I originally wrote the following post in March, but didn’t post it. I meant to, but I kept thinking “I need to proofread it one more time.” March turned into April, and where the hell did May go?!? Anyway, I’m posting it now because I feel the need to share this and other news for reasons I’ll get into later. – Anonyman
It’s been over a year since I last posted on here, and nearly nine months since I regularly read anyone’s blog. I’ve checked in a few times now and again to see if I have any new comments or to see if anyone is posting anything interesting, but – to be honest – my heart hasn’t really been in it.
Nevertheless, I feel like I need to write again even though I do worry that reading and writing might damage my calm. The problem is I don’t really know where to begin or what I want to write about. It’s not that I can’t think of something, I just can’t think of one thing and muster the energy to write about it. I suppose the obvious place is where I’ve been for the last 12-plus months.
A little over a year ago, I was sitting in a hotel room on Long Island in the middle of a blizzard, arguing with my wife about this blog. We were still working through a lot of things, including a significant lack of trust and some communication problems. Tempers flared, threats were made, and I backed down. I convinced myself at the time that it was the right thing to do even though it wasn’t what I wanted to do. So I stopped posting and cut back on my commenting on others’ blogs too, although I didn’t stop until late Spring.
Last Spring was… interesting. My wife and I went to California to visit a friend in February, which was a lot of fun and did our relationship a world of good. Unfortunately, February passed into March and anniversaries started approaching, including the Big Ones in May. Both of our mental health deteriorated. She got worse, which made me more hopeless and depressed, which made her worse, and so on and so on.
Two days before her birthday, she checked into what is euphemistically termed a “behavioral health unit” after a week of nearly constant panic attacks, suicidal ideation, and pleas for me to end her life for her. It was her worst nightmare come true: being committed (albeit voluntarily).
I can’t honestly remember what it felt like, only what I thought. I knew my actions of two years earlier had put her there and made her fears come true. Even though I knew it was the right thing to do for her safety and well-being, I blamed myself and second-guessed my decision to take her to the ER.
And do you know what I did in that house, all alone without her? I looked at porn. I binged on it every chance I could get while my wife languished in a mental institution. I hated myself for doing it, but I nonetheless did what I have always done when I feel bad about myself – escape. And what better place to escape to than the escapist, sexually gratifying fantasy land of online pornography?
She spent three nights at the hospital, but blessedly they let her go early because she responded well to the meds and besides a bit of general anxiety disorder, she wasn’t crazy. She was finally on an antidepressant and an anti-anxiety drug and felt better than she had in a long time. She was also back to seeing a therapist regularly.
All these changes meant she was better prepared to face the underlying problems in our relationship. And so it was that we were back in California on another trip when she confronted me about my porn addiction. She hadn’t caught me and I hadn’t confessed, but she knew. She had known for a while that there was no way I had gone 6 months, or whatever it was I had told her, without looking at porn. She knew I had been lying, and I confessed to here there on the bed of our hotel room.
It was a bombshell, but it was only the first of several to come in the next few days. When we got back, we continued where we had left off. She asked if there was anything else I had been lying about. That’s when I told her the second most horrible thing I’ve ever had to tell her.