Sometimes Love Lasts
By: Loren A Olson Md
Tags: Relationships, Creative Non Fiction, Equality, LGBTQ, Marriage

Relationships/Creative Nonfiction/LGBTQ

Sometimes Love Lasts

Even though I cheated, I’m not the cheating kind

Photo credit: William87/DepositPhoto/59555339

Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead — Adele

Almost everyone believes that cheating is wrong. But most of us who get caught cheating don’t see ourselves as the “cheating kind.”

It’s only the others guilty of infidelity who are the real cheaters.

Transgressors rationalize their offenses as unintentional, temporary, excusable, or justifiable. My husband, Doug, was no exception. Neither am I.

Inside my head, a voice screams, “Don’t say more. What will they think of you?”

We are told Don’t cheat. But then there’s this caveat, If you do cheat, don’t talk about it.

As uncomfortable as this is, I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t own up to my own philandering. What we want to do, what we say we do, and what we do are often quite different.

Most people say they value monogamy, but the truth is we’re not very good at it.

AOL

On a hot August afternoon, made hotter by our disagreement, I aimed my flame thrower at Doug for how much he had hurt me.

Doug shot back, “How do you think I felt when I read your message to Roberto!”

“What message to Roberto?” I asked.

Doug answered, “I saw your messages on AOL.”

“Doug, I haven’t been on AOL for fifteen years! I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I remembered that Roberto, my first boyfriend, had surprised me from six thousand miles away shortly after I signed up for AOL. That was all I remembered.

Doug continued, “I read your messages while you were in the shower.” Doug and I shared a computer, so it was inevitable that we’d expose our private conversations if we failed to shut it down.

I was indignant. “And you’re still pissed off about it? How am I supposed to remember?”

Doug fought fire with fire. “Well, I fuckin’ remember it! You said you wondered what it would have been like if you were with Roberto instead of me.”

It’s true. I had had those thoughts, but only when Doug and I were fighting and only if I successfully edited out the bad parts of my relationship with Roberto.

I answered, “I don’t remember what I wrote. I’ve never wanted to be with him instead of you.”

“It sure didn’t sound that way to me,” he said as he stomped away.

I thought about how easy it is to amp up a conversation online. Doug’s accusations weren’t the first time I’d been accused of dalliance. It was the same allegation Roberto made before his fists flew at me and blackened my eyes when I ended our relationship.

I didn’t deserve to be assaulted, but I wasn’t as innocent as I claimed to be.

I couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Now you know how I felt when you wrote to someone, ‘I can call you on Sunday morning about 10:00. Loren will be at church.’”

Doug responded, “That was Pieter from Holland. I’ve told you about him.”

“If it was Pieter, why did you have to wait to talk with him until you knew I’d be gone?”

Then Doug dropped the final bomb. “Before you left for Vegas in April, I saw your text message from Alan. It said, ‘Can’t wait to see you.’’

Then he asked, “Who’s Alan?” I felt like I was on black ice and skidding out of control.

Justice is never served by retaliatory responses. I had to stop wanting to hurt Doug back every time he hurt me. What I had written to Roberto was wrong. Doug had a right to feel hurt by it.

What happened with Alan was more difficult to explain.