Stranger In My House

My husband went to therapy today. It upset me that it didn't seem to be going anywhere. That is of course, according to my personal standards and expectations.  I can't stand that he's still refusing to be vulnerable and sugar coating his disease.  He doesn't think he's sugar coating anything. He admits he has a sex addiction but... There is always a "but". I can't stand that "but." I'm now fighting his words. Once again, I'm reminded of my fixation with his recovery and the extent to which it hinders my own recovery and healing.

After a long tearful and heartfelt dialogue, we concluded that it is time to separate.  I'm not sure where this separation will lead us but I know it is something we both desperately need.  We function as each other's obstacle to recovery and it is getting in the way of us finding our true happiness and purpose in life.  Finally we are on the same page without resentment and defensiveness.

I know everything happens for a reason and I'm awed at this perfect serendipitous moment.  After countless years of bondage, shame, guilt and obsession with each other (and each other's illnesses), we are finally courageous enough to take a leap of faith, without each other.

It's not that we haven't had happy moments since the last infidelity.  We have.  We even took a family trip to Hawaii and had an amazing time with the kids.  Everyday was perfect and there wasn't a single day of hostility or sadness.  We even celebrated another Wedding Anniversary, Thanksgiving and Christmas together as family and tried to convince ourselves and each other that things were improving.

Six months later. Change was taking place only in our fantasies.

As an addict and codependent, that is what we do best- creating fantasies and believing our own delusions and lies. And when the other person's fantasy doesn't fit our own, we get angry, defensive and start fixing each other.  I believe that the more analytical person wins. My husband believes that the unemotional person wins.  We don't realize that we're both losers in this fucked up game we've created and recreated since our first fight long before the marriage.  In essence we are recreating the trauma of our childhood, the isolation, rejection, fear and anger, and somehow finding solace in these familiar emotions yet hating each other for bringing them back to the present.

What a sick, sad cycle it is. 

Finally though, something clicked together or should I say something is leaking. This cycle of abuse, addiction and codependence is leaking somewhere and we're starting to awaken from our delusions.  We're starting to realize that there is something wrong with this game we're playing. We now look at each other, the other player, and wonder who are you and what are you doing here?

I look into the eyes of this stranger whom I've been living with and had two beautiful children with in this thing called marriage.  I don't think I know him.

I turn to the mirror.  I don't think I even know myself.