grimalkin
Gold Member
So my second post – and I’ll dive right in. Incoming wall of text, I apologize in advance. Looking back, it all kind of figures in…I am very sorry if this is way too much. I have held so much of this in for so long, and I need a perspective other than my own and my therapist. Thank you if you make it to the end!
Some (ok maybe a lot) background:
My husband (46) and I (42) met online while gaming, a bit over 8 years ago now. I lived in the Midwest, he was West Coast. It started with grouping up and having fun together whenever we were online, to making it a point to get online to spend time together, to using voice chat, then calling and texting, and finally he suggested we meet. It was totally out of character for him to ask, and out of character for me to accept. But meet we did (at a neutral location – Viva Las Vegas!), and spent a fun weekend together. But, his seeming lack of interest at the end made me chalk it up to “He’s not interested, but a good time was had, guess I’ll see him in-game.” Many, many things were talked about that weekend, and I learned to take a good many of them with a grain of salt, as I’m still not certain of the truth of some of them (the most obvious was his “I’ll be dead within 5 years,” which I now see is classic PTSD stuff).
He kept calling and texting. We kept spending all our gaming time together, and called and texted constantly. “I love you” was spoken more and more frequently, and six months later, he invited me to his home. I flew in for an extended weekend (close to a week), and while I fell in LOVE with where he lived, he seemed…distant…at best. He wasn’t interested in showing me around (this is important later), didn’t want to really spend time with me, and almost seemed to regret my presence. I almost called off the trip early, but he convinced me to stay, and said he does love me and wants me to move there to be with him. Like I said, LOVED the town he lived in, and I was already looking for places to move out of the Midwest (I’d had it with winter…grew up there, had a particularly nasty winter, I was done!), so his area ended up on my short list of places to move (along with our current city, also important later).
Through negotiations, we decided to move in together. Ironically, the company I worked for decided to lay off a ton of people (almost to the point of closing my location) while I was contemplating if I even SHOULD move, so the decision to move was solidified. He assured me he didn’t mind if I had trouble finding a job, he seemed excited at the prospect of living with me, etc. I packed up a (small) trailer to be delivered later, my car, my cat, and my dog, and headed west.
Things turned sour pretty quickly. The amount of “stuff” I brought with me was overwhelming to him, and he made it sound as if he would rather I get rid of everything I own (I’m also an artist and avid reader. I have artsy stuff and books and more stuff). I asked him if he just wanted to call it off, and I’d sleep elsewhere while trying to get back on my feet. He said no, he just needed to adjust.
It’s never ideal to move in together without really knowing each other, but we made the best of it. We never really had a “honeymoon” phase, where we were on each other like bunnies, which was disappointing to me. I would try to tell him what I need, emotionally and physically, he’d generally refuse to talk about it, but would try. His job was very high-stress, and I knew that. He just woulnd’t share HOW high-stress it was. There were many, many times early on that I was ready to walk. Then there was his explosive temper. He would BLOW UP about seemingly minor things, ranting, screaming, swearing, and throwing things. He never directed violence towards me, but it triggered my own issues from my own childhood, and I would withdraw and cry (my parents love me unconditionally – but my dad had an explosive temper, and my mom was incredibly judgmental towards me).
I asked for couples therapy fairly early, because it was clear that we didn’t know how to communicate with each other. I wanted us to work. He said he had no problem with our relationship, and if I did, I was free to leave.
He’d apologize, I’d apologize, we’d move on. He said he had bad things happen to him as a kid, and that’s why he had so many issues. I sensed PTSD, depression, and anxiety myself, being a life-long sufferer of depression and anxiety myself, but he wouldn’t hear of getting help for anything. And I was (and am) willing to be supportive of him. I just accepted that it was a fact of our relationship that there would be explosions, and as long as we’d pick up the pieces, we could move on. I did learn, however, that some topics (politics and related topics) are taboo just because I don’t like being screamed at every single time.
We had great times, even through it all. Our sex life picked up, though never to the level I hoped, and we were genuinely happy together (I always got the impression from him that he was uncomfortable with touch and sex. He was never willing to talk about it, wasn’t really interested unless he initiated, and was unwilling to try anything. He always blamed it on our height difference).
He still was largely unable to be spontaneous, and if an activity was not something he was directly interested in, he was generally unwilling to participate (IE, something interesting is a drive up the coast – he’d say he wasn’t interested. This was a weekly occurrence, sometimes daily. I’d ask, he’d say no.).
Then he got hurt at work. Nothing life-threatening, but bad enough that he couldn’t wear the accoutrements required of his job (he was a Correctional Sergeant), couldn’t run or sit, that sort of thing, so they couldn’t actually make accomodations for alternative work, either. He was in constant pain, which I know causes depression itself, and workers comp when working for a state agency is a nightmare and a half. Dealing with the event of the injury itself, and the ensuing MESS of the aftermath left him with PTSD. That was 6 years ago, and we still aren’t out of the quagmire. He was medically retired, making a LOT less than he was at his job, and will never be free of the pain of his injury (it’s caused nerve damage, among other things).
Through this, we ended up married. Because one of his favorite ways to “reassure” me that he wouldn’t just leave me was to say “If I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here,” I still didn’t feel all that secure in our relationship. I am committed to him, but I was always terrified he’d start to see me as too…whatever…to go on. He also liked to say “When I’m done, I’m done,” but tried to assure me I was family now. We are a unit. We joked we had a “contract” for 25 years, so breaking up wasn’t an option before that mark. I think it was a way for both of us to say that no matter what, our core was still each other.
We went through some truly tough times financially as well. While waiting for his retirement to go through, but after the disability ran out, we were trying to live on my small income, in a very expensive area. But, we persevered. We forgave each other no matter what (or, I forgave him, and he said he forgave me), managed to make ends meet, and when his retirement was approved, we could breathe again.
Ultimately, we decided to move out of the state, to try to live a bit better, and for a new start. *edit* The new city was on my short-list of places to live, before I moved in with him. When he "had" to move, to get out of the state that screwed him over with his injury, we compromised on our current city. He then started saying "We moved here for you." No, we compromised. Compromise has been a big issue for us. I start at a place of compromise. If something does not go according to his wishes, he says I'm being inflexible, and it has to be my way or not at all. Which is not the case.
The week after we went house hunting in our current city, he had two heart attacks. But, the deposit was paid and the movers were booked, so move we had to. They weren’t blockages or anything like that, and we are convinced the attacks were directly caused by a medication. That was a year ago.
I made the mistake of going off my own medication for depression and anxiety right before this happened as well (WHY do we do that to ourselves!?). Moving to a totally new city, with no friends, and a husband disinclined to explore or try anything new, while suffering from depression and anxiety, unmedicated? I was a wreck, though of course, I had no idea how bad. I just knew I was homesick for the coast and my friends.
When our fifth anniversary rolled around, last year, he talked about how he was surprised he hadn’t f*cked it up yet, because this is his longest relationship. I had finally, at his insistence, gone back on meds the month before, so I was starting to feel more optimistic myself. One GORGEOUS Saturday, I asked him to go with me to a museum my new coworkers recommended to me, more of a botanical garden/zoo/learning center. He said no. I begged. He still said no. I begged him to explore with me. No.
I gave up. I simply could not take one more instance of rejection from him, sexually (I had given up on that years ago. His injury, and whatever other issues I didn’t know about at the time, made sex non-existant. We haven’t had any in over two years. We’ve had sex maybe a handful of times since his injury, six years ago), emotionally, mentally. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was increasingly unable to make decisions, and when asking my opinion, would then ignore it (IE, where should we go for dinner? I’d make a few suggestions, he’d say eh, I don’t want that, where else would I like…etc). He always had the tendancy to project his weaknesses and issues on to me, and that became worse. He will say that I am doing or saying something, when he is the one doing it himself.
Meanwhile, I was hearing, but couldn’t listen, to his insistance that I explore on my own, do my own art, make friends, and DO stuff. He was trying to tell me he was insecure, and that being the best me I could, would help him, when all I wanted to do was stop arguing. We had some nasty arguments about stupid shit (Black Lives Matter, which got me called names for my opinion, police brutality/training/community involvement, support, which we normally agree on, but got me called names). I was growing concerned, asked him to get help for what I saw as increasing anxiety and depression. He’d been in treatment for the work-related PTSD, and that didn’t seem to be an issue really. I was trying to get him to look at a health issue for him, he was incredibly hurtful to me in response (he has a cough drop habit – cough drops have medicine, I was trying to be joking and saying he needs to break it. He said I need to break my eating habit. His apology consisted of “you poked the bear. The bear bit back”).
Finally, at some point (I don’t remember exactly when because it was such a…non-issue?...for me), I managed to try to flirt with him (I would try, on occasion, to make it clear I still find him desireable), and in doing so, was inappropriate and triggered him. I had NO IDEA; it was exactly the same line he’d used with me in the past, so I didn’t have any inkling it was off-limits. He didn’t tell me he was triggered, just started withdrawing even more. If I would go to him for a kiss, he’d recoil like I was disgusting. This, of course, made me feel completely rejected. He would claim I was misunderstanding him. We started arguing more, I started retreating more myself.
Finally, this past summer, he asked me to find us a marriage counselor. “YES!” I thought. I’ve wanted this for YEARS! Maybe we can figure out how to fix us! It took me longer than I wanted (like two weeks or so) to find someone, since, you know, new to the area, not sure what our insurance covers, etc. He assumed I blew him off (his big stressor, feeling as if he’s not being listened to), and just wasn’t trying. I assured him that wasn’t the case, and managed to find a counselor I like, and I think he respects, because she is a military wife.
I knew his childhood was traumatic. I had no idea how traumatic. I still don’t know the extent of it. But in counseling, it’s coming out that it was bad. I’ve stopped contact with his mother because of it, as has he. We were making progress. We managed to communicate how much we mean to each other. He was finally starting to feel safe again. November 8th (I remember because it was election day), we had an amazing counseling session. So a few days later, he told me about when I triggered him.
I did not react well, and I am still kicking myself for it. We’d been in the middle of our first civil political discussion in years, and he just kind of segued into it. I was completely blindsided by it, couldn’t even remember the triggering event/words (I have problems with short term memory…apparently a side effect of my medication) off the top of my head, and was flabbergasted he could compare me to his abusive mother. I blubbered, I cried, he says I screamed at him, which I do not remember doing. I COULD remember one instance of something similar I’d said, which turns out was AFTER the initial trigger, and HE doesn’t remember, and I still didn’t know was triggering, because didn’t know it was the first time.
He says the thing that hit him was that I said “I’m done.” I said “If you think I’m as abusive as your mother, we might as well be done.” There was door slamming (and I don’t slam doors, but I did this time). There was more crying.
We’ve gone to counseling a few times since. Instead of my apologies helping, they seem to be making things worse. I had gotten bad news about my dad (cancer diagnosis) as we were walking out the door to one session, and I ended up missing that one. He still went. Our counselor called me afterwards, about how, for him, “the other shoe had dropped” (something he’s been waiting for probably our whole relationship), and I felt like I was socked in the gut again. He’d lost all the trust he had in me. But, he wanted to work on it. He wasn’t sure if he thinks I’m worth it anymore, to try to fix things, but he’d consider getting help for what has been the problem all along (childhood trauma), and would consider waiting to make any decisions of divorce until he’d at least looked at getting therapy himself. He told me and our therapist that it wasn’t him making these decisions, it was the 9 year old, and a 16 year old, who don’t trust anyone, but desperately wants to, but literally can’t. His depression and anxiety has gotten expotentially worse, which I now know is directly related to the PTSD.
His identity is wrapped up in not letting anyone in again, and through it all, even after reassurances it wouldn’t happen, I’m not in the inner circle anymore. He says he’s not willing to change that aspect of him, that it was a fluke that I even got in (and the unsaid, that it was a mistake) to begin with.
My dad died six days later. In between, we celebrated my birthday, and we had some genuinely good days where we enjoyed each other’s company. But in counseling, he still says he is pretty sure he’s not willing to get help, and that I’m not worth it (my other HUGE trigger – that I’m not good enough).
BUT, I had hope! He told me that as long as we love each other (we still said we love each other) and are sleeping in the same bed, we had hope. He encouraged me to go to my mom and help her through Christmas and New Years (NYE was their anniversary), so back to the Midwest I went for two weeks. I feel incredibly guilty because he canceled his Christmas visit with his youngest son, and this was the first Christmas he’s ever been interested in since I’ve known him – it was painful to realize the interest had nothing to do with me, but I’m starting to realize the childhood trauma likely draws on that as well.
The first few days I was gone, we were still chatting online, doing “ok,” (as ok as we could), still saying I love you, sending silly kissy emotes, etc. Then…the “I love you too” started not coming from him. I asked if it was becoming an issue. He said we’d talk about it when I got back. I asked what changed, we seemed to be doing “ok.” “We haven’t been ok in a long time and you aren’t listening again, I won’t talk about it now.”
So, I started really researching PTSD. He admitted his depression is becoming an issue, but anxiety isn’t, and he doesn’t want to do anything about the PTSD because it’s who he is now.
While I was away, the higher dose of my own medication kicked in and (surprise!) it was like a light went on. For the first time in, literally, years, I am not feeling depressed. Even through it all, I’m not feeling like every single step is a chore, and I can actually function throughout the day. I managed to finally HEAR what he was saying about my depression – and the fact that mental illness is a lying monster really reiterated itself to me.
But, in my two week trip to deal with my dad’s death, my marriage was falling apart faster, my husband wouldn’t talk about it, and he’s less sure now if he even wants to save our marriage. Knowing what I know now about PTSD, and what I already knew about depression and anxiety, this isn’t necessarily him talking. He says he doesn’t know if he loves me, says he doesn’t know if he wants to even try. He, so far, hasn’t moved into our spare room (one thing I’ll insist on – if he’s giving up on us, HE takes that step), and he hasn’t filed for a divorce. He says he doesn’t know if he can forgive me, or if he even wants to. He says a lot of contradictory things now.
I know I love him. Even if I’d known then what I know now, I would have been more supportive of him throughout our relationship (instead of listening to the lies mental illness tells, “I’m ok,” etc), but I wouldn’t have left him or ended it. I know we promised each other in sickness and in health, and I intend to keep it.
I just don’t know where the line is. I know how frustrating it is to hear from everyone “It’s not you talking, it’s your illness,” as if there is no you, and you’re not capable of making decisions. I hated that when I heard it. I know I can’t fix him. I know I can’t force him into therapy. But I don’t want to just let our marriage end. And I know the more anyone pushes, the harder he digs in his heels. Part of his trauma involves being powerless when someone else is insisting something is wrong (and in his childhood, nothing was wrong, but a step-parent was trying to have him committed to a home).
So. I have NO IDEA what to do. I’ve resolved to give him the space he seems to need right now. I’m going to insist we continue in couples therapy, and I’m getting my own therapist for my own shit. I want to insist that we will not be divorcing until he does some therapy, and while I am willing to be separated (as much as financially viable), I will not make his leaving easy. HE has to make that conscious decision. Meanwhile, I just…do my own thing I guess? What he wanted me to do all along. And pray that eventually he thinks I can be forgiven.
Thank you for making it this far. I guess I'm hoping for some perspective, in that I'm not crazy (I've felt I'm being gaslighted SO OFTEN in this relationship, which is apparently also too common), and that maybe, there is some hope for us.
Some (ok maybe a lot) background:
My husband (46) and I (42) met online while gaming, a bit over 8 years ago now. I lived in the Midwest, he was West Coast. It started with grouping up and having fun together whenever we were online, to making it a point to get online to spend time together, to using voice chat, then calling and texting, and finally he suggested we meet. It was totally out of character for him to ask, and out of character for me to accept. But meet we did (at a neutral location – Viva Las Vegas!), and spent a fun weekend together. But, his seeming lack of interest at the end made me chalk it up to “He’s not interested, but a good time was had, guess I’ll see him in-game.” Many, many things were talked about that weekend, and I learned to take a good many of them with a grain of salt, as I’m still not certain of the truth of some of them (the most obvious was his “I’ll be dead within 5 years,” which I now see is classic PTSD stuff).
He kept calling and texting. We kept spending all our gaming time together, and called and texted constantly. “I love you” was spoken more and more frequently, and six months later, he invited me to his home. I flew in for an extended weekend (close to a week), and while I fell in LOVE with where he lived, he seemed…distant…at best. He wasn’t interested in showing me around (this is important later), didn’t want to really spend time with me, and almost seemed to regret my presence. I almost called off the trip early, but he convinced me to stay, and said he does love me and wants me to move there to be with him. Like I said, LOVED the town he lived in, and I was already looking for places to move out of the Midwest (I’d had it with winter…grew up there, had a particularly nasty winter, I was done!), so his area ended up on my short list of places to move (along with our current city, also important later).
Through negotiations, we decided to move in together. Ironically, the company I worked for decided to lay off a ton of people (almost to the point of closing my location) while I was contemplating if I even SHOULD move, so the decision to move was solidified. He assured me he didn’t mind if I had trouble finding a job, he seemed excited at the prospect of living with me, etc. I packed up a (small) trailer to be delivered later, my car, my cat, and my dog, and headed west.
Things turned sour pretty quickly. The amount of “stuff” I brought with me was overwhelming to him, and he made it sound as if he would rather I get rid of everything I own (I’m also an artist and avid reader. I have artsy stuff and books and more stuff). I asked him if he just wanted to call it off, and I’d sleep elsewhere while trying to get back on my feet. He said no, he just needed to adjust.
It’s never ideal to move in together without really knowing each other, but we made the best of it. We never really had a “honeymoon” phase, where we were on each other like bunnies, which was disappointing to me. I would try to tell him what I need, emotionally and physically, he’d generally refuse to talk about it, but would try. His job was very high-stress, and I knew that. He just woulnd’t share HOW high-stress it was. There were many, many times early on that I was ready to walk. Then there was his explosive temper. He would BLOW UP about seemingly minor things, ranting, screaming, swearing, and throwing things. He never directed violence towards me, but it triggered my own issues from my own childhood, and I would withdraw and cry (my parents love me unconditionally – but my dad had an explosive temper, and my mom was incredibly judgmental towards me).
I asked for couples therapy fairly early, because it was clear that we didn’t know how to communicate with each other. I wanted us to work. He said he had no problem with our relationship, and if I did, I was free to leave.
He’d apologize, I’d apologize, we’d move on. He said he had bad things happen to him as a kid, and that’s why he had so many issues. I sensed PTSD, depression, and anxiety myself, being a life-long sufferer of depression and anxiety myself, but he wouldn’t hear of getting help for anything. And I was (and am) willing to be supportive of him. I just accepted that it was a fact of our relationship that there would be explosions, and as long as we’d pick up the pieces, we could move on. I did learn, however, that some topics (politics and related topics) are taboo just because I don’t like being screamed at every single time.
We had great times, even through it all. Our sex life picked up, though never to the level I hoped, and we were genuinely happy together (I always got the impression from him that he was uncomfortable with touch and sex. He was never willing to talk about it, wasn’t really interested unless he initiated, and was unwilling to try anything. He always blamed it on our height difference).
He still was largely unable to be spontaneous, and if an activity was not something he was directly interested in, he was generally unwilling to participate (IE, something interesting is a drive up the coast – he’d say he wasn’t interested. This was a weekly occurrence, sometimes daily. I’d ask, he’d say no.).
Then he got hurt at work. Nothing life-threatening, but bad enough that he couldn’t wear the accoutrements required of his job (he was a Correctional Sergeant), couldn’t run or sit, that sort of thing, so they couldn’t actually make accomodations for alternative work, either. He was in constant pain, which I know causes depression itself, and workers comp when working for a state agency is a nightmare and a half. Dealing with the event of the injury itself, and the ensuing MESS of the aftermath left him with PTSD. That was 6 years ago, and we still aren’t out of the quagmire. He was medically retired, making a LOT less than he was at his job, and will never be free of the pain of his injury (it’s caused nerve damage, among other things).
Through this, we ended up married. Because one of his favorite ways to “reassure” me that he wouldn’t just leave me was to say “If I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here,” I still didn’t feel all that secure in our relationship. I am committed to him, but I was always terrified he’d start to see me as too…whatever…to go on. He also liked to say “When I’m done, I’m done,” but tried to assure me I was family now. We are a unit. We joked we had a “contract” for 25 years, so breaking up wasn’t an option before that mark. I think it was a way for both of us to say that no matter what, our core was still each other.
We went through some truly tough times financially as well. While waiting for his retirement to go through, but after the disability ran out, we were trying to live on my small income, in a very expensive area. But, we persevered. We forgave each other no matter what (or, I forgave him, and he said he forgave me), managed to make ends meet, and when his retirement was approved, we could breathe again.
Ultimately, we decided to move out of the state, to try to live a bit better, and for a new start. *edit* The new city was on my short-list of places to live, before I moved in with him. When he "had" to move, to get out of the state that screwed him over with his injury, we compromised on our current city. He then started saying "We moved here for you." No, we compromised. Compromise has been a big issue for us. I start at a place of compromise. If something does not go according to his wishes, he says I'm being inflexible, and it has to be my way or not at all. Which is not the case.
The week after we went house hunting in our current city, he had two heart attacks. But, the deposit was paid and the movers were booked, so move we had to. They weren’t blockages or anything like that, and we are convinced the attacks were directly caused by a medication. That was a year ago.
I made the mistake of going off my own medication for depression and anxiety right before this happened as well (WHY do we do that to ourselves!?). Moving to a totally new city, with no friends, and a husband disinclined to explore or try anything new, while suffering from depression and anxiety, unmedicated? I was a wreck, though of course, I had no idea how bad. I just knew I was homesick for the coast and my friends.
When our fifth anniversary rolled around, last year, he talked about how he was surprised he hadn’t f*cked it up yet, because this is his longest relationship. I had finally, at his insistence, gone back on meds the month before, so I was starting to feel more optimistic myself. One GORGEOUS Saturday, I asked him to go with me to a museum my new coworkers recommended to me, more of a botanical garden/zoo/learning center. He said no. I begged. He still said no. I begged him to explore with me. No.
I gave up. I simply could not take one more instance of rejection from him, sexually (I had given up on that years ago. His injury, and whatever other issues I didn’t know about at the time, made sex non-existant. We haven’t had any in over two years. We’ve had sex maybe a handful of times since his injury, six years ago), emotionally, mentally. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was increasingly unable to make decisions, and when asking my opinion, would then ignore it (IE, where should we go for dinner? I’d make a few suggestions, he’d say eh, I don’t want that, where else would I like…etc). He always had the tendancy to project his weaknesses and issues on to me, and that became worse. He will say that I am doing or saying something, when he is the one doing it himself.
Meanwhile, I was hearing, but couldn’t listen, to his insistance that I explore on my own, do my own art, make friends, and DO stuff. He was trying to tell me he was insecure, and that being the best me I could, would help him, when all I wanted to do was stop arguing. We had some nasty arguments about stupid shit (Black Lives Matter, which got me called names for my opinion, police brutality/training/community involvement, support, which we normally agree on, but got me called names). I was growing concerned, asked him to get help for what I saw as increasing anxiety and depression. He’d been in treatment for the work-related PTSD, and that didn’t seem to be an issue really. I was trying to get him to look at a health issue for him, he was incredibly hurtful to me in response (he has a cough drop habit – cough drops have medicine, I was trying to be joking and saying he needs to break it. He said I need to break my eating habit. His apology consisted of “you poked the bear. The bear bit back”).
Finally, at some point (I don’t remember exactly when because it was such a…non-issue?...for me), I managed to try to flirt with him (I would try, on occasion, to make it clear I still find him desireable), and in doing so, was inappropriate and triggered him. I had NO IDEA; it was exactly the same line he’d used with me in the past, so I didn’t have any inkling it was off-limits. He didn’t tell me he was triggered, just started withdrawing even more. If I would go to him for a kiss, he’d recoil like I was disgusting. This, of course, made me feel completely rejected. He would claim I was misunderstanding him. We started arguing more, I started retreating more myself.
Finally, this past summer, he asked me to find us a marriage counselor. “YES!” I thought. I’ve wanted this for YEARS! Maybe we can figure out how to fix us! It took me longer than I wanted (like two weeks or so) to find someone, since, you know, new to the area, not sure what our insurance covers, etc. He assumed I blew him off (his big stressor, feeling as if he’s not being listened to), and just wasn’t trying. I assured him that wasn’t the case, and managed to find a counselor I like, and I think he respects, because she is a military wife.
I knew his childhood was traumatic. I had no idea how traumatic. I still don’t know the extent of it. But in counseling, it’s coming out that it was bad. I’ve stopped contact with his mother because of it, as has he. We were making progress. We managed to communicate how much we mean to each other. He was finally starting to feel safe again. November 8th (I remember because it was election day), we had an amazing counseling session. So a few days later, he told me about when I triggered him.
I did not react well, and I am still kicking myself for it. We’d been in the middle of our first civil political discussion in years, and he just kind of segued into it. I was completely blindsided by it, couldn’t even remember the triggering event/words (I have problems with short term memory…apparently a side effect of my medication) off the top of my head, and was flabbergasted he could compare me to his abusive mother. I blubbered, I cried, he says I screamed at him, which I do not remember doing. I COULD remember one instance of something similar I’d said, which turns out was AFTER the initial trigger, and HE doesn’t remember, and I still didn’t know was triggering, because didn’t know it was the first time.
He says the thing that hit him was that I said “I’m done.” I said “If you think I’m as abusive as your mother, we might as well be done.” There was door slamming (and I don’t slam doors, but I did this time). There was more crying.
We’ve gone to counseling a few times since. Instead of my apologies helping, they seem to be making things worse. I had gotten bad news about my dad (cancer diagnosis) as we were walking out the door to one session, and I ended up missing that one. He still went. Our counselor called me afterwards, about how, for him, “the other shoe had dropped” (something he’s been waiting for probably our whole relationship), and I felt like I was socked in the gut again. He’d lost all the trust he had in me. But, he wanted to work on it. He wasn’t sure if he thinks I’m worth it anymore, to try to fix things, but he’d consider getting help for what has been the problem all along (childhood trauma), and would consider waiting to make any decisions of divorce until he’d at least looked at getting therapy himself. He told me and our therapist that it wasn’t him making these decisions, it was the 9 year old, and a 16 year old, who don’t trust anyone, but desperately wants to, but literally can’t. His depression and anxiety has gotten expotentially worse, which I now know is directly related to the PTSD.
His identity is wrapped up in not letting anyone in again, and through it all, even after reassurances it wouldn’t happen, I’m not in the inner circle anymore. He says he’s not willing to change that aspect of him, that it was a fluke that I even got in (and the unsaid, that it was a mistake) to begin with.
My dad died six days later. In between, we celebrated my birthday, and we had some genuinely good days where we enjoyed each other’s company. But in counseling, he still says he is pretty sure he’s not willing to get help, and that I’m not worth it (my other HUGE trigger – that I’m not good enough).
BUT, I had hope! He told me that as long as we love each other (we still said we love each other) and are sleeping in the same bed, we had hope. He encouraged me to go to my mom and help her through Christmas and New Years (NYE was their anniversary), so back to the Midwest I went for two weeks. I feel incredibly guilty because he canceled his Christmas visit with his youngest son, and this was the first Christmas he’s ever been interested in since I’ve known him – it was painful to realize the interest had nothing to do with me, but I’m starting to realize the childhood trauma likely draws on that as well.
The first few days I was gone, we were still chatting online, doing “ok,” (as ok as we could), still saying I love you, sending silly kissy emotes, etc. Then…the “I love you too” started not coming from him. I asked if it was becoming an issue. He said we’d talk about it when I got back. I asked what changed, we seemed to be doing “ok.” “We haven’t been ok in a long time and you aren’t listening again, I won’t talk about it now.”
So, I started really researching PTSD. He admitted his depression is becoming an issue, but anxiety isn’t, and he doesn’t want to do anything about the PTSD because it’s who he is now.
While I was away, the higher dose of my own medication kicked in and (surprise!) it was like a light went on. For the first time in, literally, years, I am not feeling depressed. Even through it all, I’m not feeling like every single step is a chore, and I can actually function throughout the day. I managed to finally HEAR what he was saying about my depression – and the fact that mental illness is a lying monster really reiterated itself to me.
But, in my two week trip to deal with my dad’s death, my marriage was falling apart faster, my husband wouldn’t talk about it, and he’s less sure now if he even wants to save our marriage. Knowing what I know now about PTSD, and what I already knew about depression and anxiety, this isn’t necessarily him talking. He says he doesn’t know if he loves me, says he doesn’t know if he wants to even try. He, so far, hasn’t moved into our spare room (one thing I’ll insist on – if he’s giving up on us, HE takes that step), and he hasn’t filed for a divorce. He says he doesn’t know if he can forgive me, or if he even wants to. He says a lot of contradictory things now.
I know I love him. Even if I’d known then what I know now, I would have been more supportive of him throughout our relationship (instead of listening to the lies mental illness tells, “I’m ok,” etc), but I wouldn’t have left him or ended it. I know we promised each other in sickness and in health, and I intend to keep it.
I just don’t know where the line is. I know how frustrating it is to hear from everyone “It’s not you talking, it’s your illness,” as if there is no you, and you’re not capable of making decisions. I hated that when I heard it. I know I can’t fix him. I know I can’t force him into therapy. But I don’t want to just let our marriage end. And I know the more anyone pushes, the harder he digs in his heels. Part of his trauma involves being powerless when someone else is insisting something is wrong (and in his childhood, nothing was wrong, but a step-parent was trying to have him committed to a home).
So. I have NO IDEA what to do. I’ve resolved to give him the space he seems to need right now. I’m going to insist we continue in couples therapy, and I’m getting my own therapist for my own shit. I want to insist that we will not be divorcing until he does some therapy, and while I am willing to be separated (as much as financially viable), I will not make his leaving easy. HE has to make that conscious decision. Meanwhile, I just…do my own thing I guess? What he wanted me to do all along. And pray that eventually he thinks I can be forgiven.
Thank you for making it this far. I guess I'm hoping for some perspective, in that I'm not crazy (I've felt I'm being gaslighted SO OFTEN in this relationship, which is apparently also too common), and that maybe, there is some hope for us.
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