The Rundown, Part 5

Even with the spirit guiding my discovery, I felt totally blindsided. Overcoming addiction had been a source of accomplishment for us. It was something we talked about often-- the early days of his denial, his first tearful confession when I found him in the closet, and then finally, him taking responsibility for his own recovery with LifeStar while I focused on letting go. We had been the success story! I'd thought we were on the brink of entering a phase of both being dependent on God so we could be interdependent on each other-- and here I was, discovering that the amazing journey we'd been on together was actually a path I'd taken alone? It was horribly disorienting.

It got worse as the length and breadth of his actions slowly began to reveal themselves. {For the record, trickle disclosures suck.}

He said he'd been acting out for a few months, but only because I was so distant and unloving.

No, actually, it had been a few years, but not seriously.

Scratch that, it had started right after he quit going to therapy and it was because he was bored and frustrated at work.

Had his behavior escalated? No. Maybe. Yes.

Oh, you know what? Now that he thought about it, he didn't know if he'd really been sober for any length of time even when in therapy...... but that wasn't the point.

Apparently, he felt that the real point, the root of the problem {of which addiction was just a symptom, in his mind} was that our relationship was in crisis. Clearly, I had detached so completely in my quest to let go and let God that I wasn't truly present in the marriage anymore.

{Of course, now when I read that, I want to shake myself. J rarely gets mad, but without fail, he plays victim when confronted with his addiction. Refusing to take responsibility is clear addict behavior.}

Unfortunately, at the time, there was just enough truth in what he said {I was, after all, very detached} that given a few weeks of his persuading and debating, I began to wear down. My parents were in transition, so I didn't have a place to escape to; Our therapist was booked out for 2 months, and I was staring down the barrel of a long, hot summer. Denying the severity of the problem was the path of least resistance.

So, we worked on our 'relationship'. Courting and whatnot. But I was plagued with a sense of deja vu. Nothing he did or said seemed different than the last time, and I'd seen where that had got me. How were chocolates and flowers supposed to change that? I started to feel like an emotionally battered woman, and determined that I needed to figure out how to keep from being trampled all over again. I started with a simple boundary: I would not be bullied into sex.

It wasn't long before that boundary was tested, as I later learned all boundaries are.

It was a Saturday morning, and while I attempted to sleep in, J turned to me without preamble. I'd taken to wearing one-piece garments in order to discourage wandering hands {TMI, I know} but it didn't help. I rebuffed him and he sighed. He sighed the heavy way he'd sighed that day; the way he'd sighed a thousand times; in a way that spoke a thousand words of accusation. As he went on to voice his frustration with that wounded look on his face, I. just. snapped.

The nerve! The entitlement! The complete lack of empathy! I didn't speak to, or even look at him for a week. Never in my life have I been so consumed with unbridled rage.

Finally, after an evening watching J back peddle, {calling in Home Teachers to give him a blessing, imploring me to pray with him, asking me in that I-am-so-concerned-for-your-spiritual-welfare voice that I turn the other cheek and fight for our marriage} I lay awake on the edge of our bed, as far from my sleeping husband as I could get. Tears streamed down my face as I uttered the only prayer I could muster:

"I hate him. Dear God, I hate him. I don't want to be here. I don't want him next to me. I don't want to be mad anymore. I don't know what to do and I'm going to screw this all up. Please God, help me not to hate him."

The next morning, I felt miraculously calm. The anger had drained away, though the hurt remained.

That same day, my parents signed a rental agreement on their new home, and before the ink had time to dry, I packed up the kids and left.

{image}