Feeling Trapped is Not a Good Sign

So the more my husband improves, the more I'm starting to feel slightly trapped.  Isn't that weird?  But he is making great strides towards improvement.  The new medication regimen seems to finally be the correct one, and he is light years different than he has been in years.  He's helpful, and sensitive, and hardworking, his anger issues are much less (still present, but much less), he is far less whiny.  There are still times where he is SO convinced that his way of viewing a situation is the right one that it feels futile to try to make him see my point of view... but those times are fewer and farther between.  Mostly he listens to me and we compromise. He's fun, again.  I mean, we can have fun together again.  We laugh more.

Things are good.  Oh, it's far too early for me to trust that things are going to stay good... I still worry that he's only on his best behavior because he's afraid of losing me, but it truly does seem that with the right medication, he's back to being the person I married... even better than that.  But most days I am content.  And if I take things day by day, I think that my marriage just might survive.

But if I imagine the future, if I imagine our marriage ACTUALLY making it and going the distance... if I imagine actually being with this man for the REST OF MY LIFE... I start to panic.  What once seemed comforting and wonderful has begun to feel like a trap.

I don't want to lose Lee... but I don't want to be stuck with Lee either.  And I still feel stuck.  And I don't know what it will take to make me feel unstuck.  And it scares me.

And my instinct is still to give Lee what he needs.  And he's still so afraid that he's going to end up alone.  So I'm constantly reassuring him that that's not going to happen... that we're going to make it.

And the thing is, I think that might be true... and I'm still paralyzed... utterly unsure if that's actually what I WANT.  I don't want to make it by default... to end up together just because that's the status quo and it's harder to break the status quo.  And honestly... things are getting so much better that there isn't going to be a reason to pull the plug.  The desperation that might have given me the courage to pull the plug is fading, fading... and I want to stay because I want to stay, not because I was too lazy to leave.

And I DO want to stay.  I love this man with all my heart... I can't imagine life without him...

"The grass ain't always greener on the other side, it's green where you water it." (apologies for quoting a Justin Bieber song)

Well I'm watering my grass. It's getting greener... the grass on the other side still looks greener yet.

Help! Somebody Give Me a Sex Talk, Please!

So, I grew up in such a strictly Evangelical Christian home that I didn't get much in the way of sex ed. In fact, I was opted out of sex ed in health class. So my sex ed consisted of "don't do it until you get married" and "here are STD's you can (WILL) get if you do it" and "this is what the parts are called and this is what happens."

I remember, the first time I ever felt truly aroused, making out with Lee back when we were still dating... I was utterly surprised and shocked and completely unprepared for the sensation. Like, nobody had ever told me that girls get aroused like that.  I thought it was a guy thing.  I mean, I knew sex was supposed to feel good for girls, but I thought only guys got that physical HUNGER for it.

I've been married for 6 years. I've had a LOT of sex (not nearly as much as I would've liked to have had over the past 6 years, but quite a bit).  But when it comes to sex... I still feel a little lost and naive. Like, I understand how sex WORKS, obviously. I'm even pretty good at it.  But since I was raised to believe that there was no more emotional nuance to sex than "don't do it before you're married and once you're married do it as often as your husband wants whether you want to or not" I feel like there is a lot about sex that goes over my head.

And as I said recently, I recently cheated on my husband.  It's a bit more complicated than that, really. He asked me to sleep with another guy... arranged it actually... and then chickened out and asked me to stop. But I didn't want to stop and so I didn't.  But now I'm finding that I don't know how to handle what happened.

You see, sex with Lee has always been fraught with difficulties. I want it, he doesn't. We don't have it nearly often enough.  When we have it, he's been pretty selfish and clumsy and... not very good.

So I slept with Bobby. It was one night. And that one night has shaken me to my foundations and left me wondering what the hell my response is supposed to be.

You see, I read a lot of romance novels.  And a staple of romance stories is that when the hero kisses the heroine she becomes incoherent. Incapable of thought.  Only capable of feeling the sensations sweeping over her.  And even when sex is at its best with Lee (and it CAN be very, very good with Lee) I have never, ever felt that brain scrambling lack of thought.  I was okay with never feeling that.  I thought it was something that only happened in novels and wasn't something that happened in real life.  I mean, nobody sees ACTUAL fireworks.  I just figured that in real life people's brains don't just shut down.  Or maybe it happens to some people, but I'm just not wired that way.

And then... and then...

And then I was with Bobby. And I felt that.  That wit scrambling, utter incapability of doing anything other than feel the fiery sensations.  From the second he leaned over and kissed my neck the very first time... when we were still discussing whether or not it was a good idea to ACTUALLY go through with it and he gave me this little experimental smile and leaned over and kissed my neck and I... exploded.  My whole body reacted instantaneously in a way I never expected and was utterly unprepared for.  The chemistry was... insane.

So. Now what?

I'm not saying sex with Lee is bad, or even that it's worse than it was with Bobby.  I've had both better and worse experiences with Lee.  But with Lee, it's work.  Sex is work. And he hates that it's work and that's a big part of the reason why he wants to do it so seldomly.  And with Bobby it was just... effortless.

And Bobby has a girlfriend. And I will never get a chance to be with him again.  And I want to... because I want that feeling again. I am angry with him for not giving that to me again, even though I know he's under no obligation to do so.  And that feeling, it is like a drug.  I feel like I would pay any price... my marriage, my soul, just to have it ONE more time.  And, like all drugs, I know that if I get it one more time, the withdrawal will just be worse next time, and the price I'd be willing to pay would get higher. It's no good.

And the thing is, Lee is really trying to get better.  He's being less selfish... he's finally learning about how to please me.  But, on my end at least, a lot of the passion I once felt for him is just gone.  And, also, no amount of selflessness... no amount of improvement in technique is going to make the chemistry any better.

And I thought my chemistry with Lee was just fine until I experienced something different. And the thing is... sex with intimacy is better than sex with chemistry only... but is it too much to ask to have both?

But if I leave in search of someone I could have both with... I would be throwing so much away. Is sex really worth it?

And was the chemistry only there because it was new and exciting and the forbidden fruit?

Only I don't ever remember having chemistry THAT intense with Lee.  Intenser than it is now, certainly, back before our relationship started falling apart and sex became such a chore and everything got hard. But never that intense.

Passion can be revived, I believe that. If Lee and I fix the sludge in our marriage, we can revive the passion that was once there. But what if even that isn't enough for me anymore?

But how can I be selfish enough to hurt him to chase a rainbow? A dream that maybe can never be?

He's Still a Piece of Me

I've known my husband for 17 years. I'm only 24.  You do the math.

We were best friends, almost from the get-go. His mom used to babysit me.  We used to walk and talk for hours.  He talked me through every crush and every broken heart and I did the same for him.

I was in love with him, again from the time I knew what love was. He was always the one I wanted to grow up and marry.

He's so much a part of my life.  We are so entwined together.  One flesh, one heart... the way marriage is supposed to be.  Cut him, and I will bleed.  There's co-dependence and emotional controllingness and a whole shit ton of bad stuff that needs to be cleared out, but at the base of it, at the heart of it... he is a part of me. And I am a part of him.  Severing that would be the most painful thing of all.

It would be more painful for him than me.  I'm just saying.  It would hurt me like crazy, but I am more adaptable than he is. I am also much more dissatisfied with life the way it is now. I would be more okay than he would if we ended.

But...

Cut him, and I bleed.

The passion is gone right now.  I'm trying to figure out if there's still an ember or if it's a cold dead coal.  If there is an ember, there is hope.  There is hope that when the relationship gets back on track... and you know, it looks like its heading that way although it's way too early to get my hopes up... when we get all the nastiness figured out, the spark can be brought back to life.

Because mostly dead is slightly alive.  But all dead... there is nothing you can do with all dead.  And if the passion I once felt for him is all dead then... then... then I have to crush him.  I have to break his heart.  And it is no consolation to me that he brought it on himself.  It is no consolation to me that he is in fact the one who killed the passion.  Because if we fall apart... it will hurt me, but there's a part of me that also looks forward to a fresh start.  But it would utterly devastate him.

Cut him, and I bleed.

Now what?

When Cheesy Bad Poetry Is the Cure

There's a reason I stick to prose and never write poetry. The written word is hard to master, the rhythmic word even harder.  Poetry is extremely difficult to write and not end up sounding cheesy.

However, sometimes the best cure for a broken heart is indulging in the writing of a little cheesy bad poetry.  So with no further ado I give you this fine specimen.

It’s over now, and all that’s left

Is the fantasies and the memories

The what ifs and maybes and might have beens

And the ghost of your touch still on my skin.

I close my eyes and feel you on top of me again.

One single thought of you can take away my breath

Or leave me gasping for air, feeling the hole in my chest.

It gets smaller and larger as the days pass by

Pulsing, screaming, aching, leaving

Only to show up again when I least expect.

It would be easier to hate you, but I find that I can’t.

I want you too badly, too madly, sadly.

Maddeningly.

And how can this be the end?

When there was never a beginning?

And how can I let go?

When I’m only holding on to smoke?

Okay, So What Do I Want?

So in my last post I said I settled for less than the marriage I wanted, because my husband and I weren't mature enough to be married when we did.  So I'm trying to put together a proactive list of things I do want in a marriage, so that I'll know if and when I get it.

I want...

Why You Shouldn't Get Married at 18... and Why You Can't Tell an 18 Year Old That

I got married at the age of 18.  I knew all of the statistics... early marriages are more likely to end in divorce... your brain isn't fully matured until the age of 25... you don't know who you ARE yet at the age of 18, you're still trying on different identities.  And so on and so forth.

I made the decision to get married anyway.  After all, by the time I was 18, I'd already known and been close friends with my husband for TEN YEARS.  I'd already finished two years of college.  And I was dead certain that I knew exactly who I was, and that while some small things might change, my basic identity was already fixed.  Besides which, even if I changed, I was certain that the only thing required for a healthy marriage was commitment.  Sure, we'll grow and change, I thought, but we'll just make sure we grow TOGETHER and everything will be FINE.

This is why you can't tell 18 year olds anything.  They always think that they are the exception to the rule.  And since there always ARE some exceptions to the rule, you can never convince them otherwise.

By the way, this doesn't only apply to teenagers.  I think everyone, from 9 to 99, has the tendency to whine "but it's DIFFERENT with ME!!!"

Does What I Want Matter?

Today was actually a good day with my husband.  Those are rare lately, and that gives me all the more reason to treasure them.  But I also feel like I have to remember to be skeptical on days like today.  So often in the past I've been fooled by one good day or even a string of good days, fooled into believing that everything was going to be better now.  Then I get hit with the sledgehammer all over again, feeling like the bottom drops out of my world all over again.  Well, this time I'm staying firmly at the bottom, because it is at least solid ground.  I am going to climb, if I climb at all, very cautiously out, poking my head around and feeling my footing with every step to make sure it is solid.  I will not trust very easily.  But I'm an optimistic person, so that's hard for me.  I tend to believe good things easily and dismiss bad things easily.  It's just that the good I believe has so far always turned out to be insubstantial mist.  Enough rambling.

Tonight, I complimented my husband on what a good day we had.  He went to work. We worked together. We compromised. We cared for and took care of each other.  It was very mutual.  Mutuality is what we've lacked more than anything else in our relationship.  Usually it is him taking and me giving until I am bled dry.  So I complimented him on a good evening.  And he said something that really rubbed me the wrong way, but it isn't until now, several hours later, that I can articulate why.  He said "I have plans for my life. And they don't include losing you."  And I know he meant it in the sweetest way possible.  I have been begging him to fight for us, because I simply can't fight alone any more.  And he meant that he was fighting for us.  He needs to.  He needs to try, he needs to be better, because I simply can't live any longer in a marriage that is all about him and his needs.

But that's the problem.  He has plans for his life, and they don't include losing me.  Therefore, I am not allowed to choose differently.  What if he does everything right, and I still don't want to be with him?

How My Bipolar Husband Affects Our Daughter

Living with a bi polar husband is hard.  But at least I understand, to a degree, what’s going on.  He’s sick, and I have to not take it personally.  I can’t imagine how hard it is to live with a bi polar father.  And so far, I had hoped that my two and a half year old had been mostly oblivious to the struggles.  I mean, he has anger management issues due to his disease, and sometime he snaps angrily at her and makes her cry, but he always apologizes and so far it doesn't seem to affect her for more than a few minutes at a time.  I hate, hate, hate that he does this, and every time it makes me want to gather my baby girl in my arms and protect her.  Which sucks when he’s yelling at her about something she’s legitimately doing wrong, and I have to back him up when every instinct in me is screaming at me to comfort her.  All of this is a terrible dynamic, but I still had hopes that I had some time to make decisions, some time to allow him to continue working on himself, before it started really affecting Olivia.  Well, I didn't reckon on how perceptive and dang SMART my kid is.  She and I had a conversation this morning that made me realize that I am running out of time.

Good Christian Girl is Dead

I'm going through an identity crisis right now.  See, my identity has always been wrapped up in being the "Good Little Christian Girl."  And even though over the past few years I've been slowly changing my theology from the fundamentalist evangelical upbringing I had, my identity has still been wrapped up in being the "Good Little Christian Girl."  I just began defining it differently. I could still be GLCG and believe in feminism. In social justice. In universalism. In gay rights. In abortion rights. In evolution. In a non-inerrant Bible.  Even as all my GLCG beliefs eroded, I still clung to being GLCG.  That's who I was, and I couldn't imagine myself as anything different.  And really, GLCG was not a healthy identity for me any longer.  It wasn't even really who I was anymore, with all my changing beliefs.  But I couldn't let her go.

She had to die instead.  And I struck her a death blow.  See, I could change all my most important beliefs and still pretend I was GLCG.  I had to DO something, something GLCG would NEVER have considered doing in a million years.  And I did. I cheated on my husband.

God is NOT a dick!

So, this "cute" little story / allegory / whatever you want to call it showed up across my Facebook news feed today, shared by one of my friends.

I keep thinking about that story of the little girl with the fake pearls. A five-year-old girl bought her very own plastic pearl necklace with her very own money that she saved all year long. The little girl loved her pearls. They made her feel dressed up and grown up. The only time she took them off was when she went swimming or had a bubble bath. Her mother said if they got wet, they might turn her neck green. The pearls weren’t real but it didn’t matter to the little girl. She had bought them herself!The little girl had a very loving father. One day he said, “Sweetheart, do you love me?”“Oh yes, Daddy. You know that I love you.”“Then give me your pearls.”“Not my pearls! You can have my toy horse.”“That’s okay, Honey. Daddy loves you.” And he brushed her cheek with a kiss.About a week later, the little girl’s father asked again, “Do you love me?”“Daddy, you know I love you.”“Then give me your pearls.”“Not my pearls. You can have my baby doll.”“That’s okay. Daddy loves you.” And as always, he brushed her cheek with a gentle kiss.This happened over and over and the little girl wondered anxiously, “If he loves me, why does he want to take away something I love?”Eventually, the little girl nervously and teary eyed walked up to her father and held out her fake pearl necklace. “Here, Daddy. This is for you.”The father reached out with one hand to take the imitation pearl necklace and with the other hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue velvet case with a strand of genuine pearls and gave them to his daughter. He had had them all the time, but was waiting for her to give up what she had to give her something even better.I’ve been wondering lately if what I cling to and am so afraid of losing are actually fake pearls…and when the time comes when I’m willing to lay them down and give them up, then God will be able to do immeasurably more than I could ask or imagine. (Copied from Kathystock.com)

 And as I read the story, all I could think to say was... this dad is a DICK!  He's a JERK!  What a mean, cruel thing to do to your daughter!  He's playing games with her to make her "prove" that she loves him before he gives her this amazing gift he got her.  Also, why the hell can't she keep her plastic pearls and still have the real ones? Is there some law against having both?  The plastic pearls for every day, the real pearls for special occasions? Because, remember, she wears her fake pearls all the time and never takes them off.  You really think daddy dearest is gonna let her do that with real pearls?  A FIVE YEAR OLD???  I'm not sure a five year old is actually even going to see real pearls as a better gift than fake pearls.

But so many, many evangelicals have this view of God, that God is very like this father.  That God, in fact, is a dick, a jerk, a sociopath who makes us "prove" our love over and over and over before giving us blessings.  Oh, they'd never admit that, they'd never use those words... but that's the attitude they have towards God.  I know, because that's the attitude I had towards God.  I had to bend over backwards to please Him, never even knowing exactly where the mark was so I could hit it, and if I did one thing wrong he'd "discipline" me by allowing me to go through terrible trials, but if I got it all right, then he'd (maybe) give me blessings.

And one day, I woke up, and I said "if that is what God is like, then he's a bully and a tyrant.  Bullies and tyrants deserve to be opposed, not worshiped."  And I spent a year or so wrestling within myself, trying to decide if God was even real, and if he was, was he good.

God met me one day, where my soul was crying out, and reassured me that God is good, fully good, and fully loving.  That he loves me, that he wouldn't pull the kind of shenanigans described in the story.  I'm sorry, but if THAT is your God, I reject him wholeheartedly.  Fortunately, God is NOT a dick!  He's loving, and holy, and good, and he is absolutely not going to force me to prove my love to him through sadistic tests before he demonstrates his love in return.

“Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake?  If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him! Matthew 7:9-11

March Madness

It's time for March Madness, everybody!  Fill out your brackets, root for your favorite team, and get ready for a wild ride!!!!

Oh wait, not everybody is as basketball crazy as we are at my house?  You're forgiven.  I wasn't really basketball crazy either until I married Lee.  I had to learn to be basketball crazy in self defense.  Baseball crazy too, but I've got a couple weeks before the season starts.  Fortunately for me, it ends there.  Lee isn't really much of a football or hockey or soccer fan.

I've really been thinking about the way other people influence our own likes and dislikes, and particularly how that works when parents are the ones influencing their children.  So I'm breaking it down into the microcosm of sports.

So Apparently An Education Doesn't Really Last Forever

I’m dealing with some frustrations right now due to my husband’s student loans.  See, my husband graduated 3 years ago, and for the past 3 years, has looked for a job in his field. Unfortunately, his field is pastoring.  See, my husband got a degree in religion, which is 100% useless unless you want to be a pastor.  Which he does.  But for 3 years he’s worked a series of minimum wage jobs, trying to keep a roof over our heads while he hunts for a pastoring job.  Due to health concerns, he hasn’t even always managed to do that much.  I just graduated in August, so I’m able to pick up some of the slack now, but it was a tough three years.

During those three years, his student loan payments were beyond our reach.  We tried doing hardship deferments, income based payments, whatever, but somehow some paperwork slipped through the cracks and one of his loans ended up in default anyway.  So now that he’s finally come through the other side of his health issues, and is trying to pick up the pieces of the last few years, he’s trying to figure out what to do with his life.  Pretty much all of the options involve going back to school somehow.  So he’s been applying to different programs, just to explore his options and see what’s a good fit, and his college WON’T RELEASE HIS TRANSCRIPTS because his loan is in default.

The 2013 Oscars and Seth MacFarlane's "We Saw Your Boobs" Skit

Due to the fact that my husband is a huge Walking Dead fan, I didn't get to watch much of the Oscars last night.  Between the new episode of Walking Dead and the follow-up discussion show Talking Dead, the hours of 9 to 11 were already spoken for.  After that, I just went to bed, although I hear the Oscars lasted for like 3 and a half hours this year, so I guess I could have still watched a good chunk of it.  As it is, though, the only part of the Oscars I watched was Seth MacFarlane’s opening bit.  I watched it because I've become a bit of a Seth MacFarlane fan ever since he hosted SNL recently, and because the opening bit of the Oscars is always the best part (though if you ask me nothing will ever beat the year Hugh Jackman hosted.)

The point is I watched Seth MacFarlane’s opening monologue.  And I was uncomfortable, deeply uncomfortable, with his “We Saw Your Boobs” musical number.  But I couldn't quite put my finger on why.  It remained with me all day (not the least of reasons because it was so dang catchy).  Something bothered me.  Something upset me.  Something made me uncomfortable, and I was loathe to admit it.  After all, it was supposed to be funny.  It was a joke.  Supposedly those “reaction” shots of celebrities he mentioned were staged, faked for the sake of the joke inside the joke, the joke that the song that Seth MacFarlane sang was crass and unprofessional and “ruined” the Oscars.  (So Meta, right?)  But something made me go… that wasn't funny.  That crossed a line.  But I couldn't articulate, even to myself, why I felt it crossed a line, so I worried I was being too over-sensitive.  I checked the blogs I usually read.  When there’s an egregious display of sexism in pop culture, I can usually count on them to be all over it, to parse it, to explain to me what I was already feeling, deep down, but couldn't express.  But nobody seems to be talking about this one.  So I thought, and I thought, and I thought some more.  I started to feel like Winnie the Pooh when he thinks too hard.  And finally, I figured it out.

Seriously, How Is This The Government's Fault?

I believe I've mentioned that I work at a grocery store and frequently have to deal with people’s unpleasantness while I’m checking them out.  My absolute least favorite customer to deal with is the one who goes on a political rant.

As a side bar, why are the nut-jobs who go on political rants to unsuspecting check out workers always conservatives?  I’m not saying there are no ranting liberal nut-jobs out there… there totally are and I don’t like them any better than I like conservative ones, even if I’m more likely to agree with the spirit of what they’re saying, though not the content or the tone.  Yes, I lean liberal, and I’m not ashamed of it, but I feel it is important to admit my biases.  Okay, disclaimer over.