The Rundown, Part 15

"She always threatens divorce after a relapse," J said, "but I really don't believe she has grounds for it. I think that whatever happens between the two of us should not have an impact on our children. We have a responsibility to them first and foremost-- but she's making them suffer just because she doesn't feel comfortable around me."

As J spoke, I couldn't get far enough away from him. We sat on the stereotypically overstuffed couch in our therapist's office as he calmly listened. "What, in your opinion," he asked, turning to J, "would be justification for divorce? Or in other words, how long do you feel a woman should stay in this kind of marriage?"

J didn't even hesitate. "I think if I were having a physical affair, that might be justification. But this? No way. She should be willing to stick by me for the rest of our lives. Especially since I haven't given up. It's not like I've just given in entirely to addiction. I would hope that as long as I am trying, she would want to support me."

The rest of our lives? At those words, the floor seemed to drop out from under me. How could he even say that with a straight face? Had he no concept of how devestated I was? How absolutely shattered? For years I'd been extending myself, doing everything in my power to love, support, understand, and let go of my own desires. I'd sacrificed all that I'd dreamed for just to try and make this work, and now he was saying that it hadn't been enough. No, worse than that-- that it wasn't even a gift, but something merely expected of me as a wife. To be broken and depleted the way I was wasn't an indication that he needed to change, but that I was not strong enough to endure and achieve an eternal marriage. He saw my as a quitter. 

"I can't do that," I told him. "I wasn't making idle threats last time when I told you that I only had one last round in me. I told you that dishonesty was my bottom line, and that I did not think I'd have the capacity to come back from another betrayal. I'm sorry that you didn't believe me, but if you want someone who can go through this over and over until the day you die, you better find someone else, because it won't be me."

Afterwards, j asked if I'd like to go to lunch and talk about the session. I stared at him in disbelief. He'd just minimized, in no uncertain terms, the worst pain I'd ever experienced. And now he thought I could sit across a table and talk to him as if my world wasn't ending? I could not even begin to comprehend how he was able to be so blind to everything. His level of denial was astounding. I was dying inside, in agony as I began to realize AGAIN, how close we really were to divorce, and yet there he stood, blithely unaware. 

I sort of hated him just then. 

I refused, observing with incredulity the surprised, wounded look that crossed his face, then walked away. 

As I drove home, I was struck all over again with how much I no longer knew my husband. It was as if, by giving him the benefit of the doubt, I'd painted all his features in a positive light and was only now becoming aware of his true nature. I'd always thought he was a peacemaker, but now I saw him as an appeaser. I thought he was lost and unaware, but now I saw him as weak and a liar. I thought he'd loved me, but now I saw he'd only known how to use me. He was selfish and manipulative whether he did it maliciously or not, and seeing him that way was like looking at an optical illusion-- one minute, all there is is a young woman in a hat, and the next, it's a hideous old hag. Once I saw it, I couldn't un-see it. 

I felt afraid, and very, very alone. 

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