In February 2002 I had an affair. Well, to qualify it, I was having an Internet affair for about a year before we actually met in person. Some folks don't consider the hanky panky which goes on over the Internet as "an affair". To be honest I'm not sure how to qualify it either.  I was waiting for my daughter to graduate from high school, and then I was going to leave my husband. So, although I did hide my Internet connection with this other man from him, I didn't think of the consequences.

 

A little history. Hubby and I have been married 24 years. That is the only time in that period of our marriage that I did something like this. It is not like I habitually have affairs.

 

Hubby found out in Feb of 2003. I guess I'm not the subversive type. I took a video tape of the event. There was no sexual intercourse involved. Hard to explain what it was all about, but it was incriminating enough.

 

My husband has had major self esteem issues from the beginning of our marriage due to the way he was raised by his parents. His father was an ass, and his step-father was a worse ass. When he saw the digital video on my computer, he freaked. We went to marriage counseling for eight weeks. I immediately cut all ties with the other guy. (I'd been seeing him less and less on line, and had made up my mind to cut it off anyway.)

 

So now it is nearly two years later since Hubby found out.

 

I don't want to downplay what I did. I feel a great deal of remorse for causing him pain. I feel stupid for getting involved with the other guy. I could blather on and on to that end, but only I know how I feel about it, so describing my remorse is kind of stupid.

 

During the time I was seeing this guy online, Hubby and I were going through major stress with our respective extended families. His way of dealing with stress is to be emotionally abusive. My reaction to the abuse was to take up with someone else to feel better. I know it was wrong, not only because it hurt Hubby, but also because I realize now I need to feel better about myself because IIIIIIII respect me!

 

About once a week, hubby goes into this funk. He goes over the same territory again and again. He can't believe I did that. He was trying so hard. I did everything wrong. He just can't believe I would do that to him. I've pointed out that he wasn't the sweet smelling rose he claims to be. He simply can't believe that about himself. He cannot admit he is or ever was lacking.

 

I asked him tonight if he intended on rubbing my face in my mistake the rest of my life. I'm not putting up with it. I've apologized. I've begged for forgiveness. I've begged him to move forward. I've done everything I can think of to assure him I love him and want to make our marriage strong. I've begged for marriage counseling.

 

The thing I can't understand is why it is so easy for him to find fault in others (he is SOOOO quick to point out the faults of others, not just me, and it makes others uncomfortable) yet he is incapable of admitting he should take part of the blame for the meltdown of our marriage 3 years ago.

 

I didn't realize he was mentally abusive until I went to counseling for depression. The good thing is that I've figured out how to defend myself against his attacks. The bad thing is that he isn't getting better. Sometimes when he is in a funk, he sort of scares me. It is like I'm looking at someone I don't know. On of my online female friends, who is also friends with him is afraid physically for me. I've talked about leaving him. She thinks he will try to hurt me if I do.

 

I'm at a loss. I told him tonight that he is mentally ill. I told him that he is stuck in the past, and isn't willing to move forward. He comes up with these off the wall scenarios about what he thinks happened, for example... the other guy and I got together and dissed him. I told him he is coming up with lies and believing them. It fuels the fire. I told him I want to move forward. I keep asking him what about now? How does he feel about our marriage now? He accused me of trying to cover everything over, make the past go away. If I wanted to cover everything over, why would I want to go to marriage counseling?!? I told him that I can't keep living like this. I told him if he was going to continue this rut, I was going to leave.

 

The strange thing is, he has this selective memory recently. I mean seriously, he scares me. He may remember I said it. He may not. He may remember portions of our conversation. I'm not sure.

 

I guess where I am at now is this. My husband can be a great person. We enjoy camping together. We enjoy many things together. I feel guilty for wanting to divorce him. You take this vow, you know? Maybe I'm taking it more seriously than I did before. But should it be my penance to put up with his bizarre behavior? What is in sickness and in health, when one is mentally abusing (or trying to abuse) another? Like I said, I've learned to deflect his garbage, but that doesn't make it any less stressful or wearying. Out of a week's time, we probably get two nights full sleep. He wakes up, then starts to tell me he had a bad dream (regarding the video), or he is so sad. Sometimes he doesn't say anything, he just tosses restlessly.

 

I've tried sleeping in the spare room. He comes in the middle of the night to get me.

 

I guess I have one of two options. Either see a counselor by myself, or see an attorney. Neither prospect seems palatable. I don't want to go back to the same counselor, and how exactly does one pick an attorney?

 

About 9 years ago I asked my husband for a firepot for my birthday. For those that do not know what a firepot is, another name it goes by is chiminea. It is basically a clay fire place for the outdoors.

When we went looking for said firepot, they weren't as popular as they are now.  We ended up with one that the leaf design embedded on the front of it is slightly off kilter.  I didn't let that stop me from getting it.  I am not so much into asthetics as I am into functionality. 

By the way, as I write, the firepot is blazing outside. 

I think my husband thought I was a little wacky when I requested the firepot.  After all, this was something new.  None of our friends had one.  Still, he indulged me because I insisted.  We went all over creation looking for the perfect firepot.  Actually I found the perfect firepot.  It was $400.  The one we bought was $99.  Huge difference, considering our financial status 9 years ago. 

Anyway, we get this thing home and the first thing we read from the instructions which came with it is that a firepot has to be cured.  In other words, don't build a huge fire in it, or it will crack. 

Don't build a fire in it when it is wet, or it will crack. 

This was like a baby.  Good grief!

We were so careful.  Whenever a hurricane came around we made sure to lay it down for fear it would be toppled. 

Actually the toppling fear was mine.  My husband, who is majorly anal rententive and has anxiety issues, thought it would go through our window.  A possibility maybe, but highly unlikely. 

We were also warned NEVER to put in those pre-fab logs that you buy at the grocery store.  They cook too hot, and you end up with a cracked-pot.  So, 9 years later we are putting those pre-fabbed logs in.  It seems that our firepot is well seasoned. 

The clay withstood the test of time.  The heat made it a better vessel. 

So it is for us.  We go through hard times.  Hard times make or break us. 

I like the fact that the firepot has made it this far.  I think there is not much we can do to it, to abuse it that it would break.  I don't want to break my firepot.  It is like an old friend now.  So many things have happened around that fire.  So many words have been spoken.  So many hurts have been healed.  So many wounds have been opened, shut, and opened again. 

I want to be the firepot.  Hard.  Seasoned.  Uneasy to break.  And yet, through all of the abuses, the firepot still has it's yawning mouth opened to take in more. 

You can be seasoned and yet still be open. 

 

P.S. The photo I posted last night was not our firepot. The one posted now is. The dog in the photo is Buster, from my first list of tens post.

I attended a family reunion of sorts this week-end. My mom, dad, sister, brother, and their spouses all met in mid Florida for a week-end of camping with my husband, children and I. The majority of folks I work with or hang with don't get the camping thing. They'd prefer a luxurious hotel, or a cruise ship to the getting back to nature scene.

My first camping experience was when I was three months old. Obviously I don't remember it, but camping is something I grew up with. Besides family camping, both my mom and dad were scout leaders. Some of my best memories growing up were on Boy Scout trips with my dad's troop. I jokingly tell people I was a Boy Scout. I was sort of a tom-boy growing up, and definitely enjoyed hanging out with boys as opposed to girls. Boys do fun stuff like climb trees, build dams across a river with rocks, pick up and examine toads.

Anyway, back to the camping thing.

Throughout my life, I've tent camped, pop-up camped, and trailer camped. Because Hubby and I had our children so early in our marriage, the only way we could afford vacations was to go camping. We have taken the kids to the Outer Banks, Cumberland Falls in Kentucky, Cades Cover, Jekyll Island in Georgia, Several campgrounds in North Carolina, most in the Smokeys, and also several in our home state of Florida. In 1997 my father rented a motor home in the Netherlands and my mom, dad, sister, nephew, daughter and I camped through out the Netherlands, Germany, and Austria. It was absolutely awesome. The beauty of camping as opposed to staying in a hotel, was that we got to meet so many local people. Camping is quite popular in Europe.

Anyway, I guess I'm waxing philosophical lately and have been thinking alot about this camping thing.

Hubby and I purchased a travel trailer last November, and vowed to spend at least one week-end a month away. That in itself has been good and bad. We are spending more time together, but we are also going through a difficult time in our marriage (long story) so sometimes a forced togetherness isn't always good.

I do enjoy nature. I'm sort of weird that way, I guess. I'm not squeamish about bugs, or reptiles, or wild animals. But, I'm not certain that is why I enjoy camping.

I think it has more to do with getting away from the rut of day to day life. We do have a T.V. in our camper but seldom watch it. Every morning on camping trips I cook breakfast, something I seldom do at home. It is sort of therapeutic. Then of course there is the getting to see things you don't always get to see. I love waterfalls. I read recently that tumbling water ozonates the air, which gives the viewer a sense of peace. That is why walking on the beach is so relaxing.

This particular week-end though, I discovered something else. The whole family getting together had a nostalgic aspect. My kids are grown now. My son brought his girlfriend, and slept in his own tent. My daughter, who has been busy with college, boyfriend and a social life came camping with us as well. We hadn't done a family camping reunion in a long time, and I think both kids realized how much they enjoy camping, but not just that, the socialization of being with family in that atmosphere. What is kind of neat is that because we are all seasoned campers, we tend to do work with each other in tandem. For example, my sister and her husband forgot tea bags and cocoa mix. We had it, we shared it, and also shared conversation over it.

We decided to have Thanksgiving on this camping trip since we were all together. It was fun cooking, everyone bringing something to the table, but even more fun to do it in the camping setting. It never felt stressful, like Thanksgiving can sometimes be. I mean, if you think about it, it's not like you have to clean the house to have guests over. I also love sitting around a campfire, cooking marshmallows or smores or whatever. I love the togetherness.

I guess what I've learned from camping is that it forces people out of their daily rut and makes them socialize.

I was driving back to work from lunch today considering my strange marriage.

 

I've been married 24 years. I got married at 19 and had a baby before I was 20, not by coincidence.

 

The first few years were rough. My husband did not want to be married. He felt hemmed in. He had several "affairs" before and after we were married. In fact the week before we were to be wed, we were having sex and I noticed sand in his bed. He said he'd had sex with a tourist on the beach. We live near the Gulf of Mexico.

 

My relationship with him has always been turbulent.

 

My growing up life was relatively normal. Relative because there is no way to describe normal.  I've never heard of a person who doesn't live in a dysfunctional family to some degree or another.  I always thought my sisters were relatively normal until we had to "Baker Act" my dad.  In Florida, that means my mom and I went to the county courthouse and filled out paperwork to have my dad committed to the nut ward in the local hospital because he was threatening her with bodily harm and suicide. 

 

That is what I mean by relatively normal.  I grew up in a family with no divorce.  We went to church every Sunday.  Mom stayed at home.  Mom and Dad were both scout leaders, active as volunteers in church.  Dad had been the city manager in the town where we lived.  Us kids were good students... relatively. 

 

So I meet this guy when I'm 15, fall head over heels in love, as much as a 15 year old can.  Have this turbulent relationship through out high school.  End up marrying him.  Have a kid our first year of marriage. 

 

His family was completely opposite of ours.  Although we grew up in the same upscale beach community, his was a broken family with whole siblings, half siblings, and step siblings.  Hubby was what I like to call a Creaster.  His family went to church on Christmas and Easter.  His two step sisters grew up in a nudist colony and were smoking pot by the time they were 10 years old.  Hubby's mom used to supply us with pot when we were dating.

 

So, to the point. 

 

I'm not dissing hubby's family.  Well, I take that back.  His dad and step dad were/are a blight on this earth, which in part has made him who he is.

 

Because he lived such a soap operatic life, it is something he has never been able to shake. 

 

No matter how good our life is at the moment, Hubby always has to look at the dark side.  He is afraid if he gets to feeling too good about where we are at, something will go wrong. In fact, I think sometimes he forces things to go wrong. 

 

For example, if our car insurance payment is one day late, we get an electronic call from the insurance company informing us our payment is late.  Hubby freaks.  The house is in trauma.  He runs around like a chicken with his head cut off tossing papers aside looking for the bill, looking for the check book, etc.  I used to feed into this and get upset, too.

 

The other thing is that no matter how hard I try to be the perfect wife to him, I can never achieve his standard.  Every single day of my life he finds fault with me whether it is a big thing or a little thing.  For a long time I thought something was wrong with me.  Why could I never make him happy?  Why was our life in constant upheaval, never on an even keel?

 

Then I began to realize I rarely find fault with him.  Let me revise that statement.  It drives me crazy when he uses every pan in the house to cook dinner.  You see, I cook, I clean.  He cooks, I clean.  I hate how he hums when he is working on projects.  I hate when he leaves the toilet seat up.  I hate that I can never watch the television programs I want to watch. 

 

In the scheme of things, I consider these complaints minor.  If hubby gambled, or was still having affairs, or was addicted to drugs, or addicted to expensive, fast cars, I might take issue. 

 

Hubby is a good man.  He has a good job, with a killer retirement.  We have a nice home, live five minutes from the beach, have raised our kids in the best school zone in our county.  Our son (23) just recently started teaching at the local naval academy.  Our daughter is in her first year of college.  We have a relatively new camper and have been indulging in our passion of traveling.  We both have good vehicles, one paid for. 

 

So I've been pondering why it is that he finds fault with life all the time.  This fault finding injects constant turmoil into our lives.  After a long period of depression, I finally went to counseling.  I learned how to stick up for myself.  Basically now I just tell him to shut up.  I mean literally I tell him to shut up, because subtlety does not work.

 

So he has turned his fault finding on our daughter.

 

I've mentioned to him on several occasions that I want our lives to be peaceful.  I asked him if he thought other people lived like us, always in turmoil. 

 

I've asked him to get counseling. 

 

I honestly believe that despite the fact I sacrificed my career to raise my kids, and make half of what he makes annually, I'd be happier without him.  I'd rather live a simple life, then be berated every day.  Often he wakes me up at 6:00 AM, complaining about something. 

 

If I were a terrible wife, I'd understand.  I've been a good wife to him and a good mother to our children.  I don't gamble, I don't do drugs.  I've volunteered in the community.  I took care of his ailing grandmother, invited her into our home.  I really can't figure out why he has made it his life's mission to complain.

 

To sum it up, nothing I do is ever good enough. 

 

I think subconsciously he couldn't handle a bucolic life.  He likes the drama.  He thrives on the adrenaline of things not being right.

 

Okay, no more lists of ten.  Now I get down into the nitty gritty. 

 

As I was pouring myself a cup of coffee today at work, I was thinking about the authority figures in my life.  This is precipitated by the fact that I work in an office where I am the assistant to two men, but also fall under the management of the office manager, who is also my supervisor.  So, in effect, I have three direct supervisors. 

 

The office manager is pretty much clueless regarding my job and what I do, and I think that makes her kind of nervous.  The fact that she pretty much doesn't know any of the support staff's jobs makes her nervous, and also causes her at times to lash out. 

 

But this post is not about her.  It is about authority figures in my life over time.

 

I guess I don't cotton to authority figures much.  I've pretty much always wanted to do what I want to do when I want to do it, within reason. 

 

I've raised two children to adulthood, and always their needs came before mine.  I wanted to raise two children who would be productive members of society.  It was important to me.  So often I put aside my wants and desires to reach that goal. 

 

That is the reasonable side.

 

The unreasonable side is the part of me that rebeled against MY parents at every turn.  If it suited me to behave in the manner they wanted me to behave in, then all was well.  If it didn't suit me, I used subterfuge.  Basically that means I lied ... alot! 

 

Okay, in my little, child-like pea brain, this was my reasoning for lying.  I wanted something or to do something.  I wasn't allowed.  I didn't understand why I couldn't do it or have it.  The price for being caught was being spanked.  So it only stands to reason that if I wanted a particular thing, and was forbidden, then I would get that thing however I could and lie if I got caught. 

 

The other early authority figures in my life were school teachers and spiritual leaders at church. 

 

I never lied to my teachers.  I don't know why.  I guess it is because I had my parents figured out, but my teachers I never quite got a handle on. 

 

On the other hand, when I was going through confirmation...  a right of passage in the protestant church... our minister told our confirmation class to memorize the 23 Psalm, the Ten Commandments, and other stupid stuff.  I memorized some of it.  When my pastor asked me if I memorized other stuff, I lied.  I'm not sure if he beleived me or not, but you see, there was something I wanted.  If you passed confirmation class, you were allowed to take communion. 

 

As a young child, I always felt left out because I couldn't take communion.  Why it was so important to me, I don't know.  But I also know that memorizing verses from the Bible seemed ridiculous to me.  So the patch was to lie to get what I wanted.

 

Obviously at some point in your life you learn you can't lie.  What is that old saying?  What a tangled web we weave....?

 

The next authority figures would be my bosses at work.  My first line of business was babysitting.  The parents of the kids I babysat loved me, and I was highly sought after. 

 

My first "real" job was at a place called TG&Y... a dime store for a lack of a better term.  I hated working there, and after about six months I applied for a job next door at a movie theater. 

 

Personally, I loved that job.  One day, during a matinee movie, lightning blew out the electricity.  100 people came looking for a refund for their movie ticket.  Because I was handing out refunds too slowly, my boss shoved me out of the way and started handing out refunds.  Unfortunately, he handed out the refunds at the regular ticket price, as opposed to the matinee price, a difference of 50 cents.  So, at the end of the day, we were $50 short.  I got blamed and fired.

 

I think this is my first experience with a bad boss.

 

The next place I worked was a grocery store.  To be honest, the management there was pretty good.  I hated working there.  I was fired from the job after about a year for not showing up for work. 

 

The next job was at a T-shirt shop on the vacation spot barrier island where I grew up.  That job lasted 7 years.  That job lasted 7 years.  Eventually I was promoted to "manager" (that meant working all the week-ends and nights because someone responsible had to be there). 

 

I discovered my counter-part, a male, who worked at a surf shop down the road was being paid more than me as a manager.  When I asked the owner of the shop why, he said I had a husband at home who was taking care of me.  What I could not tell the owner was that my counter-part was gay and had a "husband" at home taking care of him, too.

 

Next, I went into in-home day care after my second child was born.  From there I took care of my grandmother until she passed away, and then I got a job as a secretary at my church. 

 

That went along fine until the pastor I worked for made a pass at me, started having an affair with a widow woman and left the ministry. 

 

Next I worked for an attorney.  It took two years and a 25 cent raise later to realize I was in the wrong place, even though I kept the office running by maintaining the server, something I was never trained to do, but learned on my own.  Oh yeah, and then there was the time I went in to deliver a message to the attorney and she threw a phone at me.  I think that's when I decided it was time to move on.

 

Next I started working for a home care pharmacy.  I started as a filer and within a year moved up in the ranks to the accounts payable manager.  I was at that job for five years, which finally ended when a new CFO was hired and began sexually harassing the employees.  I blew the whistle, he got fired, I quit. 

 

I took two years off of work after that, then took a position as office manager of a Presbyterian church.  This was right after 9-11.  What I did not know is that the pastor who hired me was a reservist for the army.  He was called up to service about six months after I was hired.  300 parishioners suddenly thought they were my boss.  My boss, the pastor, kept assuring me the army could not keep him more than a year.  Guess what.  They can and they did.

 

That brings me to my position as Assistant to the Worship Department at a large Baptist church. This also brings me back to my three bosses.

 

I was pouring coffee trying to figure out why I seem to have problems with authority figures. I really enjoy the two guys I work with, but the woman office manager is enept and an ass. Perhaps that is my issue. It is hard to respect someone when you know you know more than them. It is hard to respect someone when they cop an attitude which conveys they are so much smarter, and so much wiser, and so much better and you are scum beneath their feet. I'm not positive if this attitude stems back to my childhood when I wanted to do what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it. Or maybe I've been under so many crazy or enept bosses that my attitude has crept into my psychy.

 

 All I know is that I don't like being in the position of the bottom of the food chain. That is why I've gone back to college to finish my degree. I wonder if it will make a difference. I wonder if I'll still have enept asshole bosses.