History

I find it funny that the letters in history for all intents and purposes spell out 'his story'. It really is his story, with my experiences, reactions, and feelings inconsequential in large part. It's not that he doesn't know that I have feelings, nor is it that he maliciously acts against them. It's that they just don't register to him in any way that affects his actions or intentions. He doesn't have the capacity to put my feelings above his, or to take the time to figure out if my requests are for the benefit of both of us together.

True realization started for me last March, 2010. This was when a feeling just kicked in about all of the suspicions I had when he would come home smelling of smoke, or with a lighter in his pocket, or a fingernail that looked more yellow than the others. He vehemently denied smoking, and always had a perfectly plausible excuse. He would spend entire days never leaving my sight, and especially at Disneyland in 2008 wasn't away from us and certainly didn't have a noticeable mood change to suggest he was craving. And yet that day I was convinced in my head, and so went to confront him at the school.

Yup, he was smoking. At that time, he admitted to doing it since school had started again, some time in September. I was crushed. He had been quit the same amount of time that I had, I thought almost 4 years!! There was a sullen, tearful, sometimes raging discussion, and then he had to go back to school. That night we didn't speak, and I didn't wake him up to start work so he was very late. The next morning he comes home and WWIII starts, and I discover that he had lied yet again and had been smoking for over 2 years already and was hiding it.

The hiding had led to a gradual but complete downturn in our marriage that I had been feeling for a long time but couldn't pinpoint a reason. Communication faded, teamwork disappeared, intimacy became less frequent and more forced. It was slipping through my fingers propelled by unseen forces. The only benefit I could find from all of this was I finally had a reason, something tangible that I could blame.

And blame I did. All the pent-up anger, resentment, frustration, and dejection had an outlet, and I alternately raged, cried, pouted, and demanded. I insisted that he quit again, laid out in detail apology actions, and demanded reparations. I extolled my virtues, insisted on respect, and pointed out in great detail and with great anguish the huge range of emotions that I had encountered over the last 3 years and since The Day of Awareness, or DOA. Ironic, eh?

Except he didn't care. It didn't register with him in any sort of significant way. Don't get me wrong, he certainly got upset, but it absolutely was in no way upset for me. He was distraught that his wants had been encroached upon and was happily spiralling into a shame cycle that he could milk into martyrdom. OH, how unpleasant HIS life had become with a sad, nagging wife and sleeping in the room next to the litter boxes. This was a favorite of his actually, telling everyone that would listen how appropriate it was for him to sleep next to sh!t when he was a piece of sh!t. Sounds very contrite right? Yup, SOUNDS contrite.

He did finally agree to quit again, but begged to set the date as the day after classes ended. I reluctantly agreed, realizing it would be very difficult to cut out a 2 year habit during finals, but asked that he figure out how many he typically smoked in a day and then reduce that number by one. Fair? I thought so, though I guess fair is in the eye of the beholder. My intention was to glean if he could set a limit for himself at all, and also to feel a sense of accomplishment if he met his goal. His response was completely positive, his intentions during our talk noble. And then he went out and smoked more than ever before. 


More later....