Last night I went to therapy thinking that it would probably be my last time being there. I've been feeling much better since the holidays and felt I can spend the money elsewhere like a nice massage or facial to rejuvenate me. I actually convinced myself that I didn't need therapy anymore, that I was at a happier place now and that my struggles were coming to an end just because I "felt" better. Hah! How foolish I was.
I've been doing a lot of reading since my husband's last "acting out"- some of which have been good and others not so much. Just last week however, I got really angry at my husband for not finishing his books like he promised and ripped its pages.
[Broken pieces]
We now have very few wedding pictures left on the walls and I broke our last wedding day picture when I found out he acted out again with a prostitute. My husband had left the house after I coldly asked him to leave. I knew my anger was too raw and too strong for us to stay in the same room and in my anger and broken heart, I yanked the picture off our bedroom wall, dragged the frame into the garage and slammed it onto the floor. I have to admit, I did feel a strange sense of satisfaction and relief as the frame shattered but that feeling didn't last long, especially when I had to pick up the broken pieces and clean up the mess I had made.
Either way, what was done was done and my husband's handsome and youthful face was torn apart into pieces as was my face as a young, glowing bride. Then I dropped to my knees and cried for hours, mourning the loss of our love, innocence and beauty of our union. I remember crying out loud, "Why me God, oh why? Why do you hate me so much?" and feeling utterly defeated and hopeless. Just thinking about that moment still brings back deep emotions months later.
It was truly one of the loneliest and saddest moment of my life and I felt I had no reason to live. I felt worthless and ugly that my husband would rather spend his time with a prostitute. I felt useless that my husband fled to Las Vegas for his best friend's bachelor party and spent time with a stripper. The worst part was that it was our wedding anniversary. I bet she was more beautiful and had a nicer body than me. I bet her breasts were larger and hair fuller. I bet she had a sweeter voice and was better at making love to him than I was. The other woman became the focus of my obsession while I continued to torment and abuse myself for being unworthy of love from anyone.
Just like this, my head would start spinning as I drown myself in guilt, self-hatred and torment while my sex addict husband put on his happy face. He never lost control of his emotions in front of others. He was always laid back, always fine, always happy, always positive, always hard working, always "the nice guy." Everyone loved him including my close family and friends. Everyone viewed him as a saint, the guy who rescued me- the crazy emotional girl- with alcohol problems and anger issues. I was the monster. He saved my life out of the kindness of his heart. I don't know why I thought this way and why I thought other people think of us this way. Now I realize I was really sick in the head and my thought patterns were completely erratic and sadistic. (Note coaddicts checklist.)
I thought this way as recent as 6 months ago. How the hell did I think I was okay to move on without therapy? I walked into my therapist's office with a light heart and huge smile and walked out laden with guilt, shame and sadness. My eyes welled up with tears as I was sitting in front of her, listening to her explanations of how and why my thought pattern was unhealthy and addictive. There were moments when I wanted to yell at her face and tell her to shut the fuck up. Why is she blaming me, THE VICTIM of these problems? I was the one being cheated on, not the one cheating. I never slept with prostitutes, HE DID!! Why am I sitting here in therapy? He's the one who needs therapy, NOT ME!!
Then I remembered this is exactly how I felt in her office three years ago before I stopped seeing her. I guess this is part of the therapeutic process and I must endure this feeling of guilt, shame and anger. She's perfectly right, I just never want to hear it. She's so right about me and my problems that it makes me uneasy. I hate not having control over my own life. No, let me rephrase that- It makes me fearful when I feel my life is out of control. Everything else around is out of control so I must- at the very least- be able to control myself and my actions. Yet contrary to my wishes I have absolutely no control over myself and my thoughts. Yes I need therapy and yes, I must hear these words from my therapist's mouth. It's like finally coming face to face with my deepest, darkest demons that I've been avoiding my entire life. It hurts but I must endure. I must endure, strengthen and heal myself.
In the end, a very positive change came out of last night's session because I came home and began this blog. I never thought about writing about my husband's sex addiction and my coaddiction because they were too shameful. They were so shameful that they must be kept a secret- but now I realize that keeping them a secret is what gives those dark secrets even more power and control over our lives.
So here I am. I'm finally coming out of the closet.
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