Divorceymoon Part I

So, I finally moved out of my marital home and stopped talking to my husband. It happened over a series of months, and a series of uncomfortable realizations.

First, I'll be honest: my husband and I had continued to be physically intimate, flirtatious and friendly until Thanksgiving of this year. In spite of everything that had happened, the relationship was still a lot more comfortable to stay in than it was to leave. Garrett and I get along, we laugh a lot, we genuinely care for each other.

That being said, there was a tipping point for me that occurred around Thanksgiving. Preceding this tipping point, I had reconnected with, and been emailing off and on with the first man I genuinely fell in love with--mind you, this was an adolescent love interest that was never able to come into full fruition because he was five years older than me. When I met him (and obsessed about him for years), it would have been both illegal and unreasonable for anything to actually happen. He did promise me though, that one day, when I was older, things would be different.

I kept in touch with this man, on and off, over the years and wondered about him from time to time. Among other things, he always reminds me of what it felt like when my heart was young, pure and undamaged by the battlefields of adult relationships. There is something about him that is still able, after all of these years, to evoke a feeling in me that is truly pure. My feelings for him where not ever about ME, how he made ME feel, or what he could do for ME. In fact, it was more about HIM--how interesting and exciting HE was, how kind and genuine HE is, and the indescribable beauty I have always seen, and continue to see, in HIM. I do, and have always, deeply admired who he his, and how he lives his life.

When I reconnected with him this fall, I was a bit taken aback about the fact that he was exactly how I remembered him being: intelligent, interesting, curious, well-spoken, and above all, very, very kind and considerate. Unfortunately, he is also married to a beautiful, talented, and interesting woman. Exactly what I would have expected of him. And, in a sense, that was comforting. Often I have felt that when I reconnected with past loves, they were very different than I had remembered--and to be honest, I struggled to understand what the initial attraction may have been about. In this case, it was comforting to know that he was perhaps even better than I could have really appreciated in my youth, and I had shown good judgement in my attraction to this man. And, that he had chosen a mate that seemed very appropriate for him. I felt happy about this.

I also felt very emotionally attracted to him, and struggled with the morality of my most basic interactions with him, knowing my own feelings, and knowing that he was committed to another. While we were merely catching up, sharing nostalgic memories of our youths, and talking about mutual interests/passions, I knew better than to trust myself and to trust my motives in such a situation. Thus, I tried to keep things as restrained and appropriate as I possibly could.

The breaking point came when my husband informed me that he was romantically perusing his co-worker who was in a committed relationship/marriage to another man. I noticed that something was "off" with him when he told me that he was going to a rave. Mind you, we are in our 30's. The last time I went to a rave was way, way over a decade ago. And, to my knowledge, my husband had never shown any interest in electronic music or had been to a rave in his life--definite point of curiosity. Next, he texted me to ask how to make pies. Hhmmm..... I gave him my advice and even asked my mother if she had any additional tips. I stopped by the house several hours later to find he had been furiously working on these pies to bring to his co-workers house for the greater part of the day. This, with the attendance at the rave, and his changes in communication patterns had risen some red flags. I had noticed the day before that he had not replied to my texts about some plans we had. Garrett always responds to my texts about practical matters. Perhaps he doesn't respond to every text about how cute or special the dog is, but he definitely responds promptly to practical matters.

At this point, I confronted him, and he confessed. I know how to draw answers out of my ex-husband, and I did. He informed me of his feelings for his co-worker, his ongoing relations with her, and that he was going to this woman's house, and was going to have dinner with her and her partner.

This bothered me. Initially, I couldn't put my finger on exactly why, it but I knew that I didn't like it. After over a month of pondering over the matter, I have concluded that him having dinner with his new love interest and her beau was not only odd, but it was deceptive, sneaky, callous, and inconsiderate. This sort of encapsulated my own experience with him during our relationship and marriage. And for me, it was enough for me to see that it was time to cut ties and truly, completely move on.

So, I blocked him from all social media, said what I needed to say to move on, and then blocked his phone number.

Unfortunately, this whole situation caused me to evaluate my own motivations and personal integrity. I wasn't necessarily happy to face the fact that I was doing something very similar in communicating with a married man, with full knowledge of the fact that, if I was truly honest with myself, I wanted more than just friendship with him. I always have. So, I think it was mutually understood that I needed to pull away for a while. Not to say I would never check in with him again, but I needed to draw back and focus on myself.

That left a bit of a void. But I was determined to move on, and move forward. So, I ended up flirting with a young man that I had seen around, but didn't really know. Smart, fluent in French, attractive. But I'll be honest, I was looking for a shiny object--a diversion from my uncomfortably. As he is in recovery as well, he quickly saw through me and called me out. He did it in a very arrogant, presumptuous way as well, so I did not take too kindly to his observations. My knee jerk reaction was to tell him exactly how self-righteous he came across to me, and that it was inappropriate for him to be advising me on my recovery and personal life when I barely knew the man. Of course, there was truth to what he said, and I knew he was right at the time he said it, but he wasn't entirely correct and I was determined to move forward come hell or high water. And that I did...

Remember FC from my posts more than a year ago? Well, I texted him and suggested that we meet to catch up. Long story short--one thing quickly led to another and we hooked up. It was actually pretty great! I really care about FC and have a deep respect and affection for him, and I believe that I made the right choice. The feeling seemed mutual, and we made plans to reconnect when I got back to Orlando a month in the future--I was traveling to Denmark, Sweden, Ireland, Massachusetts and New Jersey over the holidays, and I expected to be very busy and distracted--and I was.

In any case, my Divorceymoon started out on a very positive and hopeful note--I felt good about where we left things, and I felt very satisfied with my decision, BUT....

To be continued..

Lost in Translation Part II (Per Lui)

Work

Shutting down and emotionally isolating was not a conscious decision for me. At times, I was very social, talked to a lot of people, and went to lots of social activities. However, I never really shared my true thoughts or feelings with other people. It just never felt appropriate.

When I say the isolation began when I started working, it gives the impression that the workplace caused me to isolate. But, in fact, it is a little more complicated than that. The week that I got hired, and the day before I went to "orientation" for my new workplace, one of my friends overdosed on heroin and his family had to make the difficult choice to take him off of life support because he was brain dead. He was only 22 years old, and he had been clean and sober for the better part of a year.

About two weeks after that, my best friend nearly died. She went into her garage, turned on the car, and sat in the car until she passed out from carbon monoxide poisoning. Her girlfriend stopped by her house, noticed her dog was locked away in the back bedroom, thought something was amiss, and called 911. Then she broke into her house, went into her garage, and found my best friend unconscious in her car. Her girlfriend and the first responders thought she might be dead. I got a text and a call about it just as I was finishing up at work. I met up with my mom for support, put on my "brave face," and went to the emergency room.

For the next three days, I was in the hospital or in an ambulance every hour of the day when I wasn't either sleeping or at work. She was moved from hospital to hospital as she kept having seizures, and it took days for her to be medically stabilized enough to go to the psychiatric hospital. It was a mess. Her girlfriend dumped her in the hospital, and as she had no family or real support,  so I had to emotionally carry her for a while after that crisis, and it was hard.

I remember going to meetings and saying that I thought there was something wrong with me because I didn't feel anything. I got so many compliments for being so even keeled in the face of crisis. I wanted to respond, "Oh, it isn't hard, I'm just completely emotionally dead inside. I learned how to do this when I was a kid"

At the end of the day, this is true. Watching someone I loved die in front of me when I was a kid may have been a little too much for my little kid psyche. I didn't cry, I didn't say much, I just put on my "brave face" to make things easier for my sister. I also did that a lot when my Dad got deployed. My sister cried herself to sleep every night, and kept a picture of our Dad next to her bed. She wrote to the president and asked him to bring our Dad home. She wrote to my Dad nearly every day.

I didn't cry once. My Dad told me to be brave for my sister, so I did that. I just shut off my emotions and pretended like everything was OK in order to stabilize the people around me. However, I felt very angry with him on some level, and I think it took me the better part of 20 years to forgive him for leaving.

An ex of mine used to say that I was good "in the pocket"--which is military speak for "good in a crisis." And, in a sense, that is a complement. I just wish that on the day to day I could muster the courage to text people back or open my mail. I seem to struggle with the most basic stuff that other people seem to do with ease--without even thinking about it.

But being emotionally dead inside isn't necessarily a bad thing. When I was in college, this girl collapsed in the hallway. No one did ANYTHING because no one knew what to do--they just stood around looking at each other and staring at her with their mouths open and fear in their eyes. I checked her vitals and started doing CPR while barking at other people to call 911 and try to find help.

I digress...

Around the same time, that Aaron died and Cara nearly died, my husband told me that he loved me, but he was no longer "in love" with me and that he wanted a divorce. Obviously, this same conversation happened when we first separated a year and a half before. But, on some level I had always hoped that having some time and space from each other would help us to calm down and decide to work through our problems. Instead, he decided that we had caused each other enough pain. He told me that while our wounds had healed with time, space, and air--had scabbed over and become scars--that I was essentially handing him a knife and asking him to reopen my wound and make it bigger. I couldn't argue with his logic, and realized he was probably right, but that was a difficult pill to swallow. It was hard for me to accept that my marriage is over.

On Valentine's day I started dating one of the men I mentioned in my last post. There was no spark and no connection between us, but the reason I dumped him was actually a little more unsettling than that. One day I forgot to tell him what exit to get off on the highway. He flew into a rage, stopped dead in the middle of traffic on 417 in his tiny VW GTI, screamed at me, and drove across traffic and over a median to get off at the exit we missed. His car even got stuck in the median for a little bit, and it took everything I had in me not to laugh while he was enraged. But I decided to break up with him that second. I already had one ex-boyfriend (a valedictorian of UF, with a PhD from an Ivy League school, who is currently a professor of Ethics at a major university) strangle me until I was unconscious. I wasn't about to sign up for round two of that bullshit. I like both of those guys, and I'm not upset with them, but I'm definitely NOT going to date someone with rage issues. I don't hate myself that much.

I went into work the next day, sleep deprived because I had just broke up with someone, and a little rattled because the incident had caused me to start thinking about the stuff with my ex. That just happened to be one of those days that my supervisor was on my ass about every banal detail he could think of--stickers, tomato seeds, etc. In my head, I'm trying to just convince myself that I'm not in any immediate danger, and that no one is going to try to kill me again. That is a struggle when I'm sleep deprived. I wanted to be more acquiescing to his concerns because he looked pretty pissed at me, but at the same time, I couldn't muster up the appropriate level of concern about the stickers or the tomato seeds--I had a lot on my mind. He looked at me angrily, and I looked back at him blankly, said "sorry" and left it at that. What the hell was I going to say/do? Tell him all the nonsense going on in my life?

If I was going to tell anyone about anything, it would have been him. It just didn't feel right or appropriate. With my coworkers, I wasn't going to tell them much. Although I look like I'm close in age to them, I'm actually not, and I think it would have been hard for them to understand what I was going through. I brought that concern to a meeting once, and I was basically told not to share my personal struggles with coworkers because they are not going to understand--they are not addicts.

This conclusion to keep my mouth shut in the workplace was solidified in my mind as gossip ran rampant in that store. I felt like I knew everyone's business--sometimes because I was told, and sometimes because I overheard other people talking. The funniest part about it to me was that two people would be saying really hostile, mean-spirited gossip about other people at work, and a few hours later they would be saying hostile, mean-spirited shit about each other to two other people. It was too much. I tried to be positive, I tried to say nice things about other people, I tried to create unity and cohesion. Unfortunately, I got sucked into the negativity quicker than any of my efforts to create positivity were able to take form. Positive attitudes and negative attitudes are contagious. I was beginning to feel very nonspiritual and angry by the end of my time there, and that is not where I choose to be today. There is so much to be happy about and grateful for, and I don't want to lose sight of that.

Finally, I didn't want my personal life and personal tragedies to become fodder for other peoples entertainment at work. I also did not want other people to feel sorry for me. That makes me uncomfortable, particularly because I am OK with the way things are in my life, and the way I am. I do feel like hiding who I am and keeping secrets generates an internal sense of shame (i.e. if people knew about me or my life, they would definitely judge me and talk shit about me). However, at the end of the day I realize that they would have talked shit about me anyway (and, in fact, they did), regardless of whether or not they knew what kinds of things I was thinking about or dealing with.

I think I get comfortable in recovery because we are encouraged to be honest, be who we are, not judge others, and do the right thing. Gossiping is not spiritual, judging others is not spiritual, focusing on the negative is not spiritual.

I think my lesson in all of that may be just to remind myself to trust my instincts. I felt a really negative vibe from the first day I started working at that place. The people there were clearly on a different vibration than myself. I felt uneasy. And a lot of my initial suspicions and observations turned out to be correct. So perhaps the lesson: trust my instincts (God/nature created them for a reason), and surround myself (as much as possible) with people and circumstances that allow me to be the best version of myself, and allow me to feel safe enough to be who I am. It isn't healthy to feel "different than," and to willfully deceive others. I'm not the kind of person that actively lies--I don't just make things up. I OFTEN lie by omission. I leave out relevant facts and details, and I allow others to believe things that are not true by not correcting them.

Per Lui

On a final note: after I left that job and stopped stuffing my emotions and hiding who I was, my sponsor suggested that I needed to be really honest with someone at work. I have not done that. As I mentioned in my last post, I felt a connection with a person that had recently come into my life. The person I felt a connection with was someone at work (the place I recently left). So this last part is for him...

I remember a morning riding the vaporetto to school in Venice, Italy. The sun was rising, there was a cool wind across the lagoon, the colors of the sunrise reflected off the gold and glass windows, and there was this beautiful stillness and peace in my heart. It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw, and I felt truly alive and vital for the first time in my life. It happened again when I was walking through the mountains in the Lake District of Northern England. And again when I ran with the bulls in Spain. And again when I walked through the McDonald castle on Loch Ness in Scotland. And again one time when I looked at my dog, and saw what a loving/lovable perfect creation she was.

I cried each one of those times because I felt like the luckiest person in the world to be able to behold something so beautiful. I felt very connected to something much greater than myself, and I knew in my heart that everything was going to be OK--that things were EXACTLY as they were supposed to be.

In my last post, I talked about crying after kissing some guy because I realized that I had feelings for someone else. That person was him--the guy from my work.

 I had a very similar experience to the ones I described above. I felt true happiness and gratitude for being able to feel the way that I felt about another person--to be able to see the beauty and perfection in their humanity and imperfection. To that person I want to say:

You are perfect just the way you are. You are beautiful inside and out, and it gives me peace to know that you are just out there in the world.

You are no more mine than Venetian sunrises, or the calm quiet perfection of the Lake District. No more mine than a perfect piece of literature or a piece of art that touches your most internal essence. And you don't need to be mine--it isn't important. I just feel lucky to have known you, to have seen you, and have connected to some small part of your spirit.

I know I will return to Venice, Pamplona, Scotland and England. I know I will read the Sun Also Rises many, many more times. I know I will see a film that will touch my heart and strike the innermost aspects of my spirit.

I don't know if I will see you again. But it gives me peace and comfort to know that you are somewhere out there in the world. And I know that some day someone will see exactly what I see, and will feel like the luckiest person in the world to have you in their life. And I want to tell you this because you deserve to know--and if I withheld a truth like this, it would be a terrible lie. And maybe, to have merely crossed your path was the reason for that entire experience. It gave me hope. It awakened me from an emotional death. And whatever has come of it, or will come of it, it was worth it. I am lucky to have known you.

Lost in Translation

lost-in-translation

Adjective

(not comparable)

1. (idiomatic) Unable to understand due to having been poorly translated.

Lost in Translation has always been one of my favorite movies. Like the book, The Sun Also Rises, it is a piece of art that made me feel less alone in the world. It is a movie about two people that share an unlikely, but meaningful connection to each other during a period of disconnection from their own lives. I love it because it perfectly encapsulates the disconnection I've felt at times of major change or adjustment. Right now is one of those periods.

I tried to make myself feel depressed yesterday. I listened to Olfar Arnalds, Blonde Redhead and Radiohead, I watched a bunch of depressing shit on TV, I walked around my neighborhood in the rain, I read some depressing poetry, I thought about really horrible shit that has happened to me, and I thought about depressing shit going on in the world. I just wanted to feel something other than indifferent. I tried, but I just wasn't feeling it. I ended up just laughing at myself for making such a trite effort to feel something that I didn't feel. And I guess I felt a bit disheartened that I was so out of touch with myself.

I told that to several different people today, but they either laughed or looked at me like I was crazy. I can understand their reaction, and I'm well aware of how insane it sounds to try to make yourself feel depressed. I just wanted to feel something other than indifferent. I feel like I just don't give a shit lately, and I find that troubling. 

Usually when people say they don't give a shit, it means that they do--real bad. Everyone gives a shit. Even I give a shit about not giving a shit. I never believe people when they say they don't give a shit, that they don't get jealous, or that they don't internet stalk people. Come on, basic neuroscience and evolutionary biology render all of those statements impossible. So what are you trying to tell me? Are you trying to tell me that for thousands of years, biology, evolution and socialization have compelled the human species to reproduce and be territorial, but you somehow missed these biological imperatives? Wow! What are the odds of that? Are we the same species? Even sociopaths give a shit about things, just not the same things as normal people. 

So let's establish: I DO give a shit. I just don't know how to articulate how I feel. The best way to describe it is disconnected. And the best way to understand it is by watching the movie Lost in Translation. But I don't know if everyone is going to understand the sentiment portrayed in that film. Obviously, some people do, or there would be no market for that film.

It is not so much that I want to feel depressed. I just want to feel something. I've been feeling so flat and apathetic lately. I feel disconnected from other people. I don't like feeling like that. 

I think this started when I started working in late January/Early February. But it seems like it has gotten worse as the months have passed.

I posted a few months ago about obsessing over some guy. It turns out that he asked me out and we dated for about a month. I broke it off. After all of that obsessing, the first time I kissed him, I felt nothing. I wanted to feel something, but I just didn't. I kept dating him for another month, but no matter how much time I spent with him, he always felt like a stranger. He said and did all of the right things, but there was this superficiality and emotional emptiness behind all of his kind words and gestures. And in the end, I ended up feeling lonelier around him than I did was when I was by myself. I tried to break up with him via text message, but my co-worker told me that it was not very nice to break up with someone over text. On some level, I guess I knew that, but I didn't want to deal with a conversation. I had nothing to say. 

I started talking to another guy directly after that--he was nice, funny, good looking. There was no reason for me to be so apathetic, but I just was...and it fizzled out. 

I decided to not date anyone for a while. I was really overtired and overextended because of work, so I tried to just focus on myself for a while. I spent a lot of time by myself, and I really enjoyed it. I surfed, I did yoga, I read a lot, I listened to a lot of music, I wrote in my journal. For the most part, I was very happy in my own space--but I always felt disconnected from other people. I didn't know how to explain what I was thinking about, feeling or experiencing. It didn't seem like anyone around me was in a similar place. Even if I knew how to explain myself, I didn't know if anyone would understand or relate. I guess, on some level, I just felt really different. And in all truthfulness, I probably was in a really different place than everyone around me. It wasn't depressing--but I was thinking about heavy things. I felt interested in a lot of different things, but nothing I wanted to share with anyone else. I guess I was just thinking about, and reflecting upon my life in a very detached, unemotional manner. 

I didn't share much (if any) of my inner world with anyone. I felt completely secluded and disengaged from other people. I wasn't telling other people how I was feeling or what I was thinking. I wrote a lot of it down in my journal, but felt no need or desire to share anything with anyone. It wasn't because I was afraid that I would be judged. It was because I was afraid that they wouldn't understand, and that would make me feel even more detached than I already was. 

 A couple of times I broke down and confided in my supervisor. I didn't want to tell him anything, but it reached a point where it was absolutely necessary for me to communicate my state of mind to my employer. He strikes me as a very intuitive person, so I got the sense he already had some idea that I was working through some things in my head. It was kind of an odd situation because I didn't even really know him--but I knew I could trust him. And, in fact, that says quite a lot about him because I don't trust very many people. And I especially don't trust strangers. But he seemed to get the gist of where I was without me having to be too specific. I felt very grateful for that. I also felt odd, because I shared my most personal thoughts and feelings with someone I didn't even know--on one particular day, I told him more about my state of mind than I had shared with any of my friends or family.  I felt understood and I didn't feel judged at all, but I couldn't help but feel a little vulnerable after being so candid with someone in the midst of a long period of emotional silence. And on some level, I don't know if I was entirely comfortable with someone else knowing how lost and overwhelmed I felt at that point in time. It was a risk. Had he been an unkind person, he could have hurt me deeply with the information I had shared with him. But he kept it to himself, and he never used it against me or brought it up again.

After a little time passed, I started to warm up and open up to some of the women at work. I didn't tell them everything that I told my supervisor--and I still haven't--but I was able to build friendships based on common interests and worldviews. I also started opening up to some of my friends in recovery. It was a step in the right direction, and although I was starting to talk about things, I fragmented my truth. I brought certain pieces of information to certain people. I gave a lot of people a piece of the picture, but I never shared the entire picture with anyone other than my sponsor (whom I rarely see). I have continued to do that to this day, and the end result has been a continued feeling of indifference, isolation, and just a lack of cohesion in my life. One of the reasons for this blog is to stop me from engaging in that particular behavior: never really letting anyone know who I am, or where I am--especially not enough for them to hold me accountable.

As the months went on, I started getting really overtired at my job. My fatigue and lack of balance in my life eventually caught up with me. I knew I wouldn't be able to sustain that lifestyle while in school, so I wrote a letter that is affectionately referred to by my friends as, "Liz's communist manifesto." I spoke my truth, to some extent, about my workplace. I felt heard, and I was satisfied with that. I was proud of myself for taking the time to attempt to articulate myself--I also was able to see that I DID still care about people and things going on around me. It was a step towards integrating myself with other people again. I wish I had handled it more gracefully than I did, but it is what it is. I did the best I could with where I was at during that time. I ended up moving to a shop closer to the University. I had a very blunt conversation with my supervisor my last day there. I felt a little rattled by the content of the conversation. He seemed to want me to be blunt, so I was. It was hard though--sometimes I don't know when I'm being insensitive. I definitely can be too straightforward, and I don't realize that I'm doing it. I did it the other day, and I felt really bad because I was apparently too direct in my delivery.

The day that I left the old store, I went on a date with a guy that I had had a vague interest in for quite some time. We talked for a while. It was easy and comfortable--but the whole time I still felt a bit indifferent and unsure of what I wanted. He asked me if he could kiss me. I asked him if I could think about it. He looked at me like I was insane. I ended up kissing him, and when he left, I cried. I cried because when I pulled away, I realized that I thought I was kissing someone else--someone I had spoken to earlier that day. I didn't even realize I was doing it until I pulled away and looked at him like, "who the fuck are you?" 

I cried the rest of the way home because I realized that I did have feelings for someone--I wasn't entirely detached and indifferent. It was shocking and bittersweet. It felt good to realize that I still had the capacity to feel anything like that--in all honesty it had been quite a bit of time since I had felt that way about anyone. But, it was also sad because it was an impossible situation and I knew that there was nothing to be done about it. I readily accepted that fact.For me, it was enough to just FEEL something like that for another person. In a sense, it gave me hope. The timing and circumstances just don't feel right, and so much in life is about timing and circumstances.

And although it felt really good to feel like that about another person, the impossibility of the situation made me feel a sadness in equal measure to the happiness. I just can't imagine what that would mean in application to my life--and for whatever reason, I just don't let my head go there. My life is complicated enough as it is, and for all I know, the connection I feel with that person could be entirely on my end, and not at all on his. Nonetheless, it has been the only time I've gone outside of my rather small emotional range in quite some time. 

A few days later, I was telling my husband about all of my dating debacles. We had a good laugh. I asked him if I could kiss him. I did. It was nice. I didn't cry. It was like all of our other kisses--with deep love and affection, but not in a romantic sense. I guess our relationship was never really like that. And at the end of the day, I can't fault him for wanting something more for himself. 

And since that day, I have continued to feel a bit aloof. I wouldn't say that I am cynical. I'm not. I don't carry such a heavy weight from my past that I've become jaded or fearful of letting anyone too close. It isn't anything like that. It is just not that easy to connect. I can't force a connection if it isn't there. I'm not lonely; I don't mind being alone. In fact, being alone is preferable to being with someone I don't connect with. 

Recently, I started dating someone new. I like him, and I can feel a steady affection growing. I have been really honest with him about my emotionally availability, and he has been very respectful of my need for space. I find that very hopeful.

So in response to my last post: yes, I've been attempting to distract myself from my divorce. However, I do think that my husband deserves to feel a more passionate, romantic love than what we share. I want the same for myself. I just don't know if I'm going to get there--especially as I struggle to connect in my relationships with men, and when I do, the situation is stupidly impossible.

I thought I would have more figured out by this point in my life. I guess I feel a little lost. I don't know how to share, or "translate", my inner world to another person. I guess I'm waiting for someone who doesn't find it necessary for me to do that. And until then, I can snuggle my dog. 

Charlotte: Evelyn Waugh?

John: What?

Charlotte: Evelyn Waugh was a man.

John: [shocked] Oh, c'mon, she's nice. What? You know-- You know, not everyone went to Yale. Its just a pseudonym, for Christ's sake.

Charlotte: Why do you have to defend her?

John: Well... why do you have to point out how stupid everybody is all the time?

Charlotte: I thought it was funny. Forget it.

On Internet Stalking, Obsession and DIVORCE!

I've been meaning to write for a while, but I haven't been motivated. Unfortunately, for me, the biggest motivator to do something good for myself (like write) is feeling uncomfortable. I can say with confidence that I have felt very uncomfortable during the last week.

Two weeks ago, after a year and three months of separation, my husband and I decided to end our marriage. I cried. I blocked him on my phone. I changed his contact information in my phone to remind myself what I was doing before calling or texting him. In my mind, I've decided that I'm not longer going to hold out hope for a reconciliation. In fact, I'm not entirely sure that is even what I want. 

It stung for a few days. I cried. I had arguments in my head with him that lasted for hours. In these imaginary arguments, I made sure he knew exactly how mean and unfair he was, and how much he hurt me. And after about a week of contemplating my sadness, I randomly talked to this guy at a meeting. I didn't say much, and certainly nothing compelling was exchanged, but soon after the meeting I started thinking about him.

As the days passed, I started thinking about him more. In fact, I could not get him out of my head. I had been seeing him at this very same meeting for about a year, and never really took a keen interest. I had noticed him before, but dismissed it; engaged in only the most minimal ways and then almost immediately forgot about him. Over the last month or two we made eye contact. I briefly spoke with him--thought he was cute, but really didn't feel the need to engage. So what happened last week to totally go from zero to a hundred? From not thinking about him at all to thinking about him constantly?

Yesterday it started to occur to me that I was being slightly ridiculous, and had done something quite similar in the recent past.  

Last month I had a brief obsession with another guy. I saw him at a meeting (a different meeting), didn't bother talking to him, but proceeded to start a relationship with him that existed entirely and ONLY in my imagination. After considerable rumination, I decided his nails were too well groomed, he looked far too fastidiously put together, could perhaps be a serial killer and probably wouldn't let my dog in his bed. So, basically, I had the entire relationship in my head. Turns out we just weren't a match--but he has no idea. In fact, I am sure he has no idea I was even interested in him. And now I'm not, I'm obsessed with some other dude.

After thinking about him A LOT for a day or two, I started calling my friends to ask the typical sorts of questions, "Is he single?", "What is he like?", "What does he do?" , "Should I be concerned?", "DO YOU think he is cute?", "Do you think he would think that I'm cute?" etc.

One of my friends tried to help me Facebook stalk him--but no luck. We didn't even know what his last name was, and he really wasn't friends (on Facebook) with the same people that we are friends with. Then one of my friends told me he was on Instagram. So I got Instagram, and like a total freak, went through several years of his Instagram posts. I surmised about as much as I could about the guy without actually talking to him or getting to know him in any meaningful way. Of course, I'm not going to "put myself out there" without a thorough "background check" (at least that is how I rationalize such creepy behavior in my head).

After a week of obsessing over this new guy, I'm at the point in our relationship (the one that is occurring entirely in my head and not at all in reality) where we have had our first fight. I've already envisioned what we fight about, how he speaks to me, and how I respond. I'm also at the point where I'm questioning whether or not we are a good fit. Mind you, this guy has ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA that I'm even interested. I having given him ZERO indication that he is even on my radar. And something about this is starting to feel a bit absurd. 

I'm not sure what this about, but it is exhausting. I either need to say something, or just drop it. Part of me thinks this is my way of distracting myself from the sadness I feel about my divorce and/or the massive amount of inner work that needs to be done to repair that wound. Another part of me thinks I keep doing this because I am in no way emotionally available. However, part of me also thinks that this is because I am allowing myself to consider the possibility of moving on. And finally, a good part of me thinks this just simple physical attraction. He is tall, very athletic, and has a sort of rugged, exotic quality that I've always found attractive. And he is a little older, and I had resolved to stop dating younger guys soon after my husband and I separated. I have no idea what I'm going to do, or what this is even about. But the point is: I have to stop thinking about it.  

My question is: am I not dealing with the feelings I have about my divorce? OR am I ready to move on after a year and 3 months of separation and dating several other men? I don't know the answer to this question. I vacillate. I have been vacillating for years--even before we got divorced. 

My hope is that, now I'm aware, this situation will help me to reach a point of clarity. So, when I figure out what this is all about, I will write more!

A Christmas Gift of Suicidal Depression

Smiling (and probably drunk) at my lowest point

Boundaries???What are Boundaries???

As earlier mentioned, setting and maintaining boundaries was not something I did often during my relationship with my husband. In fact, prior to the incident with Robbie, I am not sure I set or maintained a single, solitary boundary in our entire relationship. I always gave in to what he wanted because it was easier than having conflict in our home. That is why I didn't bother to say or do much when he kept talking to the woman he'd dated before me behind my back-- even though we were already living together. Or, when he tried to get her to come out drinking with our friends on St. Patrick's Day when I was at home studying. That is also why I didn't say much about the wedding driving me to the edge of sanity, or that I remained totally overwhelmed and fragile in the months after. I was determined to make our relationship work come hell or high water, and in order to do that, I had to put my own needs and feelings aside.

In all fairness to my husband, I believe that we teach people how they can treat us. I taught him that my feelings, my needs, and my desires were not as important as his own. By saying and doing very little to stand up for myself, or defend what I knew to be best for my mental health and well-being, I taught him that those things are not worth considering. So when Robbie overstepped my boundaries and I finally stood up for myself, he had no experience dealing with it. In the past, I had always given in, and turned to alcohol and prescription drugs as an outlet for the emotions and experiences I was having difficulty handling.

But this time was different. The verbal abuse and hateful stance that Robbie had brought into my home was not something I would back down from. I knew that someone like that would not be safe for me, and would not be safe for my children or family. It was a stance I took in defense of my morals and values. I will compromise all day long on my comfort and well-being, but I will not compromise on my fundamental core values. Those were instilled in my as a child, and are far more a part of me than I even knew until that event occurred.

From my perspective, I had finally reached a point where I knew a boundary needed to drawn and a discussion must ensue. I felt I had given up a lot so my husband would be happy. And when I finally felt so uncomfortable that drawing a boundary became a necessity/need rather than a desire/want, I did it.

As the weeks passed and my husband said nothing to his family, and did nothing in response to the events that had transpired over Thanksgiving, I began to feel, on a gut level, that our relationship was not going to work out. For me, it was an urgent matter and needed to be dealt with immediately. But no matter what I did, there seemed to be no way to convince him to take action--or even take a stance for that matter! I started to feel like he wanted the conflict between he an I. I started to feel like he was setting up a situation that would result in an inevitable conflict between his family and me.

Passive Aggressive vs Passive Aggressive

Nightly fights began to ensue about the events that had occurred at Thanksgiving, and what my husband was going to do about it. He kept promising me that he was going to talk to his family, but nothing ever happened. Day after day would pass, then week after week.

Perhaps my husband thought it would just pass if he left it alone. After all, that had been his past experience with me. And, to be truthful, that is my own fault. But at least a couple times a week, we were up all night fighting about it. I cried, I yelled, I became completely unraveled.

Eventually, to put more impact behind my argument, I began bringing up past grievances. At the time, I didn't know that I was being passive-aggressive, I just thought that if I brought up other times I had gave in to him, he would understand that it was now HIS turn to give in to me, and talk to his family about the event that had so greatly upset me. But it seemed like the more I tried to convey my discomfort and the urgency of the matter (for myself), the more he dug in his heels and stubbornly refused to take action. So, like a true passive-aggressive, I began to bring up all my former grievances as time without resolution went on. I brought up my deep unhappiness and feelings of violation I had about our wedding. I brought up the fact that my parents had paid such a ridiculous amount of money for me to be deeply unhappy and feeling violated at my own wedding. I brought up the fact that I gave up my own hope of my dream wedding in order to make him and his family happy. I brought up the fact that I had turned down an excellent job with excellent benefits in order to support him and his career--at his insistence, moreover!

But despite everything I said, despite how much I cried, pleaded and argued, nothing happened and nothing changed. There was no compromise. His stance remained the same as it was the day the events transpired: he would talk to his family when the time felt right. He would do it before Christmas so everyone was on the same page.

Depression and Despair

As time passed and Christmas drew closer, I began to sink into a very deep depression. The events of Thanksgiving had caused a rift between me and my husband,  and I started to feel very lonely and isolated.

We still had not been in Florida for very long, and I really didn't know anyone that I actually trusted and felt safe confiding in, so I just internalized my feelings of depression--depression about the miscarriage, depression from not being able to find meaningful work, depression from having no friends, and depression from the rift in our marriage. I started to feel like I had made all of the wrong choices in my life, and now I was stuck in a marriage where I didn't feel respected or considered, in a state where I felt lost and unhappy, and with little to look forward to in terms of career goals or family plans. After what had happened and the fact that nothing was ever done about it, I started questioning whether or not it was even a good idea to start a family with my husband.

The icy, cold distance between me and Garrett was palpable. We were like two ships passing in the night: neither one of us felt seen or heard. And, as usual, I blamed myself for making poor life choices that put me in circumstances where I felt extremely unhappy.

I began to drink more and more. I also became more dependent on the benzodiazopines to even relax. I started having panic attacks again. Things were falling apart quickly.

Christmas

I've always struggled at Christmas, I wont pretend to know why. But ever since I was a child, depression had reared it's ugly head during the holidays, and I did my best to cope with it. That year, my best was alcohol and Xanax.

My husband and I went back North separately that year. I went to New Jersey to visit my best friend and my family up there, and Garrett went straight back to Buffalo. At first, I found it a great relief to visit my family and my best friend. It made me feel happy and feel like myself again. But as the time to go to Buffalo grew closer, I started getting anxiety.

A day before I was supposed to go to Buffalo, I called my husband and asked him if he had spoken with his family yet. He had not. Of course not. That night, I proceeded to get wasted at my best friend's house. I fell down the stairs backward, in the dark, slamming my head in several places on the way down. I just laid there in pain. A couple of my fingers were possibly broken, my head had taken a legit beating, and my legs would surely be bruised up the next morning...and they were. I never told anyone except my husband how serious the fall actually was--I didn't want anyone to confront me on my drinking. I'm fairly sure I got a concussion and that I broke at least two of my fingers. I never went to the hospital. Those two fingers are crooked to this day, and hurt when I bend them and when the weather is bad.

I arrived in Buffalo, and at first everything was fine. Garrett had told me that his grandparents were aware that Thanksgiving had been a deeply unpleasant experience. I felt relieved and ready to move on, and so I did--for about a day.

Garrett's sister and Robbie were not at Christmas that year, and that was the only reason why I felt comfortable going. And, as things had not gone well at Thanksgiving, I felt like I wouldn't have to worry too much about hearing about them. Again, I was wrong.

His sister and Robbie kept having car troubles and financial troubles on the way up to visit his family in Georgia. Obviously the blow by blow of their misadventures became a topic of frequent discussion. This was an annoyance, but one I could deal with. But something made me snap that Christmas, and I don't even know why.

On Christmas morning, one of Garrett's Grandparents showed everyone a picture of Garrett's sister and Robbie in the matching pajamas they had bought for them. His family made a series of comments to the effect of, "Look at how cute they are in the matching pajamas we sent them!" and "Look at how happy she is! Look at how happy Robbie makes her! They are such a cute couple!!!"

In my state of abject misery following recent events, I felt greatly offended by the fact that everyone was glossing over the immense amount of stress and conflict Robbie's actions had generated in our own home and in our own marriage. I was offended by the hatefulness he had brought into our house, and the abusive comments and abusive attitude he had directed towards me. It offended me how he was still portrayed to the family as some sort of good guy that had really turned things around for Garrett's sister. Fuck that. Although I didn't say anything at the time, I had reached my last straw.

Later in the night, Garrett and I stayed up all night arguing. Eight or more hours straight. It was redundant, it was the same argument we had been having for over a month, and the solution was still the same: he would say and do nothing. I was done. Done. I saw myself going down a dark path, and I needed to leave to be OK. So I did. I left his grandparents house in the middle of the night and went to a hotel. My husband went back to his family. I stayed alone in the hotel drinking and crying--so angry with myself for getting into such a mess with my life. And then I started thinking about it--I had thought about it before at Christmas, and this time seemed as good as any: suicide. I could see no way out of my misery. I hated myself for putting myself in such a position (again). I hated being alone--I had felt very alone for months at that point. I was depressed, exasperated, and unprepared to deal with the circumstances in which I found myself. I was also too drunk to come up with a solid plan, but I began to call people and let them know that I felt backed into a corner and didn't know how to get out. As I talked to people, I began to feel like I was burdensome to them, and they would be better off without me. I felt like a failure; a fool. I had actually thought I could have a nice, normal life and a happy marriage and family. I was wrong. And I was stupid to think that something like that was even possible for someone like me.

Eventually, my husband came to the hotel. We flew back to Florida early. I didn't think it was even possible, but Christmas had gone even worse than Thanksgiving.

Stop Being Weird, Liz/Be Productive, Liz

Stop Being Weird, Liz (i.e. Stop Googling the History of Ron Howard's Family)

This morning it dawned on me that I've been a little weird the last couple of days. The decent into weirdness was quite gradual, and I only hit my rock bottom when I woke up and started googling stupid shit again--and by stupid shit, I mean stupid, random nonsense that no one really needs to know about.

I feel like this started last Wednesday before I went to mediation for my divorce. I got dropped off at the courthouse three and a half hours before the meeting. This was unfortunate because I had a little too much time on my hands to think about what was actually happening. Free time and thinking are generally not the best for my psycho-social stability. First, I sat down at a diner and tried to do step work for my recovery. However, that quickly got way too deep and a little too boring for the morning of the mediation for my divorce. Then, I started texting everyone I knew saying whatever random nonsense was crossing my mind at that moment. That kept me occupied for about an hour. Finally, I bought and consumed an energy drink, and quickly devolved into repeatedly asking online tarot cards and computer oracles what was going to happen at mediation (Yes, I actually did that).

By the time my lawyer finally arrived, I was crashing off of my energy drink and more or less had deteriorated into Gollum from Lord of the Rings. But rather than "precious" being a powerful ring that held mysterious and magical powers, "precious" became any and every free online fortune telling device on my iPhone. Which, in my opinion, made me way creepier and weirder than Gollum ever was about that ring. I had a seriously crazed look about me as well. Not one of my finest moments.

Soon after, we went into mediation and it seemed like everything was going to be easy breezy. I actually wondered why I had got myself so worked up over it all! Within the first five minutes, my husband's lawyer "accidentally" got my DUI confused with a domestic violence charge. Yeah, because those two offences are so much a like--easy mistake. I'm a buck 10 soaking wet, domestic violence? How did she even come up with that? And how is that in any way comparable to DUI? I immediately burst into tears, and we had to be separated into different rooms. Next, my husband tried to say that there was no equity in the house and that neither of us had any assets. Mediation ended right after that. We spent a grand total of 20 minutes in mediation, and decided it wasn't working out. So, I waited three and a half hours for a 20 minute meeting and spent an hour and a half (or more) asking online fortune telling devices what would be happening during those 20 minutes. None of them predicted that debacle. What a surprise.

I was later informed that it could take up to a year to go to court for the divorce, so I would remain married for the foreseeable future. This was disappointing because I was hoping to take a post-divorce vacation to Ireland this fall in an attempt to meet a hot Irish guy to ease my pain. Damn it.

I had to work long hours four out of the five days after mediation, so I didn't get much of a chance to process it. On my one day off, I let my roommate, Jake, convince me to send a "suggestive" picture to the Italian guy I've been ogling for the last two months. Good life choice, Liz. Please, continue to seek relationship advice from a 25-year old single dude that has gone on more dates this week than you have this entire decade. I'm sure that guy knows EXACTLY how to reel them in. I mean, I've only dated two guys in the last ten years...what do I know? It turns out that I know A LOT. I know a fucking lot! And, in the future, I am going to trust experience won by my AGE and LIFE EXPERIENCE rather than listen to a millennial. It was, however, fun to "live on the edge" for a minute--I'll give it that.

So, acting like a 25 year old millennial towards a grown man with several children didn't work out according to plan. I wonder why. Luckily, I had to work the next day, so I didn't initially overthink it.

Weirdo in the middle

That being said, Tuesday came along and I found myself with three days off in a row. Thus, I was surrounded by my two worst enemies: FREE TIME and THINKING.

On day first day, I read as much of Florida divorce law and case law as possible. When I came to the conclusion that what I read was basically what my lawyer told me (and therefore he knew how to do his job), I became disinterested and decided to focus on the other blunder of that week: the text to the Italian.

I had not received much of a response from him, so I immediately considered every horrible possibility that might have happened. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that he was probably dead and started crying. I mean, that is the next logical conclusion, right? He hasn't texted me in 48 hours, so clearly he's dead. Children at home? Business to run? Break-up to deal with? Those seem a little too plausible if you know what I mean--and let's face it: none of those reasons have anything to do with me, so it doesn't even make sense.

Eventually Jake convinced me that I was being irrational, and he probably got back together with his ex or simply didn't like me. That made me cry even more. When I got back home, I finally decided enough is enough: my face is puffy and my nose is red! I'll just gracefully exit this situation without making any more of a scene than I already have, and refocus my energies on my dog, the potential hot Irish guy that I would eventually meet when I got divorced and took a trip to Ireland, and accept that I would probably be an old spinster-- the dog version of a cat lady. I also decided to write to my friend in England to confirm a backup plan to my backup plan.

Well, now that that was all taken care of, I should be fine, right? Nope. Of course not. In lieu of obsessing about my divorce or humiliating debacle with the Italian guy, I decided to watch every movie I could find on nuclear war. Then I googled all sorts of facts related to nuclear war. Then I wondered if I just got myself put on a watch list because of the content of what I was googling. Then I decided I was already on some sort of watch list because I had googled the same nonsense many times before. My ex actually made me a nuclear weapons blast calculator for my birthday one year. It was one of the most thoughtful, memorable gifts I've ever received. I still have it in case I have to calculate the size of a bomb against my distance from it. Always good to have, just in case.

Soviet weapons Whiz Wheel and nuclear blast calculator!

After I decided my nuclear war obsession was a bit morose, I decided to watch the last season of Arrested Development to cheer myself up. While this initially did the trick, it eventually deteriorated into reading the entire history of Ron Howard's extended family in order to see whether or not it matched up with the plot line of Arrested Development. Very informative, but I remain unsure about the application of such information in my future en devours.

After seeing the total and utter psychological deterioration and demoralization I had suffered as the result of my days off (including the day that I sent the text under Jake's advisement), I decided to call my sponsor, go to a meeting, tell on myself, and do something remotely productive before I went to work today. And this is what I did!!! Ta DAAAAAA!!!! Thank God new episodes of BoJack horseman just came out!

Thanksgiving, The White Supremacist and the Last Straw

Thanksgiving

It had been a difficult year: the felony strangulation investigation against my ex, the stress of the wedding planning, the wedding, the move to Florida, buying our first home, and the miscarriage. A lot was going on, and I think it is fair to say that I didn't handle it all that well--and that is if you consider slipping into full-blown alcoholism "handling" it.

Roughly a month after the miscarriage, we invited my husband's sister and her boyfriend up to Orlando for Thanksgiving. The month since the miscarriage had been stressful and depressing for both my husband and myself. And I can't speak for my husband, but I looking forward to some reprieve from the isolation and melancholia that had become almost oppressive in the weeks following the loss.

We had reason to be excited that Thanksgiving because we had bought our first home less than a month before, and it would be the first time we had guests or family members over to our new home. In our excitement, we went all out in preparation for their arrival: we spent several days cooking and cleaning, spent several hundred dollars on groceries and niceties for their stay, and even went so far as to put a bottle of champagne and expensive pastries in their room. We were excited to share our new home with others, and truly looking forward to some respite from our troubles.

That did not happen...instead, we had a four day onslaught of white supremacist views from Robbie, the significant other of my sister-in-law.

The White Supremacist 

I can't even begin to describe the level of hatefulness and aggression that came out of Robbie's mouth that holiday weekend. I've never heard anything like that before or since. To put it plainly, Robbie hates everyone that is not white, male, and Christian. Moreover, he will force his views on you whether you want to hear them or not. Being that he was a guest in our home, he literally had a captive audience, and for him, Thanksgiving was clearly an optimal time to unleash is fanatical and controversial world views upon those who had no desire to hear them. I literally felt like a hostage in my own home. I definitely considered bailing on my husband for the rest of the weekend and going to my parents place on the coast.  

Personally, I find this kind of behavior a little hostile and abusive. It clearly made me uncomfortable, I stated that it made me uncomfortable, I stated that I did not agree, but he never stopped. In fact, he specifically directed his racist comments at me after I had expressed the fact that I felt uncomfortable and disagreed with his views. Most people, when seeing that I'm uncomfortable with what they are saying, are respectful enough to back off and understand that my views are different than their own. The reason that whole situation felt abusive is because, after expressing that I felt uncomfortable, Robbie actually increased the frequency and level of offensiveness of his comments.My husband had addressed his sister regarding the issue, his sister had addressed him regarding the issue, but he didn't stop. In fact, he escalated.

 Moreover, instead of making general comments to the group, he specifically started to address them towards myself directly. And after expressing my uncomfortably, he specifically told me (and his girlfriend) to "put a tampon up your pussy and cry while you watch Oprah."

I had just married, miscarried and bought my first home, I was overwhelmed and still a bit unstable after all of the stress in the months prior. We had just moved to Oviedo. I didn't even know my way around, never mind know where to go, who to talk to, or what to do. I ended up calling friends and family out of state, and honestly, no one really knew what to do because no one could recall ever being in a comparable situation.

I made it pretty clear I had no interest in listening to is bullshit. But why would my comfort matter to him? He is a guest in my home, and my husband and I offered him and his girlfriend our warmest welcome with the utmost thought and consideration for them? But why would our feelings or comfort matter??? After all, I am a woman, so I can pretty much go fuck myself because I'm not equal and he is entitled to treat me any way he wants. 

It is totally normal to make a person feel uncomfortable in their own home, right?

Robbie said so much hateful stuff, I can't even remember it all. But, to give the reader some idea, here are a few choice comments that I remember:

"Those s**d n*****rs and Jews are always causing our country problems. We should just a-bomb the whole middle east and that'll solve it."

"Mexicans (Latinos) are ruining our country and stealing our jobs. We need to deport those fuckers so white people can work."

But among the most confusing and astounding things he said was, "Come on now, honestly, honestly, don't you believe, on some level, that you are better than other people because you are white?" Um, No, Robbie. There are a hell of a lot of people out there from all variety of races and religions that are doing substantially better for themselves than I'll ever do. That doesn't even make sense. I'm sorry, but how dumb can you be? In what degree of denial do you have to immerse yourself to be able to believe that is even remotely true?

The Last Straw

Frankly, I've been through enough in my life. I am not interested in inviting verbal abuse and hatefulness into my home. Moreover, there is no way I would feel safe starting a family in a situation where every holiday would put me in circumstances where I felt uncomfortable, disrespected, and generally stressed out. Nor would I want to have children around that level of hatefulness or aggression. It is not normal, and it should not be treated as such.

At some point, I started to feel like I was in crazy land around his family. I was the only one who would even seem to acknowledge what happened (other than his father), or express any concern about the implications of what had happened. My husband kept trying to ignore it, his sister kept trying to ignore it, and the general message I received from his family was to ignore it and pretend like there was no problem. No. Not going to happen. His views and behavior were extreme and I'm not going to pretend like nothing is going on. Racism is a deal breaker for me. So is verbal abuse--or, for that matter, abuse of any kind. I made that very clear to my husband, and he told me he understood. Still, he did nothing about it. He promised to say something when the "time was right"...but as the weeks passed, it was beginning to become clear that the time was never going to be right.

My husband never had a conversation with Robbie, his sister, or his parents about the events that had transpired. In retrospect, I can't entirely blame him. The first time he had called to tell his Mom about the events that occurred on our way to Key West, she shut him down and dismissed his concerns. So why would he bother trying a second time? Also, my husband is uncomfortable with conflict, so he will avoid it at all costs. Because conflict, verbal abuse, and a generally abusive stance are all fine--as long as they are directed at his wife and not him.

I felt like I didn't matter to my husband--or to anyone else in his family. The interpretation of events that I internalized were that it was not only OK for my husband's family to act out towards me in a hostile manner, it was OK for their significant others to do that as well. Does that mean it would be OK for them to do that to and around any children we would have?

Robbie left that Sunday, but the conflict he brought into our home and into my relationship with my husband and his family remained. He still has there full love and support, I on the other hand, do not.

And well, saying or doing nothing in response to statements like that??? Why??? Unless...if you catch my drift...

And I thought marriage was about being on the same team--supporting each other, sticking up for each other, having a united front. Unfortunately, it became pretty clear that that wasn't happening in our marriage.

My husband promised me he would address the delicate situation with his family, buttttttt.......