That's not so bad, right? Wife2's journey to understanding - and yes - triggers

[Wife#2]

I think I'm going to use this journal space to start understanding how I might also be C-PTSD. One half of a messed-up marriage with a C-PTSD man.

Here's the thing. I came to this site because my H is almost assuredly C-PTSD. We both recognize that. But, as I began researching to understand him and his issues and his coping style, I learned and I remembered. I remembered a lot. And that, my friends, is a BIG deal. I don't remember much about my childhood. I used to laugh and say that it was so uneventful as to be not worth the brain space. But, the more memories I DO have, the more it feels like it was blocking that was really going on.

And, since mine seems to be mostly neglect and abandonment, whereas H's is more direct abusive violence, I felt that maybe I'm just mirroring him because I am ?jealous? of his potential for diagnosis. But, at this site, everyone who suffered in childhood is welcomed and respected. The degree isn't the big deal. Heck, I was even welcomed as 'just the wife' of a C-PTSD survivor.

So, no, I don't think it's mirroring at all. I was the forgotten child. The one not worth noticing until I made a stink. Then, it was roll the eyes, Wife2 is being obnoxious again! But, the things that went on under the parental radar are what shaped me. Very little physical abuse. Mostly just wanting to fit in, to belong, to be worthy of attention, to matter!

Since I started exploring more, I'm remembering more of my childhood. Some memories are good, and I'll share them, too. But, more than I anticipated are pretty sad, pitiful and lonely.

In the way of a famous book whose name escapes me right now..... I am born. I am the seventh child of a couple who probably should never have been married in the first place (their story, though). During the pregnancy, Mom developed Preeclampsia. It was bad enough that, by the time I was born, she had to be hospitalized. After three days, I was released from the hospital, she had to remain for two or three more weeks. Dad was too busy with the other children and his job to take care of me. My first 'home' was with my godparents.

My godparents are good people who just wanted what was best for everyone. I do still care about these two, especially my godmother. She was happy to tell me about this time in my life, how she loved taking me home, how I slept through the night my first night home, and kept doing so - to her amazement. How I ate like a champ and thrived while under her care. But, she wasn't Mom. And I had to go home eventually.

Now, the dynamics of the pecking order do play a major part in my story. The oldest sister was 11 years older. Next sister was 9 years older. Next brother was 8 years older. Next sister was 5 years older. Next brother was 2 years older. Next sister was just 9 days shy of her first birthday when I was born. My parents were just shy of 30 when I was born. They were old before their time with all these children. Mom's body was about to give out. But the thing that impacted me most was the last sister.

Sally (made up name) was severely Autistic. She had no speech, though the 'parts' worked fine. She could barely see, though never got glasses. She wasn't hearing impaired until later in life - and that because of her love of very loud music. Our parents were told she'd probably be at the mental development of a 2-year-old at best (she did outshine those predictions). Sally did NOT like having a younger sister. She didn't like sharing Mom.

Now, let's understand one more thing. Back then, Autism was BLAMED on mothers, because the genes typically were in the eggs. So, my mother got a huge dose of BLAME and GUILT because of Sally. Dad added to it. So, while my oldest sister can be attributed to passion and several others attributed to a desire to have another child, I was the product of a failure of birth control. They never said it like that, but Mom did tell me that, while pregnant with me, her OBGYN and Dad had talked to her about aborting me. Auspicious start, wouldn't you say?

So, Mom is home, it's time for my godparents to return me to her. Except I don't KNOW her! And, my sister doesn't want to share her. Now, lets think. How does a one-year-old who doesn't speak show dissatisfaction with a situation? I'm being a little sarcastic because this part hurts a LOT. I don't want to remember it. But, if I'm going to heal, I think I need to address both the reason I hated Sally growing up and the reason my parents eventually HAD to put her into an institution. Sally hit me. She bit me. She pushed me. And there was little my parents could do except keep us apart.

So, we have a high-needs one-year-old and an essentially 'normal' newborn. Mom is still weak from her medical troubles. Dad is still overwhelmed with preteen daughters and various assorted other children. He does NOT want to send Sally away. He thinks we should stay together as a family, regardless. Let's not forget, he's the 'injured' parent as Sally's condition is all Mom's fault. How did I fall through the cracks again?

So, for a year, we're together. Of course, I don't remember this period, but there are a few pictures. They're of us on the front lawn. Sally is LAUGHING, I am crying. Or vice versa. There are a few pictures of the whole pack of kids - Sally and I kept widely apart in all.

My heart goes out to my Mom during all this. Her mother was a drunk, her father too enmeshed to stand up to the woman, her little sister and brother expecting HER to fill the Mom-void for them. She escapes into marriage with my father. The kids start coming fast and plentiful. Before she knows it, she's expected to be the perfect Mom to a lot of very different children, and few good experiences with HER mother to work from. Asking her mother for help was like inviting the bull into the china shop. With a red napkin. So, with no skills, few instincts, a husband who wanted out of the marriage, a mother and husband who blamed her for the challenged child and a body that was just about to give out, no wonder she got completely overwhelmed not long after I was born.

But the fact remains that the net effect on me was repeated neglect and abandonment. I was abandoned to my godparents upon birth. I was abandoned to the care of siblings when she went AWOL, all four times before my 9th birthday. I was abandoned off and on as her nerves dictated throughout the rest of my life. The neglect was just the way things were. How could I be so selfish to want it otherwise?

Where was Dad? Hiding at work. He hated his marriage, so he worked and he worked and he worked. He got to positions that 'made' him travel up to a week at a time. When he was home, he was tired. Or reading magazines or books to further his career. Or dealing with the big-kid issues of my older siblings. Or maybe, just maybe, allowing me to crawl into his lap and curl up (not possible until he did agree to institutionalize Sally).

My main impressions of my parents when I was little? Mom was depressed, angry, tired. Dad was depressed, angry, tired and too busy. My best bet was to steer clear of them most of the time. But, I did love them as well as a child knows how to love! I wanted their time so bad, I'd take yelling and even spanking if it gave me one-on-one time with either of them.

Then, there's that day that I was so sick I couldn't go to school. I was throwing up everything. Mom asked Missy (middle sister) to stay with me so Mom could go to work. Missy was so kind to me. We tried everything her 10-year-old mind could think of. We tried Pepto, nope, threw it up. We tried baby asprin - up it came. We tried chicken soup - uh uh. We tried plain water - nope. Missy became more and more concerned because NOTHING was working. She called Mom. Mom never left work. She never took me to the doctor (What for, it's just a stomach bug). She left tucking me into bed to my sister, too. After the day SHE had at work, she was too tired.

That one night, around the same time, I saw lights going around my room. But it wasn't like the night Missy explained about the cars going down the road. These stayed and they were red! I was so scared! Missy finally came upstairs to check on me. She held me and calmed me and told me everything would be alright - yeah, her tone said she was as scared as I was. She only told me that Dad needed a rest away from home for a few days. I didn't find out until decades later that he'd tried suicide.

Then, there was the summer of the Spanish boys. Oh, how Mom loved those Spanish boys! They were foreign exchange students from Madrid, Spain. She showed them off to anyone who didn't walk away from her. She talked about them to everyone. She smiled a lot that summer! I didn't like them. They weren't very nice to me and they smelled funny. Their room smelled funny. I hated being on the same floor with them and kept trying to sneak down to Missy's room to be with her.

*** NOTE: I barely remember the Spanish boys, though they stayed a whole summer with our family when I was 5 or 6. I wouldn't even know their names if Mom hadn't repeated them so often - Miguel and Pieter. I couldn't tell you what they looked like, how tall they were (and I remember my oldest sisters during that time, so I know I have memories). I remember not liking them, not wanting to be anywhere near them - and I was the love everyone, nobody is a stranger child! I remember Mom being so excited and Dad travelling again. Apparently, they came two summers. All I can say for a fact is that this was some time between when I was 3 and 9 - because of where we lived at the time.

I do know that it was about this time that I started becoming sullen. That's what my parents call it - sulking and being sullen.

I remember one day during one of these summers when the oldest four kids and the Spanish boys wanted to go to the park for a festival. They were told to bring me along. I remember their cigarettes looked funny and smelled funny, not like Mom's cigarettes at all. Later, they confessed to 'shot-gunning' me and thinking it was sooooo funny.

I remember lots of days playing with my friends in the neighborhood. It was a big neighborhood with lots of kids of all ages. There was a playground across the street - to my young eyes it was HUGE. ALL life's adventures were to be found in that playground. I remember climbing the trees in the front yard, that were barely bigger than me! I remember splitting the seed end of a maple seedling and putting it on my nose! It would stick if the seedling was fresh.

I also remember when Sally came home again. Then, I began hiding in those trees, and in my toy box. I was glad to have my bedroom moved from the third floor down to the parent floor, until she got the room next to them. I remember trying to get past her so I could walk to school while she waited for her school bus. I remember hating to see her laugh, because it usually wasn't anything good for me. I remember her sitting by the television set, turning the volume up full blast and setting her head against the speaker. It was so loud it would make me nauseous. But, I dared not touch that TV. I remember one time when Dad did finally have enough and pull her away from the TV. She screamed and kicked and it took Mom, Dad and all the older siblings to hold her down.

I remember going to visit Sally in her new institution and feeling so guilty that it was all my fault. The place stank and was scary and dark. A few of the older people there had on diapers. Sally had on diapers, though I know she was using the toilet at home. She was drooling and looked vacant and slack-faced. She was drugged up! Dad was furious. Mom was heartbroken. I was guilty. She wouldn't have to be here if I'd never been born.

This is all I can handle remembering right now. I'm heartsick, for my parents, my siblings and for me. Mostly for Sally, who couldn't be blamed and who never knew me any  better than I ever knew her.

[Wife#2]

I've just had a terrible thought. What if, because of my being the youngest and having Sally right before me, what if... Ok, Wife2, type it.... Dad just ran out of energy and love before he got to me. He tried. He does show genuine love and concern sometimes. But, until Sally died, he always seemed distracted, like maybe I was an afterthought. Before the divorce, he had all those kids and a wife to consider - I was just one of many. After the divorce, yes, he did work hard to maintain his visitation - until he got remarried. After he got remarried, he had a step-son and step-daughter to consider. They were younger than me and didn't look like my mother so much.

What if, God how I hate having this thought. I've always defended my father, always made him the innocent party, always said Mom was at fault for my feeling so neglected and 'messed up'.

Even after he refused to let me move with him, his wife and two step kids, since the state they were moving to had such a better school system. Because it would be too confusing with kids from both marriages under one roof.

Even after he continually would show no faith in my abilities - I kept overhearing him talking to others about me and it was usually with concern if THEY showed faith in me.

Even when he refused my staying with him temporarily after I flunked out of college (not really - but he stopped paying so the result was the same - and that legend has become the truth in this family), until I could get on my feet - because my step-brother had just been kicked out of their home for smoking pot.

Even after he accused me of being anorexic when, because he was so disconnected with my life, he refused to see that I was just plain poor and malnourished. And still wouldn't let me stay with him to get back on my feet. This time, because he and his wife were at last getting to enjoy life with just each other in the house.

Even after my sister died and his eulogy made me sad for his loss, but terribly hurt and angry because he'd not shown me the depth of love he poured out over her at the funeral.

Even after I eloped, hoping to spare my parents given that I was already in my 30's and it wouldn't be 'in the church' anyway. The hurt and anger he and his wife showed me because 'he' was denied walking me down the isle (Now, let's be real, all my sisters had unconventional weddings). The disdain they showed my new husband because he wasn't what they expected or wanted for me - and they didn't think I was going to be a capable stepmother.

Even after my most recent visit to their house with my son - and they explained how the largest section of their yard was called the 'Wife2' section, because stepmom named each section after the child that caused the stress she relieved there. Nice. Real nice.

Every time I've REALLY needed my DADDY, he's been unavailable, usually because another child needed him, or another adult child had already 'done Dad wrong' and I was to pay right along with that sibling/step-sibling.

And yet, at nearly 50, I feel ungrateful and unworthy for even thinking these things about my father or his wife. What. Is. Up. With. That?

So much to explore.

[Wife#2]

I was just reading some of the links put elsewhere on this site by Dutch Uncle. Thank you so much for continuing to post and to include links that are so helpful.

I've had a real hard time recently trying to process these things on my own. I have almost no privacy at home, limited privacy at work and no time or funds to see a therapist. H is honestly part of the problem right now, so talking to him is futile. So, I come here, post and work on it when I have a minute here, a few minutes there.

I really don't have a minute right now, but I need to sort this out. My head is feeling like it'll explode.

My father, who I sainted as a child, though he was absent through most of my childhood (workaholic, avoiding home because my mother was there, then gone through divorce), was not as good a father as I've mad myself give credit to him.

My mother, while no saint, didn't deserve the bashing she took in my heart ('dry drunk' as her response to her own mother's alcoholism).

I can accept their humanity, their frailties and their foibles. But, accepting that they were less than perfect doesn't change how they chose to treat me as their child. It doesn't let them off the hook. And  I still need to process all this. Because memories are beginning to flood me and I MUST process this. I'm not ready to forgive and move forward just yet. This many memories, and most coming at me with the emotions intact, is incredibly overwhelming.

I'm trying not to run away, emotionally. I'm trying to stay present, because my son is as innocent as I was in my FOO. He deserves two present, caring, nurturing parents just like I did. I can't do anything about H, but I can do about myself and all the ways I've let my son down. It's hard to face these memories, these emotions, let them hit me, and try to learn something from them. How it impacted me? Why it hurt so? How can I use this pain to understand myself, change myself so I don't repeat?

So, the one that won't back down right now didn't even involve my parents, not directly anyway. As a pre-teen I had a friend. She was a good girl. She was nice to me. Her father was my mother's boss, so there's that. Anyway, ** I don't want to type this... it may be come too real and I've NEVER, NEVER, NEVER told anyone about this, I even buried it so I COULDN'T tell what I don't remember *** so, our parents were glad that we got along. She was the black sheep in her family, being the only of three children who was adopted. She didn't look like her siblings, she looked like her adoptive parents (yes, she looked more like theirs than their blood children). TYPE it, WIfe2. It won't hurt you or make you a lesser person because it happened.....

So, I was spending the night at their house. This was not uncommon and I usually enjoyed being at their house. I didn't particularly like either of her parents, she was cold and he was domineering. But, they didn't give me any 'watch-out' vibe. I was completely unprepared for what happened. My friend had bunk beds in her room. When I slept over, she would usually give me the bottom bunk and she took the top bunk. No problem. But that one night, she wanted to share the twin bed on bottom. Ok... strange, because even though I was from a big family, we didn't share rooms or beds. Even from babyhood, I had my OWN space, always. She was my friend. I could trust her. And, it might even be fun.

Well, her idea of fun was to experiment in touching. We were only 11 and I was NOT ready for that kind of thing. But, I was a guest for overnight. I didn't know what else to do. So, I let her touch me and I complied when she asked me to touch her. I had no idea why she wanted this. I believed that kind of thing was for when we were older, and with boys! She seemed to enjoy it. I pretended I did, mostly because I was then afraid to upset her. If she got mad at me, she might say something mean about me to her Dad, and that could cause problems for my Mom. My Mom needed that job!

After that night, I found lots of excuses to not be around that friend ever again. The following summer, my Mom and I were in a local theater production, and that girl's mother was the choreographer. I was glad when, being a child, I didn't have to be part of the dance scenes. Until the director decided I was big enough to be an understudy. Then, I had to be taught all the moves by that Mom. I was so self-conscious because some of the moves involved lifts, where she had to put her hands on me to lift me. I didn't want to do that. It was too creepy! I kept trying to act like it was no big deal, blaming my blunders on being clumsy - maybe too clumsy to be the understudy? Nope. She taught, I learned. I did end up having to understudy in the dances a couple of times.

I haven't thought about that event or the following summer in years. I blocked it, I'm sure.

It was so hard for me during that time anyway. Mom and Dad had separated and were getting a divorce. I looked a lot more mature than my age. My brother (the GC) had started treating me differently once I bloomed, like he was nervous to be in the same room with me. He wouldn't let me be around any of his friends anymore. Since we were so close in age, his friends thought that was strange. I found out later that he had told them I was gross and he was embarrassed to have them find out. My sister, Missy, wasn't around to talk to anymore and I felt like maybe what that friend had done showed and maybe I WAS gross for not saying NO.

Much later, I asked my brother why he did that to me. His answer was that he couldn't stand the thought of his friends doing to me what he wanted to do with his girlfriends, so he had to convince them to stay away. The fact that he was older, better known and respected didn't occur to him. The impact that would have on my social life was devastating. His word was good enough. And, I was awkward anyway, making it easier to believe. In his desire to be happy and comfortable, he turned me into a pariah.

The biggest break I got from all that was when Mom moved to another city. She had to get away from all the talk about her and Dad's divorce and Dad's new girlfriend (eventual wife).  I had to get away from a reputation I didn't deserve, begun by my own brother. I was so relieved when GCbro stayed to live with Dad. He couldn't ruin THIS town for me. The fresh start did help.

That first year, Mom may have neglected me and may have dedicated herself to having a great social life, but she hadn't exactly been there for me before. And, I got to meet some of her friends - who were really great people, it turns out! One or two of Mom's lady friends taught me how to conduct myself at the parties Mom would throw - age appropriately. They taught me that I didn't have to impress anyone, that I was OK just as I was. They did this, not Mom.

I applied those lessons to the people I was meeting at school. And, guess what? I was a hot mess, but I could make and keep friends! They liked me for who I was, not what I pretended to be. But, I didn't believe in sleep-overs anymore. I laughed and said that if I was old enough to babysit, I was too old for sleepovers. I didn't want to get into situations I couldn't handle. And I still had difficulty with disappointing friends by saying no.

That's all for today. My head is reeling from the realization that this DID happen, the way I remember it happening and that I've actually *talked* about it. That was over 30 years ago, and it's still driving some things in my head and in my marriage. I want to lance this wound so it can finally heal.

It wasn't my fault. I didn't cause it. I didn't deserve it.

It wasn't Mom's fault. She thought she was helping me find friends. She couldn't know that her being employed by the girl's Dad was a part of this - she's not psychic. I never told her this happened, so I never gave her the chance to defend me or to comfort me. I have got to let go of the bitterness I stored for her - she was innocent in this matter.

I'll write more when I have calmed down and internalized what this all means and what I can do about it now, to move forward in my healing. I do feel better now that I've said it. Feeling those feelings again is hard. Seeing those faces in my memory again is hard. Not being able to break down in tears because I'm at work is hard. But, I'll survive. Just like I survived that night. Just like I survived all the other days and nights since then.

[Dutch Uncle]

Congrats on having started your journal here. 
You're a good writer. And thus you tell your story well and clear.
I hope, wish and trust it'll be a helpful tool in your process.


On a side note, thank you for this:

I was just reading some of the links put elsewhere on this site by Dutch Uncle. Thank you so much for continuing to post and to include links that are so helpful.

[Wife#2]

Dutch, thank you for the kind words. I'm trying this rather than a traditional therapist because, I can tell my stories without becoming self-conscious. I've had more than one therapist become enamored of my speaking/writing style, forgetting that the thing is the thing, not the story about the thing.

Also, I had to thank you ~ I've gone to many of the links you've provided and gained just a little more insight at each destination. Whether for me or for my husband's C-PTSD doesn't really matter. It's all helping my household become a better place for all of us living there.

And now, back to my irregularly scheduled mind-clearance-sale.....

I've thought of little else since I told that story yesterday. I've thought about what 11YO Wife2 thought and felt. I've seen that girl's room. Her hallway, the other kids, the parents. I've seen my Mom as she looked then. I feel sadness about what little Wife2 went through. I feel relieved that I didn't add to my mother's burden at that time. I could have tried later, but what would have been the point, if not to make her feel bad? So, maybe it's better that I haven't ever told her about that.

But, there is good news, too! Last night, I took a little time while nobody was noticing, and I comforted little Wife2. I repeated to her that it wasn't her fault, that it is OK to remember, because even if it feels like it's happening all over again - it isn't. I can still see the real house around me now - the one with loved family members in it. AND I can remember. AND I can continue to survive. AND I can tell Wife2 that she has nothing to be ashamed of. And you know what? I believe me! Little Wife2 relaxed a little last night. It made for a much more pleasant time with my son and my husband. I felt a peace today that I don't remember feeling in a long time.

It may only be a few ounces less toxic self-imposed shame, but its gone. I can't say if it's gone for good, because I can still feel the panic, the shame, the humiliation and the anger I felt that night. I don't know if that's normal or not. But, I do know that I felt just a little more comfortable inside my own skin for a while last night. It was a nice feeling. My husband liked the result of it, too!

Ok, back to work for me. I mean the job I do for pay! Have a great evening, everyone ~ including you Little Wife2. Including you!

[Wife#2]

Why did this get to me, it was just a simple little statement. My husband didn't mean anything really mean by it. But, I found myself chomping down on a response that would have been VERY ugly.

I have a thyroid condition. I've had it longer than I've been married. I used to take antidepressants. I let my husband talk me into stopping those. He's a believer in 'pushing through' and not being dependent on medications. He quit his antidepressants cold turkey and wanted me to do the same.

However, when it comes to my thyroid medication, he is all for me taking those faithfully every day. To the point he'll pay for my prescription if I'm short on money that month. He even insists that I stay with the brand name instead of the generic, saying he doesn't think the generic works so well.

So, the thing that really bothered me is this: He was telling a friend who's wife was just diagnosed with a thyroid condition about his beliefs on the medication prescribed. He told that friend to insist on the brand name, 'because I can tell right away if my wife is on the generic and she gets all loopy and forgetful! It takes her like a month or two to get back to normal. She's cranky and hard to get along with, too. So, don't bend on this, get the brand name.'

No, maybe I was cranky because he was being irritating! I even told him that. I wanted to shout at him that I've been taking the generic for months now because I found it ridiculous to spend an extra $40 a month if I didn't have to. But, I was actually not willing to say that because I knew he'd say - 'Oh, so that's why you've been so cranky lately!' No, I've been cranky lately because I've been cranky! People are allowed to be cranky sometimes - maybe I didn't get enough sleep, maybe I just had a bad day. It isn't ALWAYS because of the medicine. Maybe I'm depressed and need antidepressants, but won't get them because my husband is so non-supportive of that idea. Maybe I need therapy to cope with my CPTSD and he needs therapy to cope with HIS CPTSD and he needs to leave me alone if I'm being cranky!!

I'm glad I kept my mouth shut, because his spouting off about how he knows my body better than I do and he knows what's best for me because he's so much more.... experienced, no. educated, no. aware, no. BPD, probably. I was in a cranky mood, and hearing that made it worse. Saying anything would have led to a fight because I was not in a mood to hear him expound or put every unpleasant mood I have onto my medication!

I just get so irritated when he gets like this. He thinks he knows me and my body so well. I tell him so little because he jumped into the expert role so quickly and pushed me so hard to 'get off the meds' like I was some kind of addict. He's only three years older than me. He's been to far fewer therapists (make that only two compared to my seven), didn't stay with any, doesn't think depression is a real diagnosis - to him it's a cop-out.

My own parents didn't try to have this much control over my body. Ok, they were barely there to begin with - their game was benign neglect. But, still, they didn't try to tell me what to do with MY body as long as I was trying my best to get and be well.

Now that I'm starting to put things together, get a time-line on the memories and delve into why I react the way I do, I'm not always liking the picture I see.

So, when H and I got married, I had demanded that he get therapy for his anger issues. He now laughs about having anger issues, because he doesn't rage as often, he thinks they're all under control - without therapy. He asked that I get off the antidepressants. I did. I got my doctor on board and weaned off them, the healthy way. Doc was concerned, thinking (rightly so) that my depression wasn't under control, just being masked by my determination to not let my husband down.

Within months of getting off the meds (except the thyroid one - that was never questioned by H), I got pregnant. Within days of discovering this pregnancy, I miscarried. I was already 38 years old and this was my first pregnancy. I became convinced that my body was messed up and that I'd never have a child by my body (It took two more years to be proven wrong). I sank into a very deep depression. It affected the whole family. I wanted to get back into therapy and back on antidepressants. H decided he could get me through it all without any of that (expense - the word he kept leaving off during those conversations).

As soon as I returned to work after the miscarriage, I was let go from my job. We had stress at home because we both still had our pre-marital houses and we were trying to rent mine out. I kept letting H choose the tenants, and their quality went down drastically. Just a few months after the miscarriage and job loss (I found another job within weeks - another post of no support from husband), Husband decided suddenly that we should move to my house, he'd let his house return to the owner (it was rent-to-own and a bad deal, and owner wouldn't let my name onto the paperwork, didn't like that I could read AND understand the fine print). It was this or we stay where we were and I default on my mortgage, wrecking my credit when he was in a very bad place on his credit.

But, I didn't need therapy or antidepressants! And I'd better stay on the brand name drugs! Oh, and just in case I forgot how important those brand name meds were, he'd remind me of all the times He'd paid to get my prescription, just so I wouldn't run out! All four times. In 12 years.

I'm pissed right now. That's what I am! I'm not depressed (ok, maybe I am a little, but hey, who wouldn't be?). I'm not sad. I'm not lazy. I'm P. I. S. S. E. D. How dare he think that because he put a ring on my finger he automatically knows what's best for me or my body? I didn't assume that! I saw him yelling at his son and knew that was absolutely WRONG and that he, as the adult, was the one who needed to change that. I knew by the expression on his son's face that the yelling had to stop. I still haven't got it to stop completely, but it is less often and less loud and lasts for less time each time.

Why can't he see that I might just know my body and my mind better than him? What part of his personality thinks it's ok to tell me what I can and can't do (ie take antidepressants)? Where is HIS medical degree? Even if he had one, living with me is not an examination! I didn't tell H to stop being angry, I told him to get into therapy and work on that anger issue he had. I told him to see a professional! And because I have to go pretty frequently to doctors for my IBS, Thyroid, OBGYN needs, etc, I'm accused of going to the doctor every time I fart funny. REALLY???!!!? At least I don't self-diagnose and assume I know better than those with college degrees! I'm not saying they're all good - there are a lot of quacks and pill-pushers out there. Give me some credit in having learned something in my 30 years as an adult. I can tell a quack from a good doctor. I can tell a quack therapist from one who is good. I do not need saving from myself! I need my husband to have a little faith in someone other than himself. I need him to have faith in ME!

But, if I say anything at home, I'm attacking him, picking a fight to get out of sex and/or proving his point that I should be on the brand name pills because if I had been this wouldn't have happened. TALK ABOUT A NO-WIN SITUATION!

Great. Now I'm just tired and depressed. I hate being in this situation. He thinks he's right because I didn't say anything the other day when that conversation happened. He thinks everything is all right because I haven't been 'too cranky' lately. As long as he gets sex tonight, he won't scratch any deeper into what's going on with me. He'll convince himself that all is well in the marriage. Unless I don't give him sex, then he'll ask. He won't do a single thing to encourage sex with me, he won't be tender or kind or gentle. He's buying dinner. It's been more than one night. Sex and we're ok. No sex and we're up all night until I give him an answer he'll accept of why he didn't get sex tonight. And he wonders why I dread sex with him sometimes. We're not alright, but I'm too tired for the fight. Am I wrong to give him sex just to get sleep? When we've already had this fight so many, many, many times before and it got us nowhere.

Later, journal. I know you can't answer my questions, but at least you were here to hear them and not judge my feelings as wrong, one by one.

[Wife#2]

Reading someone else's post reminded me of a very sad day. I'm warning you right now, this is a VERY TMI, personal story. If you don't want to know about feminine body functions, stop now and click away.

I was developing very young, compared to the average. By 11, I was in need of bras. My sister brought this to the attention of our mother. Who, begrudgingly, bought me two bras. That would have to last me. The summer before I turned 12, I was already a 'B' cup and getting negative attention from boys at school. I began hunching my shoulders and wearing baggy clothes. I stopped wearing shorts or skirts because my leg hair was so dark that everyone could see it. And, it was really thick over my entire legs. Even my arm hair was long, dark and noticeable. And our ancestry is Irish, English and German - most of my siblings were blonde haired and blue eyed!

So, I was a freak. I had too many freckles, dark hair EVERYWHERE and boobs within months. As if that was not enough, Mom basically went into hiding from me. I know, she had her own stuff going on - she and Dad were in the throws of a very ugly, contentious divorce. BUT, I was entering womanhood and the primary woman of my life (supposed to be) had no time for me. And Dad only noticed that I was hunching - kept asking me to stand up straight, care about my posture!

Then it happened. Quietly, sitting with my sister one morning, she noticed a stain on my pants when I stood up. That's right! My passage into womanhood was in the biggest phase.

My sister, God love and protect her up there in Heaven, was DELIGHTED! She wanted to celebrate her baby sister's first steps into adulthood! I wasn't even 12, so she was only 16 herself, but she had the forethought to take me into the bathroom and gently show me what I could do (pon or pad option - I was 11, I chose pads of course!). She helped me clean my stained undies and taught me how to install said pad (this was the really old days when they had straps and stuff!) for maximum comfort and coverage. Then, still smiling and excited for me, she brought me to the phone. She called our mother, who was at work. She told Mom the GREAT news. Mom at first didn't know why sis sounded excited. Then, sis suggested a 'FOO ladies party'. Mom blew that idea into the trash. Sis handed me the phone.

Here's what I got from my mother, who carried me in her womb for 9 months:

Mom (sounding like she was reading a script written by a two-year-old and pissed about it): Congratulations, Spin. Welcome to womanhood. I don't have time or money for a cake. Or supplies. You'll have to share with your sister. Put your sister back on the phone.

I began babysitting that summer. To my knowledge, my mother only had to buy supplies a dozen times during the rest of my adolescence in her home. I either babysat or bummed from sisters to get my 'lady supplies'.

I was told to wrap them up with toilet paper before disposing (not informed, told because I was WRONG) in the trash can. THEN, I was fussed at for using so much toilet paper. THEN, she complained about the odor, asking that, if I must do that, would I PLEASE take the trash can out to the (Apartment complex) dumpster?

She never did help with how to reduce the odor, what eating/drinking habits could make it better or worse, no help at all - just, 'You smell bad. Go take a shower.' Since she never taught me a routine for personal maintenance, I had to work one out for myself. Since she really stopped bothering much with me once I did hit puberty (except to parentify me or for me to serve her by rubbing her feet, etc), I had to figure my way to womanhood on my own.

My helpful, loving, supportive (heart-mother) sister moved away the following summer, never to return full time to either parent's home. I would only spend a week with her here or there, when she would pack as much love, fun, happiness, teaching as she could into those short 7 days. Eventually, when I was 16, sis would tell me some of the secrets to reducing odor, eating well, exercising, etc that helped me out a lot. She was flabbergasted that our mother never bothered. She had no idea that Mom had stopped being a Mom pretty much as soon as Dad left the marriage. Not that she was great before then, but at least she made more visible efforts before.

Anyway, the lack of knowledge I had about how to be a woman kept me mortified throughout my teen years. I was too embarrassed to ask my female friends - this is stuff I figured they'd already been told. AND, I was afraid that if I shared THAT personal of information deficit that they'd either take advantage of me like my other friend had done or blab to everyone what a stupid nincompoop I was for not even knowing about ....

Seeing the movie Carrie terrified me and exhilarated me at the same time - I knew exactly how Carrie felt. It wasn't fair that any girl should reach puberty with no female guidance or support. I cheered when Carrie got her revenge - having been on the receiving end of mean girl behavior my whole school career.

Anyway, it feels a little better to purge this particular memory. It hurts, but it's a good hurt, like taking a Band-Aid off a healed scab.

[Wife#2]

You know, sometimes I wonder if my C-PTSD isn't getting worse because of my marriage.

I know it doesn't help that I may be fawn/freeze variety and he sounds more like a fight/freeze (if that's a possibility).

My tendency is to prevent the ugly feelings in the first place - make everyone else happy and then they can't be mad at me. Do everything everyone else expects - sometimes anticipating before it's even expressed - as soon as it's expressed and plant a smile on my face if I have to. It doesn't even come into play about what I want until later, when I'm angry because nobody watches out for me or knows me so well that they do the same for me. Then, I feel like a skunk for caring about MY wants or needs and I 'run away and go hide' in plain sight. TV and computer games are my favorite hiding places.

The reason I think I may have some 'freeze' motivations on this is that I always make sure that I am 'interruptible', but if I get interrupted more than 2-3 times in an hour, I can feel the anger rising up. Can't they SEE that I'm DOING SOMETHING? I try to calm myself down with the reminder to myself that no, most people do not view watching TV or playing a computer game as actively 'doing something'. They don't understand that I'm really doing things while staring at these distractions. I'm zoning out and zooming into my own head.

And one reason I don't feel like I can talk about this except here is that many people looking in from the outside (especially my husband) would think I had a charmed childhood and a wonderful life - so what's to gripe about? The few I know who have sexual, physical or both abuse happening to them often don't realize that we who were just ignored (Just because it left no visible bruises) were injured also.

And, because 'Sally' couldn't help her condition or how she acted out, she was the only one in our family allowed to be genuine. She didn't have to shut up if she felt like being loud (not talking, just moaning and 'singing'). She didn't have to go to her room because the parents were tired of dealing with her. She didn't have to be punished if she hit me or bit me. In THOSE cases, *I* was punished because I MUST have done SOMETHING to upset HER!

I didn't get through childhood unscathed. But, it was minor compared to what my husband survived. Or my dear friend survived.

Into adulthood, I kept finding my way into situations where I ended up victimized. I never made that connection, really, until just now.

As a young adult, I fell in love for the first time. That man ended up telling me AFTER I was vested with him that he'd got another girl pregnant before we met and she'd decided NOT to put the child up for adoption - they were getting back together. I was heartbroken, but found myself trying to comfort HIM because his ex changed HER mind about adoption!  I was being dumped, under crappy circumstances and I couldn't even make it about myself!

Next wasn't even a romance, because I told a female friend of my crush on a fellow student (college). I hadn't acted on it, so she jumped in and 'hooked' him. He didn't know that I had wanted to date him. I watched their relationship through dating, engagement, living together, miscarriage (though honestly, I do still doubt if she was pregnant - she was the type to 'play that card' rather than lose the boy and he was on the verge of breaking off with her at that point), marriage, birth of a daughter and I lost touch with them shortly before the divorce. The last time I talked to him was to let him know I was so sorry that the marriage had failed. He sounded so bitter, and flat out told me that I need not bother calling again - it hurt too much to talk to me since I had been her friend.  Even the man's parents had pulled me to the side, questioned me about my feelings for their son and asked me to PLEASE stop that marriage as it was such a bad match. I had no voice with their son, so kept silent. When I was finally ready to talk, he couldn't hear me.

Shortly after that time, I found myself thinking a coworker was handsome. We were all young and sometimes would go to the club together after work. I would flirt with him and with some of the other young men, not wanting to give my crush away. One night, I finally worked up the courage to ask him to dance. We danced a little. All his friends and my friends were smiling, so I thought maybe this could be a good matchup. I asked him to drive me home (I had no car). Long story short, I was date-raped by a coworker. I had to go back to work after that. I could somewhat hide, but the fact that I became a total B**ch, completely unlike my usually sunny attitude, got my manager asking questions. When I told her what happened, she denied it, then tried to defend it (he'd been given an STD, then dumped by the giver) because my boss and he were friends. She didn't want me filing charges or a law suit against him. I knew about the STD, as soon as he was done he smiled and said, Oh, I just gave ****** to you, you're welcome.  I never did file charges, afraid that I'd lose my job if I did.

There were others who pushed past my 'no'. I never prosecuted them, thinking that maybe I was lying even to myself when I said no. Thinking that I was already damaged property and I should be glad ANY guy wanted to be with me. It got so bad that when a boss started to sexually harass me, I actually tried to convince myself that I loved him and wanted to be the 'other woman'. Until I couldn't even keep that lie going in my head. It wasn't true, and I finally stood up for myself. His answer, 'I hate it when things end. I would hate for this to end'. Finally, I realized that he was using me and would go on using me if I allowed it. I tried to think of a way out of all this, but by this time, my heart-Mom sister and heart-Dad brother had both died. I was an orphan with NO skill in handling this situation! My own mother wouldn't get past hearing adultery enough to hear that I was being forced in this situation, with the threat of job termination.

I became suicidal for the first real time in my life. At last I was willing to stand up for myself (the counseling I'd had did help me enough to grow some backbone, just not enough, soon enough). But, when I did, I was hit with this! After taking my state-required 3-day-vacation, and coming clean with my boss's boss (who sided with the man because they were best friends), I re-entered therapy. I wanted to shout from the rooftops 'THIS MAN IS AN A**! HIS WIFE KNOWS HE'S A CHEATER, SHE DOESN'T KNOW HE'S A RAPIST AND A BAST**D' But I couldn't.

So, I was primed and proven as one who takes crap and keeps coming back for more. Enter the husband.   

That'll have to be a post on another day.

[Wife#2]

I thought I was strong, strong enough to love this man and his family enough to look past the obvious rough edges. I figured, I'm a pretty damaged creature myself, who am I to judge?

My parents, my therapist, my friends were all worried about this relationship. He convinced me that if we were an item, we should be exclusive, after one date. I had no problem with that. Then, because we were exclusive, we should spend ALL our time together. Well, I wasn't exactly a party animal by this time, so sure. I didn't realize he really meant ALL our time until he would get angry about times I went to spend with my mother or my best friend instead of him. I was confused by that anger. I told him based on other things and this anger towards me that he needed help.

But, no matter HOW much I appeared to have things together, I had been trained to follow others' lead, to obey, to submit. I would give others the right to lecture me on their opinion and, unless it sounded like TOTAL BS, I'd go along. How I felt about it really wasn't the issue here.

************** The following is TMI, triggering and unless you really want to know, it's time to click away.  *************

The topic of anal sex came up. He was pro, I was con. He'd had it before, I never had. The few times I'd been asked, I said that since I was no virgin, I was saving that for my husband. It was an easy out as I knew those other men weren't interested in marrying me. Not so much with this man. He took my words literally, even after I explained that I had no interest and did not want to experiment. Even my gay brother didn't like it, so I didn't even feel bad about that one subject and being prudish!

We became sexually active together. He gave me a ring (discussed elsewhere - he called engagement, I said he was crazy, no way was I agreeing to marry him so quickly). I spent the night at his place. After a week of this, I started relaxing and we were doing well together. Until the night I woke up and he had violated me anally as I slept. To this day, I do NOT know how he did that, but he was happily banging away and had completed before I really comprehended what was happening. I jumped out of the bed, called my friend and asked if I could go to her place. My house had no water or I would have gone home.

He begged me not to leave. I calm down some and agree to stay the rest of the night. I go to my friend's house the next day. He calls and calls and I won't talk to him. I don't tell my friend what he'd done, I don't file charges. Two days later, I get the water fixed and move back to my house. When I & my best friend go to his house to gather my few belongings there, he gets me in the bedroom where he begins telling me all about the abuse he suffered as a child. He's weeping, telling me he's broken and he's sorry and it'll never happen again. I can't even listen because I'm getting ready to give in. His daughter stops me, crying for all she's worth, begging me not to leave her Daddy or her. I almost cave, but am glad I had my friend with me, so I'd have the strength to walk out.

When he began love-bombing me at my house, I was distraught. I'd already been in my home, alone, sad and depressed over a messed-up relationship. I wasn't suicidal this time, just really, really sad. And a little bit angry. How dare he? I kept telling him there is NO way I am getting back with him. Ever! How could he think what he did was ok? Because he put a ring on my finger? *, no.

Then, I read the letter his daughter had written. She was taking blame on herself for not being kind enough to me, thinking she or her brother had ANYTHING to do with this. He couldn't exactly tell his daughter he anally raped his fiancé in their home. The sad part was, neither could I. I knew if I filed charges, he'd go to jail and lose custody of his children and possibly lose his disability. As upset as I was, I wasn't sure I had it in me to destroy this family even if it was my right. And the tears of his daughter, so undeserved, broke my heart. I went back into that relationship because of the children. It wasn't their fault that their father was a rapist and a pig. But, I was the one choosing to marry him! I DID have to live with that, knowing what he did.

Over the years, I've run the gamut on this one issue. It has been the defining issue to me. He, in contrast to his promises, brings it up every so often, going into a long phase of wanting, asking, begging, demanding and sometimes taking anal sex from me. I gave in a few times. Before childbirth, it was uncomfortable and he was too rough with me, so I still didn't want it. After childbirth it plain hurt. He doesn't believe me when I tell him this.

This is the issue that got me to a lawyer's office. He has pushed past my no more than once since we got married. I told him over a year ago that I've had enough. There will be no more or I will leave him. It is that simple. He behaved for a while, understanding that I will NOT kid, I would rather be a single mother than be raped again. By my husband.

But, it's been a few months since the last lawyer visit, so now he thinks he's safe again. And he's trying again. And he thinks I'm too stupid to realize what he's doing. And I'm ready to leave again. Only, this time, I have all the information I need and he will be homeless and broke if he's not careful.

His first wife was brutal emotionally to him when she was ready to leave. I've tried not to be, but he's really driving me to the point where he refuses to get it unless you shove it in his face and peel his eyes open so he MUST see it. This is not my nature! I hate this situation. Why can't he understand that if he can't leave my * alone that he better leave me or I'll leave him. My * does NOT belong to him. He does NOT have a right to 'tap that' because he gets it in his mind that he wants to. There is NO love in a heart that would force or coerce a spouse into doing something that has already traumatized her enough to leave you before AND has told you that it hurts and please stop and I'm going to file for divorce if you don't quit!

He wants what he wants when he wants it and I'm done! I'm done! I tell you I am absolutely done with this man.

I'm tired of always considering the consequences to him and to his/our children and to everyone else but ME! DAMN. I am, too, allowed to count. My feelings DO TOO matter. I do not have to remain married to a rapist because he doesn't like the term! And I don't have to wait until he actually rapes me again to get out!

HOW did I let this get this bad? Why couldn't I listen to myself, my family, my friends? Why did I have to let the tears of one child trump everything I knew and send me into a marriage that at best was only ok. I've not been shown love. I have a hard time showing my husband love. I know why, but how do you explain that to his family, your family? I married him after he raped me. I stayed after he raped me again. He is a rapist and he's willing to try again to get what he wants.

[featherfalling]

HOW did I let this get this bad? Why couldn't I listen to myself, my family, my friends? Why did I have to let the tears of one child trump everything I knew and send me into a marriage that at best was only ok. I've not been shown love. I have a hard time showing my husband love. I know why, but how do you explain that to his family, your family? I married him after he raped me. I stayed after he raped me again. He is a rapist and he's willing to try again to get what he wants.

You couldn't listen to yourself because you'd been conditioned not to listen to yourself, all throughout your childhood.  Being raised in an abusive environment (and neglect IS abuse) makes you vulnerable to other abusers.  I know, because I've fallen into a similar trap (only this was an abusive friend, so easier to break it off with legally speaking).  The cycle of abuse is primed to hoover you back in, show you love and kindness just when you're starting to think "no, this really isn't right," and cut you off from any other support.  From everything in this post, it sounds like a fairly textbook abusive relationship.  Which is to say - you're not at fault.  This happens to a lot of people (unfortunately) and people to whom it hasn't happened can't really understand, and a lot of them seem to lack the empathy to try.  Good for you in seeing the signs and being strong and finding the will to get out.  You can do this! 

[Wife#2]

Thank you, Feather! I'm so sorry you know from first-hand experience. Nobody should have to know these things.

But, I'm going to choose to be a survivor.

I can't talk about these things with my friends or family. I've come too close to leaving before, and stayed. They will support me, but they will not put up with the push/pull in/out anymore. Once I'm out, they'll have my back. They've already told me that.

I can't talk about these things around work because I've already had several meltdowns and only gone into therapy once (three visits with husband, where I didn't feel safe bringing up this issue, so I let husband control the convo - around my supposed selfishness financially). Work wants me happy, but THEY can't deal with the highs & lows of this rocky marriage and how it affects me anymore. They have already worked with me and promised they would work with me more in the future if I needed it. But, like my family and friends - it's time to pee or get off the pot.

So, I'm so grateful to have this website and this journal. I can tell it and all of you EVERYTHING. Even the parts I won't tell others. Even the parts I hesitate to tell therapists. I'd rather be seen as the 'bad guy' then to admit just how bad it's been. I did tell husband when I saw the lawyers, but he's pretty sure he's got me locked down and broke and under his thumb again. I've let him believe that - it's the only reason I get any peace at all at home.

What's so sad is just how much happier, even if more stressed, I envision my life without the husband in it. I'm going to go broke. I'm going to likely end up in bankruptcy. That's still preferable than remaining married to this man. Type the words, Wife2. Read them, Wife2. Believe them and then ACT ON THEM, Wife2.

Thanks, again, Featherfalling!

[Dutch Uncle]

  to you, wife#2. Big hugs.

I think over at OOTF there are quite a few people who have also gone through divorce-proceedings in similar situations like you. But I trust you already know this.
And I'm happy to read that your friends and family will in the end back you up. You probably have to forget his family, they will not accept he is a rapist. And he will deny that, as he shows by his actions. So unfortunately they will probably back him up.
But you know the truth of the matter. And so do I.

Best wishes,
Dutch

[Wife#2]

Dutch,

His children, my stepchildren, are the only ones I care about. I understand that they will be torn by his enforcement of loyalty, and that they love both of us. They know their father is no saint. He's made it pretty clear that he had a horrible childhood and that they have it so much better than he did. They've seen what I've put up with just on the day-in-day-out relationship. They will not be shocked and I will not tell them the real reason I'm leaving.

His siblings (both parents died before I met him) want communication with him, but that is toxic and he has rejected that. I don't know them, nor do I care about anything they've got going on, including their opinion of me or of their brother.

I am blessed to have family that will back me. I will have consequences and a lot of getting used to the new situation and the fact that he will do all he can to get me back into the relationship. The declarations of love I fell for before, but no longer believe. But, I will know that my family will have my back.

Ironically, my parents will be there for me, also. Not financially, that boat sailed many decades ago, but they will (finally?) be emotionally supportive of my decisions. I may even begin existing in their worlds again. I won't hold my breath. My brother (the one who was a total jerk to me in childhood) and his wife will be there, likely trying to get ahold of my son, but being uplifting and supportive the whole way.

And, yes, I'm a regular at OOTF under a different name. Done because I was afraid I'd waiver and give H this website to help him. Or that he'd find it on his own - not likely but possible.

Thank you for the support and the hug! It meant a lot, really!

[Danaus plexippus]

You have survived so much. Somehow you managed to be self-sufficient, maintain gainful employment and even buy a house. You can correct me if I'm wrong, but from what you said I gather your financial difficulties are a result of this marriage. Regarding Wife#1, there are two sides to every story. You have already caught your husband slandering you and lying to your face. Everything he told you about Wife#1 could be a lie. Is Wife#1 still alive? How did he get the children? Not his "story" the truth and why was his daughter so distraught at the prospect of your leaving? Now think of your child. Is your child safe? Really? Does your doctor know H is responsible for your IBS? Will your doctor testify in a court of law on your behalf? Rapists don't stop just because you want them to. If you don't prosecute him for your own sake, think of what he may have already done to his own daughter and the danger your child is currently in. This man is a predator and I'm sorry it's up to you to take a stand against such a monster. If you really can't find it in yourself to do what's best for you, think of a ferocious mother bear protecting the life of her cubs and do the right thing for your child. I'm so sorry all this has happened to you and I pray you find the strength to get yourself and your child out of this *. You are a human being you have the right to be safe and respected. Rape Abuse & Incest National Network https://rainn.org/  or 800-656-HOPE   https://youtu.be/fv3LoU5ovbI

[Wife#2]

Danaus,

Thank you so much for making me face the reality of my words. No, I am certain that he has not touched his daughter improperly - though there was a time I wondered. I've had enough frank talks with her since then (she was engaged and we discussed emotional/sexual relationships in THAT context). I do feel certain that my child and his previous marriage children are/were/will be safe in THAT regard. Emotionally, not so much.

As to why first wife left, I've eventually got what I believe to be the truth. She is/was addicted to alcohol and drugs. He was addicted to them, but quit only when employment would be impossible. She stayed at home with the kids, he was a control freak, she got fed up and left him. The kids went to be with their dad mostly because the man wife1 left with was worse than either parent, so they bailed on Mom to get away from him. She is still alive. We can talk and be friendly, especially with regard to her kids - she knows I'd do just about anything to keep her children safe and well. We're good with each other, but we'll never be friends. It's easier now that both kids are adults.

The fiancé between wife1 and me is a mystery. She died before H and I were married a year. I have only H and the kids' stories about her. The kids LOVED her, supposedly so did H. But, she wouldn't divorce her husband due to her cancer diagnosis, custody of their daughter and other financial reasons. I have my theory about what happened, why she went from loving fiancé to no contact. I believe, after putting the stories from H and the kids together in my head, that he pressured her for sex - regular and anal, even when she was taking chemotherapy. I believe he really tried to make her feel bad if she wouldn't give in. I believe she caved too many times and began to resent him. The day she ended it, he had visited her in the hospital. I believe he tried to 'get romantic' there in the hospital and she had enough. She waited until her mother was in the room, had her mother call security to remove him and never spoke to him again. It's the only thing that makes sense.

Also, spousal rape is very difficult to prove. The local statute of limitations is expired on the pre-marital event. There were some times before DS8 was born that I did agree to it (or was seriously pressured into agreeing to it). Since DS8's birth, I have not agreed to it.  My OBGYN is very aware of my distaste for anal as I have repeatedly asked him for some 'medical' excuse to give my husband - believing that husband would honor that. My OBGYN was honest that there is no real medical reason to give, but that H and I should talk if this is an ongoing issue (he's met my husband, but still said that to me).

The IBS is not attributable to H. I had that diagnosis in my 20's. I've tried to explain to H that the IBS with diarrhea means that I am not a good candidate for anal anyway. He placates me until I start acting like I'm staying, then he starts again with his 'needs'. I get close to filing for a divorce, and he's back to being the thoughtful husband.

He knows he's the one who suffers if I divorce him. I will be OK. Between family and friends, co-workers and church folks, I'll make it. My DS8 will make it. We'll be all right. Even if I have to see him every other weekend for DS8's visitation. We'll be all right. I may be broke, but I'll be all right. I've been broke before. I survived then. I can make DS8's life as good as possible and we'll be fine. I'm going to keep typing that and re-read that until I believe it in my deepest heart reaches.