I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I know as soon as I soften, as soon as I stop enforcing my boundaries and "let him off the hook" for this one that he'll stop writing in that document and stop pretty much everything else too. Nothing will change. This cycle will continue. I HAVE to be strong. I have to stick to my guns and follow my gut. I can't be an enabler anymore. This is so hard. Probably the hardest thing I've ever done, but I HAVE TO DO IT.

There is more to write, but that will be the next post. This is way too long as it is and it is way too late.