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The worst thing I did
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I try to see things as they are. I know we have a tendancy to see a skewed vision of events, so that we come out a little more innocent than we were, or arguably justified. I'll try to be as fair as I can telling this part of what happened. The rest is lost without the background.
My overbearing upbringing had done quite a job on me. If I have Psych 101 right, my id was completely pulverized, my ego was a wisp, running around the periphery of my mind, frantically trying to escape the crushing super ego that had my stomach in knots all the time.
So, like clockwork, when my son was born, my parent's standards crushed in on me--I immediately quit drinking, smoking, partying and anything remotely irresponsible. I transformed overnight. I was going to be a good mother. I lived sacrificially--I stopped short of beating myself with a cat of nine tails, but just short...
So, now I noticed how much he drank--that he became very tense and short-tempered if we weren't home at around 4 or 5 in the afternoon; later, understanding he'd needed a drink. Money was missing, bills were unpaid, he'd disappear and I can't count the nights I sat stupidly crying by the phone, imagining him dead in a ditch, rather than where he was--in a strip club, tipping my rent money to someone who hadn't given birth to his children. He branched out briefly from beer to liquor, and it made him abusive. By the third or fourth time he swaggered around in my direction, bellowing at me, I told him I'd kill him in his sleep if he drank liquor again. He hadn't hit me, but I could tell he was working up to it. He sneered at me, cornering me against walls, refusing to let me move. He was verbally abusive. I know it sounds red-necky--it is, really, but I'm not going to be hit or physically hurt in any way by anyone. Not twice, anyway. I'm so immature in that respect, I'd probably trade my freedom for the pleasure of seeing their last surprised expression. I can't stand being cornered.
Before, I'd maintained a degree of repect toward him as "the man" in the relationship. Seeing him so weak, and staggering around so often; I learned to despise the stupid, brainless look on his drunk face. I lost respect for him. I remember thinking, still an adherent of stereotypical, conservative roles, that if the house caught on fire (odd, I know), I couldn't rely on my husband to save me and his children. I'd have to save him. His stock plummeted.
He was a very gentle father. He never spanked either of our children. My son told me only recently, that the one time I asked my husband to discipline our son due to a clear violation, he went in the room and hit something with his belt, while my son produced an Oscar-worthy performance.
It was important to me to do the right things. I taught our son's Sunday School class, volunteered in my daughter's class twice a week, I tried hard to do everything I should. The nights crying by the phone came more frequently, the lies were more careless, the utilities were shut off much more often. He took my paycheck and I never saw any of it again. His refusal to discuss our finances and the drinking caused constant, vicious arguments. I didn't want to fail at marriage. But, when I was arrested because of a lie he told me, I shut down on him. I quit loving him that day. I felt it happen. I asked him for a divorce. There was nothing of any value to fight over. I just wanted to put together a peaceful life, in a house where I knew whether or not the light bill had been paid.
During the "good cycles", I'd had glimmers of hopefulness and sympathy. I knew he had evil parents, who had alternately bailed him out of financial messes, and actively sabotaged his progress. I knew he had deep issues there. And, true to cliche, he'd be contrite, kind, attentive...and cycle back through... But, how many times do you suspend disbelief. When I asked him for a divorce, I was amazed at how he'd already planned for such a contingency. I'd been depressed, and had taken anti-depressants--his father was a very high-powered atty, well connected--and he said if I left, I'd never see my children again. He said he'd say I was mentally ill, and the medication proved it. Saying it now, it sounds crazy that I'd believe he could do that..but I had nothing, and his father was a very powerful man locally. My children were everything to me, so I stayed put. I now hated him with a passion uncontested. I wished him dead.
I also started an affair. It was 1998, a month after our 18th anniversary. I didn't consciously have an affair to get back at him, but what he'd done to me all those years was nothing compared to the hell he went through over those six months.
That affair saved my life. All those horrible years had beaten me down to an unrecognizable creature. I was ugly, sad and fat. The reason he had his father hire the PI, was that I lost weight, started caring how I looked, and sang in the kitchen again.
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