And it marks year four of my new forced life without the spouse I thought I had. But that is not entirely true, as I think it through. Yes, he became incredibly abusive as his marijuana and alcohol addiction crescendoed. He was, however still the emotionally distant man I had been living with for years. The breakdown of his hiding just highlighted the fact.

He still played the crowd, so to speak, putting on his good guy mask in front of others, managing his image as best he could cobble under the circumstances. In that sense he was not a total stranger. I had learned to settle for distance and shallow connection.

He could no longer hold it together. His secret life came bursting out, like a damn ruptured under the pressure of the water behind it. All the hatefulness he’d built up scorched me with his swearing, aggression and unkind words. All the false stories he’d told himself about me and my motives ruptured out in all their ugliness. Voice contempt laden, angry and eyes dark with resentment, he blasted me with hate.

Yes, hate.

What he did not recognize was that the person he hated was himself—not me. I was the scapegoat for all the disastrous choices, all the vile actions he had undertaken for the previous twenty seven years.

And then they went back into the genie’s bottle like so much dark mist. Sucked back inside to stew, he once again exerted all his energy at covering up the ugliness. Trouble is, there was too much for him to completely contain. Abusiveness seeped out, short temper, Dr Jeckel and Mr Hyde, contemptuous words, avoidance of eye contact, avoidance physically with a schedule of 12 step meetings that would keep him out of the house and away from me. It was dizzying. This period of faux ‘recovery’ has extended until this day. He carries a head full of facts and direction as to how to heal, how to repair. But he does not choose to institute those actions. He still avoids. He white knuckles sobriety.

Little by slow he seems to be recognizing his stonewalling and retreat behind his sky high emotional walls. It is yet to be seen whether he will choose to lower those walls.
I keep my boundaries in place and add new as needed to protect myself from contempt, from the hurt of feeling frozen out by his withdrawal. It is a lengthy, ongoing, painful challenge that I must continue…for me. For my heart and well being.

So as I enter this new decade of the 20’s I remain in a limbo of sorts. Yet this limbo is growing increasingly stable, comfortable, do-able. I even have some joy sprinkled into almost every day as I practice my favorite self care activities. I am becoming more used to being alone. I enjoy the company—me.

If you as a betrayed find yourself in this isolated place, I wish you the joy of learning about yourself and what makes you smile. Keep on keeping on.