Addiction Tore Our Family Apart

Let's talk about that scary word today: Addiction.

Addiction has been a part of my family ever since I can remember. As a little girl, I would hear stories of my late grandfather who was an alcoholic and did some very hurtful things to my grandmother and my mother. I used to view him as the bad guy because I had no idea what addiction meant; I only knew addicts usually did horrible things to other people.

I've heard the stories of aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins who have had severe depression and how it "runs in our family" and when I was ten years old---yes, you read that right? TEN---I was medicated for depression without really knowing what I was taking. No one ever explained to me that my parents thought I was depressed. All I knew is that I played checkers with a funny guy every week (my therapist) and I started taking a medication every night to help me make better choices. I was 13 or 14 years old when I saw a commercial promoting Zoloft and realized that is the same drug I was taking. I was kind of hurt by it all because let me tell you, I was not a severely depressed 10 year old. I know what severe depression feels like and at the age of 10, I was not that. I was a 10 year old who wasn't getting enough love and attention and got accustomed to anger issues to act out and be noticed. Big difference, friends. Big difference.

I struggled with real addictions as a teenager but nobody took them seriously. Nobody. There was no one around to say, "Hey Wendy, you are killing yourself!" There was no one around to tell me all of the hard truths I needed to hear. You are damagaing your kidneys. You could have a heart attack. You could end up in a treatment center. You could end up dead. I wish I hadn't blocked out so much of my childhood because I like to tell the story of how I just stopped throwing up and starving and how it wasn't too much of a struggle but the truth is, I don't remember. I remember pain. I remember struggle. I don't remember what got me through it all.

Before getting married, I knew my 'then boyfriend' had an addiction to pain medication and to me, it wasn't a red flag because he didn't seek out the drugs. He was given them for an injury. He had me believing the "poor me" story he told. He had me believing a hell of a lot of things.

Seven years later and I'm learning more about addiction than ever before. Not only have I learned that addictions are scary and real, I've learned how much they can harm a family.

My family was ripped in two by addiction. My children will forever be affected because of addiction. Pornography addiction, alcoholism, drug addictions, and even my eating disorder; it's all real and it's all hurting them.

My ex-husband chose addictions over his family. Leaving was easier than facing us; the people who used to be his biggest cheerleaders. For years, he chose pornography or alcohol or drugs over us. He chose not to be present. He chose to manipulate me into believing that there was something wrong with me. He chose to treat me like I wasn't good enough for him. He chose to lie and cheat and degrade me. And then he made the ultimate decision to leave---at a time where I knew nothing about his addictions, not a single one of them. And it's taken 8 months for me to find out some truths and I'm sure more truths will surface in time but for 7 years, I had no idea I was living wit an addict.

I thought I was bad. I thought I must not be a good wife because my own husband couldn't see the potential in me.

He left and I chose an eating disorder to cope. I chose addictions. I hate that I chose to be like him in this way. I don't want to be like him. I don't want to ruin our family.

There is a difference for me now versus my eating disorder as a child. Now I have friends who tell me Im ruining my kidneys, who remind me I could die, who tell me heart attacks are real. Today, as I was holding my precious red headed boy and kissing him on the cheek, my friend said, "If you want to leave that boy for 75 days, keep it up." {Hello, fear of God, Meet Wendy!} and my heart started pounding because she is right. I don't want her to be right this time.

Because the reality is that a treatment center is a future step down the hell path I'm taking. A treatment center is an option I don't want to get to. I have one more counselor to try and if I can't get my crap under control, I'll check myself into a center---you know, on the off chance that I can convince myself this is that big of a deal because I fight with myself about whether it is bad or not.

I would sit here and stare you in the face and tell you that my eating disorder did not tear us apart though. I am not denying the issues. I am not trying to hide what is happening to my body and my brain. But I did not leave my family because of addiction.

As I was sitting on the couch across from Peter Pan on Monday and asking about his addictions and telling him he needed to get help, I asked him why he left. Why would addiction cause him to leave? Why wouldn't he try and confide in his WIFE? Why did he think he couldn't trust me? Or why didn't he want to trust me?

After learning of the pornography addiction, I wanted to scream at him, "WHY WASN'T I GOOD ENOUGH? WHAT DOES A PORN STAR HAVE THAT I DON'T HAVE?" but I didn't. I didn't yell or scream or even cry. I still haven't cried. I have been getting anxiety a lot in the past 2 days but no tears have fallen from my face.

His pornography addiction validated my feelings of inadequacy. Everyone tells me it isn't me. They tell me he would've looked at pornography no matter what I look like or how much I weigh but it is SO HARD to believe them. It is just so hard.

Yesterday was my worst day. I told myself all day that I didn't deserve food. I told myself all day that I wasn't good enough for food. The only thing I was good enough for is hunger. So be hungry, Wendy. Suffer these consequences you didn't place on your own head. Show the world that you can be better and prettier. Show Peter that you can be loveable and gorgeous. And at night, I couldn't handle it. I couldn't handle the hunger so I ate. And when I ate, I couldn't handle food in my body and so I threw up. And it was the first time I felt like my body could not take what I was doing. I need to stop explaining right there because it's too much for me to be that real. Even anonymously, I can't be that real. But it was a horrible night.

Have I ever told you when and how I started my eating disorder addiction again after Peter left me? Because it wasn't right away. I'll share that story with you another time. It's a crappy one and you will get angry but that's ok. It's ok to be angry because people say stupid things. Even nice people say stupid things. {That story is now blogged about here.}

All I know today, this very minute, is that addiction is real. Pornography addiction is real. Alcohol addiction is real. They tore my family apart.

My family is now two families because of addiction. My family is forever changed because of addiction.

Disclosure

I'm gonna go ahead and laugh about all of the posts before this one, especially posts talking about betrayal trauma.
TRAUMA.
Because that was nothing like this. That didn't make my chest tighten and make me feel like I legitimately could be having a heart attack. I am serious. If I hadn't heard what I had just heard and know what I know about anxiety attacks, I would call 911 for a possible heart attack.

Today is what will now be considered Disclosure Day for so many shitty reasons.

I am a part of a women's group who call themselves WoPA's (Wives of Pornography Addicts). I was added because the betrayal trauma I had experienced from my husband's other addictions and abandonment made me "fit in" to their community. I've been a part of that group for maybe 6 weeks now.

Tonight I learned that I am actually a WoPA. My ex-husband's addictions are not just alcohol and drugs, they involve pornography and they have for a long time. A long time. Like most of our marriage.

I had suspected it for a long time but I never knew the truth and I didn't know how I'd find out anyway.

And when he told me, I told him I had suspected it and he started to BLAME me and tell me I should've confronted him and tried to help him if I had suspected it. Umm, gaslighting much? As if feeling like I wasn't a good enough sex partner wasn't enough hurt, apparently I should've figured out a way to HELP him when he was so busy lying about everything damn thing in his life.

And now that we are divorced, I didn't think the truth would make a difference. I didn't expect it to hurt this much. I didn't expect to feel gross and unworthy and worthless.

I WAS ALREADY DEALING WITH FEELINGS OF WORTHLESSNESS!

I can't seem to process this right now. I'm so thankful I'm already a part of support groups and have so many loving people in my life---I just wish I didn't feel like this.

Along with alcohol and drugs, my husband chose pornography over me. I should have known. I should have asked. I should have done something. Anything! But I had no way of knowing. I had no idea what to ask about. I had no idea what to do.

Seven years of my life are seven years that make me feel STUPID tonight.

I need a bath and a hug. And since I'm all alone in this damn house, I guess a bubble bath will have to suffice. I'll get the hug later.

Peter Pan is Our Story

I always thought so too.

I dreamed of forever with my Peter Pan. I was his Wendy and instead of growing old with me, he returned to Neverland to keep from growing up. This is the significance of me choosing Peter Pan as our story. Peter Pan is our story. I am Wendy and my Peter Pan has left to Neverland.

When I decided to use this story as my background, the word Neverland really stood out to me. This land that Peter Pan is trying to find is a land where his family won't be. It is Neverland; a land full of boys who don't want to grow up, a land where evil and sadness are lurking at every corner, a land of trickery. I used to pray that Peter would wake up from his distorted reality and realize that the happiness he once experienced with me and with our children would be enough.
But it was never enough and he searched for Neverland, trying to find the happiness he was missing.

Divorce brings a lot of mess into a relationship. With children, there will always be a relationship and trying to work together on specific parenting issues can be hard.

Saturday was one of those messy days were Peter was trying really hard to manipulate me. In his addict brain, he was making sense. In his addict brain, I was in the wrong. In his addict brain, he was being held back by me.

Peter had made a commitment to have our kids for the weekend and when his plans suddenly changed and I wasn't available to take the kids back early, he was angry.

You guys, I need to confess something.
On Saturday, I said the F word---out loud---in front of some friends.
Because usually I stand at the edge and wait out the storm but this particular storm caused me to jump off the edge.
Sometimes ex-husbands are idiots. And almost ALL of the time, addict ex-husbands are idiots.
Sometimes addict ex-husbands gaslight the hell out of you and tell you that you are the manipulator, that you aren't a good person, and that you are selfish.
Sometimes it's hard not to believe what addict ex-husbands say, even though you know the words aren't true.
So sometimes you end up walking into a room full of friends and the door is really hard to shut and you yell the F word at the door.

THIS IS NORMAL, PEOPLE!!! It has to be normal. Right? Someone tell me I'm not crazy!

So there I was, trying to concentrate on the things I was doing while receiving manipulative, angry messages from Peter. I was angry and shaking because I have a hard time when someone bashes my character. I'm glad my friends who had witnessed the F word rant were there for advice giving and support because I made it through.

I made it through and the next day, when addict brain was turned off, Peter apologized for his behavior. This is how life with an addict is. Things go from being irrational to apologetic really quickly. Gaslighting is an ever present threat. Rationality is often out the window. Feelings get hurt on purpose so the addict doesn't have to reflect on their own feelings.

I think about my eating disorder and how that is an addiction and I wonder if I do that to other people. Do I gaslight? Am I irrational? Do I deflect on others to avoid my own feelings?
I think because my eating disorder is so inward and reflects the hate I have for my own body, the biggest possibility is that I gaslight and am irrational toward myself.
I'm choosing to do something I don't want to do and have an appointment with an eating disorder therapist on Thursday. I think I'll bring those questions up to her because I don't want to be hurting others. Hell, I don't want to be hurting myself but I certainly don't want to hurt anyone else.

I don't want to end up like the addict in my life who continues to hurt me, even after divorce. I don't want to do that to other people. Boundaries are lost on us because we will always have to talk about the kids and dealing with Peter Pan, even regarding the kids, when he is in addict mode is extremely hard to do.

I want to end up different and break the cycle of addiction. I want to be a better me. I also want to stop saying the F word over and over in my mind and having it slip out once in a while but I have to admit, sometimes the F word makes me feel better.

I want to overcome. I want to step away from the edge of the cliff and walk down the mountain to safety.
I am strong enough for this. Right?

Abort! Abort!

Have you ever experienced that feeling of a train heading right toward you as you stand in the middle of the tracks? Do you stare it down or jump out of the way?

Right now, that train is probably 200 feet from me and I'm still standing in the middle of the tracks, playing metaphorical chicken with an object that could ruin my life.

That is how I felt tonight when my mom called me. I was on my way home from Sunday dinner at her house and when I saw her name pop up on my cell phone screen, I knew why she was calling.
Because I was distant at dinner. I was spending my time on Facebook or texting my friends. I was disconnected from the people I love that were physically all around me.

This disconnection didn't start tonight. It's been happening slowly for months. My insecurities from childhood and marriage seem to be consuming me and I don't know how to make the change.

As a child who needed extra love and attention, I never felt fully loved or care for. I was always a problem and I was often reprimanded for things that didn't make sense to me.

As a teenager, I finally came clean about my eating disorder and the very first thing I remember my dad saying to me was, "You know you'll never have a flat stomach, no matter how much weight you lose. It's just our genetics."

As an almost engaged 19 year old, I was listening through the door when my almost fiance asked my dad if he could marry me. I then got to listen as my very own father warned my fiance about my anger and stubborness and how hard it would be to be married to someone like me.

Then as a newly abandoned wife, I was super privileged to receive phone calls and non-supportive talks from both of my parents about how it was imperative that I try hard to bring my lost husband back to his family.

I think it was around this time that I lost it. I started to wonder if they thought I had been the reason he left. I started to worry about who they really wanted to stay loyal to. I stopped trusting them.

I wasn't as distant in the beginning because I relied on them so much but as I've learned more independence, I've subconciously distanced myself from them. I can see it and so can they. My mom has commented on this before and I've assured her that nothing is wrong because I fear telling her the truth.

Not many times has the truth actually 'set me free' when it comes to my relationship with my parents. I usually feel worse after a truth-telling session with them.

But to be quite honest, as a friend pointed out this weekend, maybe they weren't ready for the truth then and maybe they are now. It's been a while since I've shared deep truths with my parents or other family members. I'm afraid.

The eating disorder is my biggest fear but I also fear sharing the truths of my feelings about divorce and shame and depression and anxiety. I fear the truth because if they react in an unsupportive manner, I can almost guarantee our relationship would be ruined forever---and I'm torn because it's becoming more ruined anyway. The distance is hard and the more I distance myself, the more my mom pressures me and when I feel pressure, my brain sends this, "Abort! Abort!" signal off.

I am staring at the train and I'm still deciding what choice comes next. Will I keep standing here or will I jump out of the way at the last second?

What Is More Important?

This is one of the hardest parts of my divorce.

It's been extremely hard to accept that the man I committed my life to just walked out on me, full of pride and arrogance and leaving me to pick up the shattered pieces of my broken heart.

Some days, I replay the conversation from when he left and all I can think is, "What the hell?"
Really? You left because I don't cook enough?
Really? You left because I don't clean enough?
Really? You're going to complain about never having sex when you refused it most of the time?
Yes, I really did just mention my sex life on my blog. You're welcome, readers. You are so freaking welcome.
The reasons Peter Pan gave me for leaving just weren't good enough. That's one of the main reasons I searched out to find the lies, to find the holes in his stories.
Because that's all they really were...stories. Most of it wasn't real and most of it was based on some prideful, vicious lie cycle that Peter would ultimately decide to be more important than our marriage.

His lies were more important than our marriage.

And when I think about that, it hurts really bad. I cannot fathom having a lie that was more important to try and hide so I gave up my forever family. I can't think of anything worth giving up my family for.
But he did. He found something worth giving me up for. He found alcohol. He found drugs. He found his closet so full of lies that he decided it would be easier to just leave me, rather than coming clean and deciding to try harder.
He gave up on things I dream of giving to my children. He gave up on things I used to think I was good enough for.
I used to have such a strong belief in myself. I used to believe I was worthy not just of love but of devotion from my spouse.
Now I find myself lost and confused as to where my worth lies and where I go from here. What am I supposed to do? How do I forge on like all of the strong women that have gone before me? Where do I start? How do I believe that I am worth another man's love? How can I believe that I am worth self-love?

I have so many questions and zero answers.

Messy Nights

Tonight was a mess.

A mess full of bravery and heartache.

A mess full of cowardness and sarcasm.

Because messes hardly ever make sense in my world.

Eating disorders are so stupid and sucky and they complicate my freaking brain!
Eating disorders are so scary and I often get symptoms that freak the hell out of me. Because of this, I texted my counselor tonight and told her I can't see her anymore. It wasn't helping. It was way too comfortable. So I'm now in search of a new counselor who can deal with my betrayal trauma and eating disorder.
Awesome.
(The above 'awesome' was sarcasm.)
I hate change.
I hate feeling like I'm not the super awesome woman people seem to think that I am.
I promise I want to be awesome.
I promise I freaking want to be awesome!!!

______Angry Silence______

Counseling was my crutch. I was paying someone to be my friend for an hour once a week. It sounds a lot sadder when I type it out like that. Welcome to Dysfunction Junction!

---I know you don't know this but writing this post is taking hours upon hours. I kinda planned to crank out some words for this crapfest and get to bed early. Oh well.---

I was thinking about my eating disorder now versus my eating disorder in high school. What are the similarities? What are the differences? Although I could go on and on with possible answers to these questions, one of the things I've noticed is that I treat myself harshly when other people treat me harshly. Because I'm an outwardly kind person, the only person I can be mean to is me. I don't see the logic in that when I write it out but my brain has just always reacted that way. Oh, I'm hurting? I better hurt myself more. I better grab the reigns a little tighter and control things as best I can.

When my husband walked out on what could've been a great life, I questioned everything I've ever done in marriage. I questioned my worth and realized men make me feel worth something. I started hanging out with a 20 year old college student in one of my classes later and later into the nights which fueled my desire to be loved even more. His body language was clear---he was interested. But interested in what? Me as a person? Or sex? I'm glad I was in counseling during this time because I would openly speak about "said boy" and one time, my counselor asked me what having sex with him would mean. I stumbled but couldn't find an answer that would be intelligent enough. She explained that sex with him would not mean worth and it definitely wouldn't mean he liked me. I WAS SO OFFENDED. And now, it makes me laugh that I was offended. Of course he didn't love me. Of course he didn't value me. Of freaking course.

A lot of my emotions over my divorce stem from how I've always felt about myself. Always. In marriage and out of marriage. I'm not as confident as I portray myself to be. I often second guess my choices and my actions because they probably aren't up to par with the rest of the world. I'm usually worried about judgment and failure and how everyone sees me.

I'm worried about being good enough for another guy, fitting in with my friends, and being awesome for my kids. Everyone expects me to slap a smile on my face and I do it most of the time---and when I don't do it, I feel guilty and I worry about whether that person will just abandon me to find a newer, happier friend. So I'm constantly obsessing over being happy and funny.

Can you sense my abandonment issues in all of this? Can you sense my need for self worth so badly? If I can't figure out what self worth is to me, I think I might die---quite literally since I'm usually starving or vomitting or exercising my ass off at the gym. And guess what? At this point, however crappy and pathetic my life may seem, I do not want to die. I want to enjoy my life and fight my battles and have confidence and change the world.

Peter Pan is always telling Wendy that he doesn't want to grow up but you know what? It's time. It really is time to be brave and grow up.

I can do this.

My Own Addiction

As a young girl, I didn't deal well with stress. My life outside of my home was so different than my life in my bedroom when I was alone.

Many nights, I would cave from the pressures of teenage life and eat an entire bag of chocolates, only to purge it all minutes later.

On particularly low nights when bulimia just didn't do it's job well enough, I would cut into my thighs to feel a physical pain to mask my emotional pain.

I thought about suicide a few times but it wasn't something I ever really considered because in my optimistic mind, "What if tomorrow is better than today?" and luckily, there were many of those better days ahead.

Outside of my home, I lived a life of happiness where everyone assumed I was free from pain. I secretly purged a lot of meals or starved myself to try and become the girl I wanted to be and my obsession with bulimia grew.

I tell you this to open your eyes to where I'm at now; divorced, hurting, and obsessing over the things I can control.

At least that's what I thought I was doing when I thought this was what control felt like.

After Peter walked out on me with words that cut like daggers, I found myself keeping secrets from the world once again. Everyone assured me how strong and amazing I was but I knew they were wrong because they had no idea.

-----------------------------------------------------------

No one understood. How could they? Because how could I possibly not be taking care of myself when I need to take care of me in order to care for my kids?

Selfishness. I must be so utterly selfish that I would obsess over my eating to deal with the hurt in my heart. My main focus should be my childrens' pain. I shouldn't be ruining my health for a cause that won't bring me a lasting happiness.

Stupidity. Everyone knows it's stupid to starve yourself or cause yourself to vomit on purpose. It's just stupid. There can't be a good enough reason to do that.

I wasn't good enough. I wasn't good enough for him and I'll make sure I'm good enough the next time. I'll be damned if a man will ever leave me again!

I'm in control. I'm controlling what I eat, when I eat, and if I eat too much, I'll just control the hell out of that too. It's all in my control. No one gets to tell me what to do and my eating disorder cannot abandon me like he did.

Let's go ahead and put the focus on that control a little bit.
What am I controlling?

At first, I thought I was completely in control of my weight loss and everything this has entailed. I told my counselor that it wasn't a problem because I wasn't afraid, I was in charge this time.

Our dialogue has stayed open about this for months because I wanted to show her I was right. I mean, look at me! Thirty pounds is kind of a big deal when you're overweight and feeling worthless beyond worthless.

But a few months ago, she gave me a challenge to eat one meal a day---one simple meal. I did it successfully for a few days before getting angry and reverting back. I was losing my control!!! I needed my "choice" to not eat.

Soon after, my obsession grew so much that I feared passing out at the gym one day. But I was still in control!
I came to a point last month where I started fearing the very thing I thought I loved.

Now this is an extremely hard thing to talk about because it isn't a story about back in the day. It isn't something I once struggled with and can now talk about because it's all over.

My eating disorder is a constant companion and I lose almost every day. I can't tell you that I'm always fighting because right now, I'm not. But I'm starting to grasp how NOT in control I am and I don't like being out of control.

That is my start. That is where I focus because focusing on the entire healing process is overwhelming. I can't do this all at once and I can't even do it one step at a time. Right now, I take 1/4 steps or maybe 1/2 steps. I do little things to off set what my brain tells me is the right choice.

Control is lost on me and that puts me in a shame spiral. How stupid that I chose this. How stupid that I can't stop it. How stupid that I'm not strong enough. How stupid that I'm still overweight.

Shame is a nasty thing and it accompanies my eating disorder. It always has.

Today I will try not to shame myself. And someday, I hope to be able to tell you that things are good.

In the meantime, don't worry too much about me. I'm getting help in all the right places and that is a very hopeful thing.

One day at a time, Wendy. One day at a time.

Deceiving is Lying

November 18th, 2013: The day I filed for divorce.

That night, it was eating at me that I had no real definition for why this was happening. Were there really just a bunch of little lies? Or were things worse than they seemed?

I was going through a bunch of Peter's and my stuff in our closet because I was angry and wanted some evidence---evidence of what? I didn't know.

I went out to the garage to throw away a bag of aluminum cans Peter had been saving to turn in for cash. I dumped them into the recycle bin and my eye caught what looked like a beer bottle. I began to rummage through the trash I had just thrown away and I found cans upon cans of alcoholic beverages, all hidden in my own damn garage!

I was furious. Mr. I-Would-Never-Drink was drinking in my garage, while I was home, with my children close by.

For some of you, that doesn't seem like a big deal. Let me explain my tangent just a teensy bit for you. I have a strong testimony of the Word of Wisdom. I don't believe in consuming alcohol, coffee, certain types of tea, among many other things. If you'd like to learn more, click on the link above.

Furthermore, the biggest problem was the LIE. Peter Pan had promised when he left our church that his standards hadn't changed. For a year, he lied. For a year, he promised he wasn't drinking and that his irrational escapades were due to lack of sleep or problems at work. You know that emotional abuse and manipulation I'd been experiencing? There was NO WAY it was due to anything other than sleep or work problems...he promised lied to me about that.

The truth is, these were signs of an addiction. You can call it an alcohol addiction or you can call it an addiction to lying. But the manipulation made me feel like I was wrong for not trusting him. Anytime a problem would arise, he would turn it into my fault and most of the time, I ended up believing him and second guessing myself. The anxiety I had been experiencing didn't make sense until after D-day because I had nothing to base it off of, other than "bad feelings". I think deep down, my intuition was gearing me up for D-day. I think I knew things were so much worse than I had proof of. Anxiety is a funny thing. Well, actually, it isn't funny at all. But anxiety was my inner feelings trying so hard to yell at me and tell me things were WRONG and had been wrong for a long time---a lot longer than I would've guessed.

That night, I dug deeper and found more. I found things from 2010 (three years into our marriage...you know, when things were "good") of him drinking and lying to me. I found a letter from a few months before he left, during the months I thought were good in our marriage, where he told a friend he wasn't happy and wanted to leave.

What I wondered is why the HELL he didn't just come clean?

Why lie? What was in it for him? Did he really think he could live his entire married life that way without me ever finding out?

December 14th, 2013, I wrote this in my blog:
I have a love/hate relationship with old blog posts. I'm grateful that I can be reminded of the ups and downs but it angers me to read and remember those times where I was really trying. A year ago, we were in marriage counseling. What in the hell happened? I read an old blog post about "Peter's" birthday and how he'd been working hard on a Saturday and the emotions surfaced. Was he really at work that Saturday? How many other days did I think he'd been working when he wasn't? Why? Why does he have to be a liar?!! Why did I marry a liar? I'm angry at him tonight but I blame both of us. It was my decision to marry him but the lying? The heartache? The emotional abuse? That was all him. I hate him tonight.

The addictive lying has made it so I don't trust very much. The addictive lying has made it so I question everyone, including myself. The past seven years have taught me so much---some of it good, some of it crap. You know those rose-colored glasses that most people have when they're getting married or watching love stories? Yeah, those don't exist in my world.

Love requires a lot of trust and that is scary. Worth it but scary.

My heart is healing from the "learning experiences" I've had. And in the mean time, if there is one thing I have learned, it's that deceiving is lying---it's the same damn thing.

D-Day 2013

I've heard it referred to as D-day many times since my own personal D-day. This can mean a myriad of things: disclosure day, discovery day, etc. To me, it stands for Damn Day.

My D-day was August 24th, 2013. I've already told you the story.

The days after D-day are foggy. I spent most of the time crying and trying to figure out how in the hell I was going to be single again---this time with two kids in tow.

Xanax was my friend a few of those nights because I couldn't stop my mind from thinking of the horrible situation I was in. I was alone. I had no one. No one understood.

I was being given advice left and right. Don't rush into a divorce. Give him boundaries. Give him deadlines. Give him space. Tell him how much you love him. Beg for him to come back. Kick him to the curb. It was all so confusing.

The night Peter Pan moved out, he was unreachable. I had family members calling me to see if I'd heard from him for the next 3 days but I couldn't get a hold of him either. No one knew where he was staying or what he was doing.

During this time, I cried all of the tears I possibly could. I layed around the house and tried to be a mom as best I could but I was scared. I had a hard time being around people because I wanted nothing more than to just stop crying and seeing people made me cry harder.

I've always been fearful of showing emotions in front of other people. If anything, the past 8 months have made this worse.

Three days after my D-day, I had no tears left. My brain still couldn't fathom how I was going to continue living so I made 3 simple goals for the day. Cook dinner, do a load of laundry, and do an act of service for one person. I knew if I could try and focus on helping someone else that my problems would seem less daunting.

I finished all of my goals that day. All I could muster for an act of service was baking cookies for a neighbor but it was good enough for that day.

My first counseling session post-separation was 5 days after D-day. By this time, my emotions were shut off and I sat and talked very non-chalantly about what a jackass Peter was. I talked about my plans to give him 30 days to himself before having a serious discussion with him. I talked about the child support he had agreed to pay, you know, to get me on my feet again before I'd have to get a job---his words, not mine.

I had just started full time school and I had no intentions of getting a job. Our daughter was struggling with the separation and I have no intentions of getting a job. I was already working two side jobs from home and I have no intentions of getting another job. Did I mention how much I DON'T plan on getting a job?
But Peter like to remind me that I would need one when all of this was over---as if his mind about the divorce was already made up.

On and off, we would fight. On and off, we would get along. Separation was difficult.

Days after Peter had left us, I had been praying and had received an answer that this was going to end in a divorce but I fought that answer and had no intentions of telling him or pushing him to make the decision right away.
His 30 days were up but I didn't remind him. I was so scared of the outcome.
I prayed daily. We went camping twice and I went out into the middle of the woods by myself to pray and try and find peace.
Peace was what I was searching for because I had already been prepared for the outcome---I just wanted peace so when the outcome was decided, it would be ok.

On November 17th, 2013, as I was picking my kids up from a late night at their dad's, I decided to ask him about his decision. Note that we are now way past the 30 day mark I had originally given him. I wish I could give you the exact conversation but here it is the best I could remember it.
Wendy: So have you made any decisions yet?
Peter: No.
Wendy: Are you planning on figuring it out soon?
Peter: I don't know.
Wendy: Do you want to move home?
Peter: No.
Wendy: Do you want to work on our marriage?
Peter: No.
Wendy: So that pretty much leaves one option. Are you going to file for divorce?
Peter: No, you can do it.

If you're wondering, the next day I filed for divorce. That conversation was the answer I needed. He didn't understand why it wasn't ok to keep living with no responsibility, he had started holding child support over my head and hadn't paid me in a month, and it was time.

Yes, I am the one that filed for divorce. According to that statement, you might think I wanted to get a divorce.
I didn't.
What I wanted was my husband to realize how much he was hurting his family and soften his heart.
I was willing to try harder and he wasn't and because of this, we were divorced on February 20th, 2014.

I claim no perfection in this matter. I don't write this to show you how bad he is and how good I am. I write this to show you that it takes two willing people to keep a marriage going. You can push and push and try as hard as you want to succeed but without your partner doing the same, it just won't work out. And in the end, you will be exhausted.

I pray for those of you in Limbo right now. I pray that you find the answers you need and that you don't give up too much of yourself fighting for something only you are fighting for. I also pray that if you're the one not willing to fight, that you make your decision with a clear mind and do what feels best for you.

There is no one right answer.

We all live with the choices we make so make sure you are making choices you can live with.

You are not bad, no matter what your final decision is.

Our Flawed Love Story: Part 6

To start from the beginning, click here.

August 24th, 2013 seemed like a normal Saturday. Peter Pan headed to work in the morning and said he would work a half day and then we could do something as a family. The kids and I spent the morning cleaning and playing and having a good time together.

Lunchtime passed and there was no word from Peter so I tried calling him. He didn't answer but immediately texted me back, "What's up?"

I had no reason to think anything of this. He was supposed to be at work and I could've assumed he couldn't pick up the phone at the moment. But I heard a distinct voice in that moment that said, "Go to his work."

I didn't text Peter back. Instead, I packed our children in the car and drove the 15 minutes it took to get to his office building. They questioned where we were driving but I didn't want them to know so I told them we would find a place to get a treat.

I pulled into the parking lot and not even one car was in sight. My heart sunk. Where was he? The questions started circulating of an affair or some other huge secret he was hiding from me.

I called his cell phone. He didn't answer. I called a second time. He didn't answer. When I called the third time, he picked up and angrily said, "What? I'm at work and I can't talk right now!"

It wasn't in my nature to stay calm but I did. I explained to him that I knew he wasn't at work and I just wanted to know where he was and why he was lying.

In the next 15 minutes, I heard a lot of things that I still struggle with. I heard complaints of unhappiness in our marriage. I was told I wasn't good enough for him because I didn't cook or clean well enough. I was told I was ignoring him and spending all of my time with the children.

He claimed to just be at his friend's house because "he needed a break from our family". He claimed he had been doing this most Saturdays for the last few months. He claimed he wanted a separation and when I asked him to come home, he refused.

I drove straight to my sister's house because I didn't know what else to do. She kept my kids and told me I needed to meet Peter at home to talk face to face.

I called him and he finally agreed to come home.

I didn't know what I would say or what I would do when I saw him. I paced back and forth until he drove up.

Talking didn't really help. He had already decided he wanted to separate so the only thing we did was figure out the logistics of this. He decided he would pack up and be gone by the time I came home with the kids so I left.

I felt like my heart had just shattered into a million pieces.

I didn't feel stable enough to see my kids so I drove to my best friend's house and melted on her shoulder. When I calmed down a bit, I noticed she was dressed up and I asked her if I was ruining date night. She said they were on their way to the temple and I was coming with them. I didn't even try to say no because I knew the temple was the only place I wanted to be right then.

The temple was an interesting experience that night. The first person I saw when we walked in was Peter's grandpa. Then, his aunt and uncle ended up being in my same temple session. It was an amazing Spiritual experience for me and I knew that I was supposed to be there that night.

My best friend's husband gave me a blessing that night before I headed over to my sister's to cry myself to sleep on her couch.

Fear was my companion that night.

Our Flawed Love Story: Part 5

To read from the beginning, click here.

When our graduation from marriage counseling was complete, and by that I mean when we decided we didn't need to go back together so we told her we were done, I couldn't shake the feelings of anxiety and panic. I didn't want things to go back to the way they were and I was so scared.

I voiced these feelings during our last visit and Peter Pan and our counselor suggested I keep seeing her on my own. I was unsure. I was afraid to stop seeing her and I was afraid of the recent things I was feeling.

The littlest of things would make me panic. I couldn't pray kneeling next to my bed because I had thoughts of someone jumping out of my closet and killing me. I couldn't handle being alone because I was sure I'd be raped or killed. My Obsessive Compulsive Disorder was taking over my life and I would often get stuck in an aisle at the store, not sure which brand of food to get or how many to buy. Simple decisions became really hard and scary because I didn't want to make the wrong choice and mess everything up.

Fear controlled me.

I felt like someone going through Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and yet, the most stressful thing in my life was the fact that my husband didn't go to church which I had learned to cope with. I felt crazy and unstable and I couldn't figure out why. What was I fearing? Why was I fearing?

Counseling helped me so much. I started taking anxiety medication to stabilize my thoughts so I could better decipher the good from the bad. I was more logical. My OCD wasn't as obsessive. It took 4 months of counseling to help me cope with the nothing that I was freaking out about. We never did quite figure out what was making me feel that way at the time but it would make sense soon enough. (Read about it "making sense" in this post)

I confided in my counselor in those months about some struggles that had controlled my life and made me live in fear. They were addictions that weren't addictions. But I was sure they were addictions and I had made myself believe that I was making decisions worse than adultery. I was certain I would go to hell if I didn't repent.

I could hardly look her in the eye that day. I couldn't even get the words out of my mouth so she had to guess them instead. I had this view of how she would see me when we were done and it didn't look pretty.

But there was no judgement that day. There was love and a sadness for how I was making myself feel over something that was a common struggle. I had no idea.

That day, I felt a little bit more free than I ever had before.

I stopped going to counseling the very last week of July 2013 and I couldn't believe it had been almost a year since I had met this lady who had changed our lives.

School started. Things seemed ok, although distant as usualy between myself and Peter Pan. I was used to leaving him alone because when I didn't, his emotional abuse was too much for me. I still had faith that he would figure things out and I was ok with waiting.

Three weeks after school started, Peter Pan would make a decision that would change our lives forever.

 

To read Part 6, click here.

Our Flawed Love Story: Part 4

To read from the beginning, click here.

I was nervous about marriage counseling. I wasn't sure anyone or anything could fix where we were.
But I had this vision of our LDS marriage counselor telling Peter Pan he needed to go back to church and support his family and his wife. I had the visions of the things she would say to him and tell him to do to fix our marriage.

You can probably guess that none of those visions came true. Marriage counseling was nothing like what I expected. Although I was emotionally closed off in the beginning, the hurt would sometimes seep through and I would tell her all of the ways my heart was breaking for the marriage I thought I had and the marriage that really was. She listened and validated my feelings and helped me learn how to be ok with the changes that were taking place. We made plans for what I could and couldn't handle and how our marriage was going to be affected by raising our children with an LDS mother and an atheist father. It was 9 months of learning for me. It was 9 months of work for the both of us.

She taught Peter that he needed to be a more involved father and husband. She told him that every day after work, he should come home and think of one thing he could do for me before settling in for the night. Some days, he would do it and some days, he wouldn't but I felt like he was trying.

She asked Peter what standards were going to change with him not wanting to be LDS and also, she asked me what standards I could handle changing. He said things wouldn't change, other than the fact that he wouldn't be going to church with us. She asked about drinking, having sex with other women, doing drugs, etc. and he denied wanting to do any of that. I was relieved. I knew I could handle this and I prayed so hard for him to come back to church with us someday.

Church was hard with a 4 and 3 year old. It was hard feeling so alone. I held back tears often those first few months. Some people noticed I was husband-less at church, others would awkwardly ask where he was and when I'd tell them the truth, they would have nothing to say about it. It was a really hard time for me.

Christmas came and I begged Peter to join us for church because I would be singing in the program. He decided to come just for sacrament meeting and I was elated. I prayed so hard that he would feel something. For an emotionally closed off person, I cried through each song and felt the Spirit so strong. I asked him about it after the meeting and he seemed cold and distant, telling me he felt nothing. He gave me the children and walked out to drive home. I was heartbroken. I was trying so hard to help him find happiness and nothing was working.

On New Years that year, we got in one of the biggest fights to date. I was sure I was done. I couldn't handle the emotional abuse and I couldn't handle feeling so alone. Marriage is supposed to feel supportive, not lonely. Peter refused to spend the week with my family at our cabin so at 6am, I drove myself and our children through what felt like a blizzard up north to be with my family. Peter said he needed to work anyway. It was an emotional holiday because I felt like things were over. Things seemed to be getting worse than they were before we started marriage counseling and I was confused.

I stuck it out and we made it back to counseling the next week, where we talked through the holidays. Peter seemed attentive to what was being said and was in a good mood. He was a charmer. He told our counselor what she needed to hear and when we would get home, he would find ways to make me feel like this was all my fault so I was guilted into working hard by myself for our marriage. Peter is a manipulator. Often times, I would need him by my side while I cried and he would end up making me feel selfish for even having a broken heart over infertility or friendship problems.

It took me a while to realize I would need to do this on my own---and by that, I don't mean get a divorce. I had faith that Peter would eventually recognize his depression and come around so I decided I would give him what he needed from me and try my hardest to make life easier on him.

He would come home from work and I would allow him to go lay in bed while I fed the kids dinner and put them to bed. It was emotionally hard to feel like I was alone in my marriage once again but over time, I grew to love my life again.

I had faith that this was a phase. I knew I could help Peter become the man he had once been. I would see small glimpses of the man I married and that kept me going.

We "graduated" from marriage counseling in April of 2013 and I felt like things were going really well and that we would make it through this.

To continue on to Part 5, click here.

Our Flawed Love Story: Part 3

To read from the beginning, click here.

I was feisty. I knew I was quick to anger but I was also quick to forgive. Peter Pan was an addictive liar and would often tell me little white lies about where he was and what he was doing. I would check his phone often because I knew of his ability to lie on a whim. I think it would be safe to say that 75% of the time I'd check his phone, there was some lie that I'd find out from that day or week. And another 10% of the time, all of his messages would be erased when I'd check.

Every time I'd confront him, he would become irate and yell at me about how I shouldn't be going through his stuff. He would tell me that everyone lies and that he's sure I lied to him too. I handed him my phone during one of those arguments and told him I had nothing to hide.

All of the lies were little. None of them were lies about anything that would be extremely detrimental to our marriage. But they were still lies.

For the first 5 years of our marriage, I never assumed there was anything worse that my pathological lying husband wasn't telling me. That may make me sound pretty stupid but I never had a reason to believe he was doing anything big that he shouldn't be doing.

I'd go back in time and give myself this look if I could.

I should've been more in tune with what was going on in my marriage but because we fought so much, I had learned not to rock the boat as much---because when I did rock the boat, there was fire and fury on both sides.

We were both hurting and I had learned not to trust anything Peter did or said...or so I thought. Let's come back to that later...

There was one morning that Peter was still in bed when we were getting ready for church. I kept asking him to get up and get ready and I was getting impatient. This had been happening more frequently and I wasn't "dealing" well with taking the kids to church on my own while he made up new excuses. I got angry with him. I yelled. He got angry right back. He told me he didn't believe in God and that he wouldn't be attending church with us ever again.

I wished I could go back in time to 30 minutes prior and ignore him staying in bed. I blamed myself for getting mad and pushing him over the edge.

But the hurt we were going through was too much. I told him I was done. I told him that him being the spiritual leader in our home was the last thing I had held onto and that I was leaving.

That day, I met with our bishop and surprisingly, Peter joined me. Our bishop was not helpful that day. I felt like it was 2 men against 1 woman. I felt like I was being blamed because of my emotions over our inability to conceive a third child. I felt like I was being told that was the reason my husband was struggling. It was all my fault. We agreed to meet with the bishop the next week to see how things were going.

What a long week. We hardly talked because I still wasn't sure I wanted to stay in this emotionally abusive and exhausting marriage.

Sunday came again and after skipping out on church, Peter showed up for our meeting with the bishop, only this time, he was closed off. His arms were folded, his eyebrows were furrowed, and his answers consisted of short yes's, no's, and ok's. Our bishop realized that he wasn't getting through to Peter and told us there was nothing else he could do for us except refer us to a marriage counselor.

We agreed.

To continue on to Part 4, click here.

Our Flawed Love Story: Part 2

To read from the beginning, click here.

I thought it was the love story I had always dreamed of. I had convinced myself I had simple taste because I didn't care that he never properly proposed but instead handed me the ring with a "Here ya go" attitude.
***Looking back, I can understand how my insecurities were telling me that I should settle because how likely would it be that anyone else would love me like this. These thoughts were a mixture of my distorted eating disorder brain and Satan.
So he wasn't romantic. Oh well, right? It would've been an 'oh well' if romance wasn't a huge part of my love language.

The bickering started long before our wedding day. I keep telling myself this should've been the biggest FLAW sign but I ignored it. I loved him so the rest would just have to figure itself out.
Peter Pan seemed like a genuine guy. We shared many moments before our wedding that were real. I try so hard not to deny that now because back then, they felt real. He was present in life at the time.

We didn't always agree on things but we liked it that way. We liked hashing things out every once in a while because we told ourselves that that was our way of staying connected. Who wants to agree on everything anyway? Boring!

We had an easier time deciding on children things. We were excited to become parents together and would often talk about their names and what they might look like. It was an exciting time in our lives. None of the signs that should've been red flags were even visible to me because I felt secure and wanted and loved.

We were married 6 months after we started dating which seems fast but in the LDS culture (and especially for people who grew up together), this was pretty average. Six months felt like an eternity but it was finally the day.

The wedding ceremony was beautiful and I remember the happiness I felt from that day. Nothing could stand in the way of my happiness. I felt such a sense of security from knowing I would never have to date or get married ever again. I was sure of it.

Everyone told us "the first year is the hardest" which is obviously a lie but we were prepared. Our first year was definitely challenging. I ended up pregnant two weeks into our marriage and miscarried ten weeks after that. My hormones were everywhere. Then two months later, I was pregnant again and after confirmations from our doctor, this pregnancy seemed healthy. You can imagine how much of a rollercoaster that first year was. First, a miscarriage. Then, a new pregnancy. Then, an extremely sick wife. Then, bedrest. Then, a baby girl who was born one month early. It was a whirlwind but we made it and having our daughter brought us a lot closer together than we'd ever been---you know, until we started bickering about the diaper changes or the feedings or money.

Peter Pan was in school at the time and wasn't taking it seriously. He had no idea what he wanted to do with his life so I supported our family, he screwed around in school and had a part time job, and our mothers took turns watching our daughter. It felt like a mess. I often worried and wondered how I had married someone with so little ambition and motivation to provide.

One of the first big lies I remember was on a day when I was home from work and had called Peter's work to see if he wanted to have lunch. They told me he had called in sick that day and my heart started pounding. Where was he? What was he doing? I called his cell phone and asked him what in the hell was going on and he proceeded to tell me that he was truly sick but didn't want me to be upset about him missing work so he had gone to a friend's house to rest. And guess what? I believed him. Huge red flag.

We were young. I was clueless. I knew we could make it through anything. We decided to have another baby when our daughter was 6 months old. We got pregnant right away. We were stunned and scared---ok, I was mostly just excited.

The fighting had never stopped but it certainly didn't seem worse. We were comfortable where we were. Peter was still trying to figure his life out and had quit school "permanently" before we got pregnant again and once we realized we were going to have 2 kids, he decided he needed to get back to school and figure this all out.

Everything seemed fine. We were happy and I felt like I was living a good life. I was only 21 but being a mom of two just seemed like something I was meant for. The only worry I had at that point was if I would ever be able to stay home with my kids. I was still supporting our family, Peter was barely going back to school, and he had up and quit his job without telling me.

To continue on to Part 3, click here.

Our Flawed Love Story: Part 1

Our flawed love story started two weeks before I graduated high school. I was young. I didn't want to grow up but growing up with him seemed like a dream.

I had struggled with self-love in the past. I had an eating disorder. I had rebelled against the things I knew were right. I had followed friends I never should have followed. I was broken and his love would fix me.

I caught his eye first and I wasn't quite sure how I felt about that. I convinced myself I wasn't attracted to him and that I didn't need him. I told myself those words over and over again because 18 year olds don't get married and in my case, this was true. But in my case, a 19 year old got married instead and that wasn't much better.

The weeks turned into months and my infatuation with him grew. I convinced myself that I needed him and at that point, he wasn't sure he needed me anymore. He told me we couldn't date. He refused to tell me the reason for weeks and when he did tell me, I convinced myself I could fix him. He was addicted to pain killers. This didn't stop my growing love, rather it made me work harder for us to be together. The story was sad. It wasn't his fault he was addicted. He had injured himself months prior and just couldn't kick the habit of taking the pain medication.

And so my flawed fight began. For him, I would do anything. For him, I would be anything. The only thing I wanted in return was his love. His love meant everything to me. On the days he showed interest, I was on Cloud 9 and on the days it seemed like he would never love me back, I had no desire to get out of bed.

I acted strong. I told myself it was persistence. I told myself that his love made me worth something.

The day his affection for me showed, I knew I wanted to marry this boy. He was my Peter Pan. He made me laugh. He showed me what I was worth.

I would sometimes catch him in little lies. He would say something about how he was raised or the "cool" rebellious things he did in high school and I would find out it wasn't true and I would tell myself he was just trying to impress me. He promised he was done with pain killers and that we could now date and get married and live a happy life together. I wholeheartedly believed every word he said.

Because he was my Peter Pan and I was his Wendy. What could possibly go wrong?

To continue on to Part 2, click here.