Echoes in My Broken Parts

I have become a woman with secrets. I've never been that kind of person before....not since I was a child trying to make excuses why no one could come into my house and why my underwear were not totally clean. I don't like secrets. I don't like hiding. I don't like being fake in real life.

This place...this is a secret. I've told my husband that he could read what I write here...partly because I want him to invite me to read what he writes. He declined. I don't think he wants to know. I don't really want to know either.

I had another dream last night, and I've noticed a pattern. I hope my husband never has to deal with this pattern of my subconscious. I'm ashamed of it....and afraid of it. I hate it.

 My secret and most disturbing dreams have (generally) focused on romantic (not sexual) encounters with men who are not my husband. The pattern to it is this:  My husband (let's call him Jonah) and I walk into a scene or setting. We know someone there, another man. He flirts with me or tries to display some affection for me. I blush, mutter something that indicates that I'm not against the expression of affection but (referring to Jonah) make it clear that my father is watching and so the affection is inappropriate at this time. That is the pattern. My husband and companion becomes my father. Damn you, Freud.

Have I mentioned that I've been cursing in my mind more lately? I don't like that part of my new self.

I guess the point is...the dreams bother me because I don't like my real father. And for Jonah to be taking that place in my subconscious is very disturbing.

For a fleeting moment last night, I heard an echo....deep down in the part of me that is broken....it said "I don't want to be married anymore." It was horrifying. I never want to think such a thing again. I love my husband. I do. But being scared all the time is exhausting.

I'm depressed. I know it. I hide it. But I don't want to do the things I normally would want to do. I don't want to be with people. I don't want to put any effort into anything. I find it difficult to read my scriptures or say formal prayers...although I've been getting more comfortable with the latter. I easily burst into tears. I watch a lot of Netflix. I'm tired all of the time. I sleep 10 hours per night and still have difficulty getting out of bed. They are sure signs of depression. Academically, I see it. I sometimes feel like my body is a shell and I am just hovering over it....watching. Life goes on autopilot. My responses to the world around me are pre-programmed and unenthusiastic. Joy is fleeting and my heart is not in anything.

I read a quote today from one of my favorite authors, Ayn Rand.

"Sex is the physical expression of a tribute to personal values."

 My husband has given tribute to base values. I think intimacy after a revelation of sexual addiction or any sort is so difficult because suddenly, you realize, his values do not match up with yours. How can you pay tribute to something you do not respect?

I love my husband. He is a hard worker. He is talented in so many ways. He loves our children and is a great father. But there is a part of him that I no longer respect. I guess he is like my father in that way....except there was little in my father to respect in the first place.

I want to attend a WoPA meeting....but I'm afraid that doing so would hurt Jonah. I'm also afraid that I won't fit in there because my problems are so seemingly small. How could I tell a woman whose husband has slipped into an Asian "Massage" parlor that I understand her pain? And how could I bear her pity when she tells me that she understands mine?

Have you ever moved from one house to another? And on that last day, after everything is packed in boxes and loaded onto the truck, you find yourself alone in that living room that seemed so small before...but now it is empty and larger. And even the quiet swish of the broom suddenly echoes in the space? Maybe there is a metaphor there. Maybe the key is to move to a different emotional "house." Although, I don't really know how that is done. Or maybe the key is to refill the room with new furniture and decor. Maybe that's how I stop the echoes.

Also, on a side note, I'm not doing the dumb formatting thing anymore....sometimes after dumping all of my pain into the void of the faceless internet, I am too spent to make the effort to resize a bunch of random words to make them standout. I'm getting lazy. Maybe. Or maybe it's just time for me to grow up.