Sep 8

Adapting to change. (LONG)

**this is my entry for Blogging for Books. This story covers roughly 8-10 months.

I knew the relationship was in trouble. How could it NOT be? We never saw each other. I was working 70-80 hour weeks, he was going to school and working part-time for Dad. I asked him to go to counselling with me. He didn’t see the need for it. A rough patch, we’ll be fine. Just let me graduate and get a job, and you can quit BOTH jobs and stay home with the kids.

About 14 months into an 18 month school program, he got a call from a recruiter. They offered him $35K and a company truck, PLUS time to complete his degree. How could he in good conscience turn it down? He accepted the job and went to work.
Honey, when can I quit at least ONE of these jobs?
As soon as we’re out of debt.
Sweetheart, the biggest part of our debtload is your student loans and they’re low-interest.
So it’s MY fault we’re in debt?
And around and around we went. Both saying virtually the same thing.

He gets sent to Tampa for 2 weeks for training. I pack his suitcase, kiss him goodbye, and tell him to do well and not worry about the family. When he comes home, he’s full of talk of a woman in his training class named Teresa. He tells me how nice it was to talk to someone who UNDERSTANDS his geekspeak. He tells me they went out to dinner and kissed, but nothing else happened. I say thank you for telling me, and go about my business. He wants to argue about it. She made him feel ALIVE. I look at him and call bullshit. You didn’t know her long enough for that. He says that his feelings for her make him question our relationship. I say you SHOULD question, because if you question things it can rebuild your faith in the very thing you’re questioning. However, I’ll make an appointment at church for counselling if that’s what you want. Yes, please.

I call and make the appointment.

He doesn’t show up. Says he was on a call, and couldn’t take a break to call me and let me know to cancel the appointment.

Days, weeks…I don’t remember the passage of time very well. I was working too much and to stressed about saving what was left of my marriage.

He tells me he’s been seeing a woman at one of the grocery stores he works. Her name is Kathy.

In one of our many discussions, we covered open relationships and marital fidelity. My stance: I don’t mind if you have a girlfriend as long as you follow the rules. Make sure I’m OK with it. Don’t EVER lie to me about it, and don’t take time away from your primary family (us) to spend time with the secondary (hers).

They’ve been seeing each other for a few months now, and the relationship is decidedly sexual. “I’m telling you because we went to the Dr. today, and she’s having a breakout.” Breakout? “She has herpes.” Surely to god you wore a condom. “No, I didn’t.” How long have you been leaving her bed to come to mine? “You don’t want to know. Listen, I’ve got to go. I just wanted to call and let you know.”

They rent a trashy trailer a few miles from the grocery store where she works. I call him and ask him to come home. He IS home, I’m told. We make small talk for a while. After a week, he agrees to come back home and try counselling. Friday night, we argue. Saturday, he disappears. Comes home after being gone 12 hours and tells me he’s been bowling all day. Bowling? BULLSHIT. I want him out of the house. No, he CAN’T leave just yet, we’ve got a counselling appointment on Tuesday. I put my anger on “simmer” and go to work at my 2nd job.

We go to the counselling appointment, and I can’t look at him. I look at Pastor, say “I want him OUT of the house.” My voice is quivering, fists clenched, knee bouncing….one wrong move and SOMEONE is going to get slugged. I explain to Pastor what happened, and he looks at my husband and says “You’ve totally destroyed her TRUST. You need to move out and earn her trust again.” My husband looks at this as a “get out of marriage free” card and moves out. This time, however, he moves into his Mom’s backyard. Ah, THIS I can deal with. She’ll tell me if he’s messing around, and I can talk to him while Ma visits with the kiddo. After two weeks, he moves out of Mom’s and back in with Kathy.

He’s in l-o-v-e.

I call her and tell her to take care of my husband. I call back later to speak with him, but nobody picks up the phone. She calls me two hours later. He’s had some kind of spell and they took him to the hospital. I show up at the hospital. The Dr. refuses to talk to me. I’m his WIFE goddamit, TALK to me. The Dr. looks at me, confused. Then who was that? Oh, his girlfriend. We think he had a heart attack, we’re keeping him for testing and observation.

For a week, I drove back and forth to this hospital, an hour away. Sitting by his side, talking to him, trying to put it back together one last time. I finally get in touch with his PCP on day 4, and they want to move him to another hospital for testing. Hubby doesn’t want to leave this hospital, and I don’t realize why until after the transfer is already done. He doesn’t want to make it difficult for his girlfriend to see him.

He gets out of the hospital and comes home to recuperate. I’m not sure how to behave around him. I’m glad he’s there, pissed that we’ve been through all this, and eager to put it all behind us and move on. He starts pouting that Kathy isn’t there to wait on him, and calls it depression. He starts skipping meals. I notice it, but can’t really force him to eat. He’s hypoglycemic, and fears the headache and sickness that comes with poor nutrition more than anything. I figure he’ll eat when he’s hungry, and go to work. I take the weekend off from the second job so we can have some time together. He’s raving. I find out after the fact that he’s not eaten since breakfast yesterday. He’s packing and yelling. He stops packing, turns to face me, and punches the wall a few inches from my face. He puts his fist through the wall. I leave the house. I come back later and cautiously enter the house, but he’s gone. He calls me, semi-coherent…tells me that I’m welcome to come get his ATM card, his location, and that he’s going to end it all.

I promptly call 911.

We get to where the van is, and he’s rambling to the police. They decide he’s incoherent enough to warrant psych evaluation, and load him in the car. Dad and I follow the car to the hospital. I sit in the waiting room of the hospital, waiting for the nurse to come tell me how long they’re going to hold him. 24 hours. I call his parents and let them know what happened. They come down and get the rest of his things from our house. He doesn’t want to come home. The psych assures them he’ll get outpatient counselling. I tell the psych he may be ELIGIBLE for it, but HE’S in charge of getting it, and he doesn’t seem to want it.

He calls me to let me know he’s out of the hospital and at Kathy’s again. Thank you for calling me. As he hangs up, I think of something and dial the number back. It rings and rings. I sit there, feeling sorry for myself. No husband. I did everything I could think of and it STILL fell apart.

A stronger part of my personality stood up, said “That’s ENOUGH!” and smacked me.

My head rocked.

I looked down at the ring that hadn’t left my hand in nearly 4 years, and took it off.

I put the phone back on the cradle. What now? In NC, you have to be separated for 12 consecutive months to be eligible for divorce. What was I going to do with myself for all that time? I did what any reasonable adult would do in such a situation.

I crawled in bed and pulled the covers over my head.

When I woke up, I called and quit my second job. Sorry, hubby just left and my kid needs me more than you do. Thanks for the memories and all that jazz. I kept our schedule virtually the same for the next few months, I figured Alannah could use an adjustment period. I talked to his Mom, trying to keep his family in our lives. I spent an eternity trying to see what I could have done differently, to keep this jackass that I happened to love close to me. Slowly but surely, the revelations came.

If HE truly loved ME, we never would have gone through all that crap in the first place. If he TRULY wanted to be with me, he would be there now. It doesn’t matter what he said - actions speak louder than words.

His mom called me. He’s being treated for prescription drug abuse. Well, NOW some things make sense. Maybe it really WASN’T me after all.

I did what any reasonable person would do. I buried myself in the online world. Depression? NAW, it couldn’t be!

I met a guy in a chatroom who introduced me to a MUD. I was hooked.

VERY hooked.

A place I could bury myself in for hours? I’m all OVER that. I met some great people on that MUD, and I still play there occasionally. Several people touched my life, and one in particular effected a profound change in me. He issued a challenge.

Here is the link to my local paper. Apply for ONE job. If you get it, you’ll know it was meant to be, and you can stay with me while we find you an apartment.

I got the job. I moved to Florida. I didn’t look back. I loved the premise…new town, a fresh start. I still wasn’t divorced - I decided that since HE left, he could pay for the damn thing. I sniffed the salty air, wilted a bit in the humidity, and called it “home”.

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