Journal Entry: July 7, 2014

After last night’s mission, I now know that this other woman, my husband’s last acting out partner, the alcoholic, hoarding whore (whore-der?), will never be able to sneak up on me (which was one of my fears). I will see this crazy looking woman coming from a mile away. There is no way this woman could be careful, dainty, or stealth. She looks like a clown monster. I feel slightly better about the situation, but only slightly. I do believe she could take me down, but at least I will see her coming?

After an incredibly fitful night, I woke this morning, not surprisingly, feeling like shit. I sat down and wrote my husband this note:

I sit here and think of all the things you were willing to say and all the values you were willing to trash and all the people you were willing to betray in order to garner sex with that horrible woman and yet, you sit next to me and are unable to muster any words to repair a 30 year relationship from the deep recesses of hell you have cast it (us) into. You are unwilling to come up with even a few words from your heart to express your feelings about our 30 years and potentially what losing this relationship will mean to you. You are unable to show me your good side. You are unable to show me any maturity at all. This speaks volumes to me. I know you are tired and you feel like you have already spoken those words numerous times. I know you feel raw and beat down. That’s what this is all about. That’s what you wanted, right? You wanted to be in recovery and not hiding in your secret addicted world. Well, hello, here you are… you are being given the opportunity to work just as hard at proving to me that you actually do love me from a place deep inside you. Not just from a ritualistic, monotonous, forced, habitual reality, but from the deep recesses. I know working hard emotionally for a relationship is not as immediately gratifying as thinking about having meaningless secret sex with someone who thinks you adore her and will do anything to continue the sick relationship you nurtured with her, but working hard for me, is the only way. You have to stop the self indulgent behavior and do the difficult work. The work that forces you to step outside that sick, twisted comfort zone of yours and into a world inhabited by mature, thoughtful, loving human beings who do not trample on the feelings of others. I keep prodding you along because my biggest fear is that you are unable to actually have these deep feelings. That you are actually unable to treat people respectfully. You are still living in your selfish, addicted mind. Feeling sorry for yourself. There is a fine line between me trying to control you and your recovery and me having boundaries that allow me to stay with you and feel safe. I want to stay and feel safe. You must do your part.

Later this afternoon I was feeling much better.

After many tears of sadness and anger, I finally got past the vision of the “clown monster” and I looked in my husband’s beautiful blue eyes and realized I loved him more than ever. It was not that I felt sorry for him. It was that I believed his addiction was real, and I believed he would be able to recover. I cannot really pinpoint what came over me or why just a few hours before I thought I would never be able to touch him again. Sometimes I confuse and surprise myself. I was not only able to touch him, but I wanted to touch him ravenously, all over his body, and I wanted him to touch me, and…

And then, my mobile phone started to ring, and I looked at it, and it was her.