Journal Entry: June 21, 2014
Last night I could not get to sleep without my husband. Since it was a travel day and not officially a workshop day, he was available to talk with me, and call me, and text me as much as he wanted. And he did. Mostly, I was busy with D and my parents, but I always responded, and then he wanted to get a good night’s sleep before Day One, but I could not sleep. I was still feeling vulnerable regarding the presence of the stalker whore, and I was terribly lonely. I tried watching boring TV, reading a boring book, I even started cleaning out my closet. I finally fell asleep somewhere around 4am, and woke up at about 8am. There was no way I would get more sleep than that, plus 8:00am is when my husband is scheduled to call or text me that he is off to his first day of intensive sex addiction treatment. Sure enough, pretty much right on the 8 o’clock hour, my husband phoned me. I was so happy to hear his voice. He said he was parked outside the house where he would spend the day being tortured, ha. He said I should try and get some more sleep, but I couldn’t. I got up, did my 35 minutes on the elliptical, and ate breakfast.
I ran some errands during the day in preparation for my trip out of town tomorrow, but basically I had no plans. I really felt more comfortable in our house, not out in public. Every time I went anywhere, I felt vulnerable, like I was being followed. So home was where I stayed pretty much the whole day. I had promised myself the one thing I would accomplish this weekend, was to completely clean out my closet. I have a good-sized walk in closet and over the past five months, I had not bothered putting things back in their place. Winter clothes were still strewn about. Suitcases filled with clothes, some dirty, some clean, dotted my closet floor. I needed to go through everything, absolutely everything. I like using my bed as the place where I put all the clothes and shoes I am keeping. The bedroom floor is where all the giveaways go, as well as piles for laundry, for dry cleaning, and then there is always a garbage pile with things like tags ripped from new clothes and just thrown on the floor, tissues from recent crying jags where I retreated to my closet for solitude, broken hangers, and the like. I took a break for dinner and then waited for my husband to call at the designated 6:30pm hour. Each evening their intensive was to end between 6 and 6:30 and then they were free to head back to their respective rooms, wherever they might be, but they would always have homework. So I settled myself on an edge of my bed, a very small little bit of real estate that was not currently covered in piles of clothes or shoes, and waited. I waited and waited and waited. I watched some TV and waited. I did not want to call my husband. For all I knew their session had gone way long and I just needed to be more patient? The waiting and wondering was causing me a great deal of anxiety. The Director knew when our phone calls were scheduled. He would know that not calling would cause me trauma, he is the trauma expert, after all. I started getting anxious. Finally, at about 7:45pm, my husband texted me, and asked if it was okay to give me a call. I texted back asking if he had just finished his session. He said, no, they had finished at about 6:15pm, but he was just so exhausted and didn’t feel like talking. He said he went to the grocery store and got some snacks and then went back to his room. He was about to go off to a little Italian restaurant and eat dinner by himself. He wanted to talk before he ate his dinner. Well, fuck him. The time for talking had past. I had asked him for consistency and he knew I was waiting on his phone call. Just because he had spent the whole day in a room full of people and then was gallivanting around town without a care in the world, without the paranoia, the vulnerability, without thinking of me at all, didn’t mean he was going to be rewarded for it. I texted him that I was not interested in talking with him when he felt like it, or when he was ready. That all I was getting was a quick check in and he didn’t even respect me, and my needs, enough to give me that when he said he would. What an asshole. His needs are always so much more important than everyone else’s. I turned off my phone and sat there, and then I started crying. The issues with my husband do not begin and end with his cheating. They begin and end with his selfishness, his self-entitlement, and his ego. Everything is always on his terms and based on his desires. The cheating is just merely a symptom of this self-entitlement. My crying turned into sobbing as I realized, I was out of sight, out of mind. I am just not that important to him. This may sound petty to some, but my husband has cheated on me for 15 years and is supposed to be trying to change, trying to make it up to me by being a better person, by putting my needs first. I am actually not that demanding. I am trying to be understanding and sympathetic and loving and what do I get in return… he was too tired to call me for a 2-minute check in. Well, fuck him.
I cried for quite some time and then fell asleep, probably from sheer exhaustion. There I was sleeping on a pile of clothes, and shoes, and purses. I woke up a few hours later and realized I still needed to finish cleaning my closet. I turned on some music and went to it. I also turned on my phone and saw that my husband had been texting and calling obsessively. Oh well, tough shit. He stopped at about midnight. Good for him. I finished cleaning my closet at 3:00am. I wanted to stop so many times. To just throw everything back in on my closet floor and give up. But I didn’t. I finished what I started. The next morning I slept right through my husband’s morning text. I could tell he was worried about me, but he should have thought of that before. He has a real issue with understanding the consequences of his actions. I think I have mentioned that before. I am tired of always being the mature one. Always being the one who forgives and forgets.
I am tired.