From: an1490@anon.penet.fi (Adrift)
Subject: More history **long**
X-Anonymously-To: alt.sexual.abuse.recovery
Organization: Anonymous contact service
Date: Fri, 11 Dec 1992 20:09:37 GMT


(continued from an earlier post).

There may be minor **SPOILERS** in here, so be in a safe place just
in case.  Nothing really graphic, but lots of personal thoughts and
emotion.  I'm writing this paragraph last, and although I'm incapable
of the release of crying, the screen is kind of blurry.

The first years after I dropped out of college were pretty good.  I no
longer took any drugs, including grass (well, I did still drink beer,
but not to excess), I enjoyed peace and quiet after moving out of my
frat into a studio apartment, and I found a job related to my college
major.  I severed my connections with my mother (this persisted for
six years), and I told my girlfriend we needed some time apart (she
was so dependent it seemed she had no life of her own).  At the end
of the summer, I got back in touch with her (the girlfriend), and she
had dropped out of school and was engaged to a budding rock musician
and was en route to California (sounds like a low budget movie, but
it's true).

Meanwhile, over the next 4 years I worked my way up from trainee
to professional staff in the company, then switched professions
entirely within that company.  After about another year in the new
profession, I left the company for a better payscale, then left the
second company for a third within 5 months (I couldn't stand the second
company).  I stayed at the third company for just shy of 6 years, then
moved on to my present job, where I've been for 7-1/2 years.

Early during my third company, I renewed contact with my mother.  I
often regret doing that, and I don't even really understand why I did
so then.  She hadn't changed much; she lived alone, was cold and bitter,
refused to accept that I might have thoughts I'd rather keep private,
and was still seeing the abusive (to me) boyfriend.  I laid down one
firm ground rule that would *not* be broken - I was never to have to
be in the same room, or even in shouting distance, of him again.
(She no longer lived next door to him).  That condition was kept
(he's now dead, and good riddance).

My mother was still working for a few more years, although she's
retired now; she was a psychiatric social worker, if you can believe
that; she should never have had a job working closely with people,
especially people with problems!  Anyway, she'd visit when it was
convenient for her (never mind whether I might have had other plans),
and told me when to visit her.  When she was at my apartment, I'd
come home after work and find the kitchen cleaned up and rearranged
to suit her.  Then I would be interrogated about what I felt about
her, what was my money situation, etc.  I never had any say in the
topic, and I suffered the visits until she left, usually after one
of us blew up and we'd have a screaming argument.

When I went to her place, I was drafted into "little" jobs ("It
will only take you a few minutes") like repairing (rebuilding)
the blueberry enclosure (I couldn't do it, a professional carpenter
with the right tools took a day and a half), replacing rotting timbers
on the bridge over the stream, rewiring appliances with inadequate tools,
shoveling muck out of the stream in the spring, etc.  If it was something
I couldn't do, she made me feel worthless about it.  She constantly
tried to guilt me about my wish for some privacy.

During my first job, I managed to get my weight down to the way I was
before college (thin!).  But after I started seeing my mother again,
it started to rise again.  Of course she nagged me about it, and of
course the more she nagged me the heavier I got.

By the way, since my previous posting when I realized how little
emotional support I got from my mother during childhood, my eating
patterns have changed with almost no effort on my part, except
repeating to myself "She will *not* take control over my life, *I*
will decide this for myself!"  I haven't actually lost much yet,
but I feel I will.  Thank you ASAR!

9-1/2 years ago, I met my wife in a pub.  She was engaged to someone
else at the time, but I won her over, and she and her son moved in
with me.  In September, she became pregnant (we took precautions,
but they are not failsafe), and we decided to marry earlier than
we had planned (we had talked about marrying in the spring).  He
was born in May, and nearly three years later we had a daughter.
I discussed getting a vasectomy at that point (3 children was enough
for me), but she decided that since she would already be in the OR
(Caesarian delivery), she'd have her tubes tied.  She had second thoughts
in the last few hours, but stuck to the decision ("I made a promise").
I think she resented me for that, which I always thought was unfair,
as I had never asked her to do that, and in fact tried to talk her
out of it.

About three years ago, she had been difficult to get along with for a
while.  She'd come home very late (she had an evening job), would
never call to say she'd be late, was moody.  One night in the winter
we both were at a lounge, and she pulled me aside and said, "You know,
our marriage is in trouble."  I was stunned, I hadn't really seen that
at that point. She said I needed to pay more attention to her (true),
and told me she wanted to give us a chance instead of just ending it.
We went home, and she admitted to having had an affair.  I had had
a couple hours to think at that point, and had half suspected it by
then, so I didn't blow up.  She assured me that it was over, but couldn't
promise it wouldn't happen again.

I tried over the next few weeks to be more attentive to her, but she
wasn't very receptive.  I set up an appointment for us to see a
family counsellor (very difficult for me, as you can imagine now
that you know about my mother!).  After a small number of sessions,
our therapist suggested separate sessions, with my wife attending
the bulk of them, as she strongly suspected childhood sexual
abuse in her case.  This has settled down to a weekly session
for my wife and a monthly session for me.

Our sex life dwindled to nearly nothing.  Nearly 2 years ago it stopped
entirely.  In the spring of 1991, my wife suggested an open marriage,
she would see who she wanted and I would do the same.  I refused at that
time, but when she repeated the suggestion at the end of that summer, I
agreed that that might be easier for the time being.  It has opened
our communication somewhat, but has not helped much otherwise.  Neither
of us has really done anything more about it than going out for the
evening or flirting.  I'm not entirely sure whether it's just hard to
find someone willing to date someone in my situation, or whether I'm
deliberately blowing opportunities (I can think of at least one person
that makes me consider the latter).  I don't think I've ever really
been comfortable with the idea, but on the other hand I've been very
lonely and frustrated.

This is even longer than I thought it would be.  Thanks to all who have
had the patience to read through it, and particular thanks to those who
have responded to the earlier parts with support and sympathy - you
know who you are.


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