Life After Divorce











{November 5, 2008}   Girls, Girls, Girls

Unfortunately, this post is NOT about my rabid love affair with Motley Crue.  Wait, I never had a love affair with Motley Crue.  [shudder]

This is about one of the dirty little secrets they don’t print in the “Welcome to Bipolar Land” pamphlet.  Well, maybe they do, but I always skim the pamphlets and go straight for the pictures.  I mean, come on… if it were really important, do you think they would put it into a pamphlet?  No, what I am talking about is a little more than the risky behavior of which some bipolar people partake.  I am talking about girls.

Now I have mentioned before my husband’s gravitation towards the opposite sex.  He’s kind of a dog.  But not a cool dog, like a lab.  More like a rabid horn-dog.  In Jabba the Hut’s body.  Once the bipolar news was broken, he seemed to explode into the stereotypes associated with the disorder.  There was no more holding back.

About this time, he became familiar with Yahoo Messenger and the adjoining chat rooms.  Since he wasn’t going to work, he would stay up all night playing on the internet.  I, of course, had to continue my normal bedtime routine so that I could support our family.  But, I wasn’t used to sleeping alone, so I would often wake up in the middle of the night disoriented since he was not in bed.  I would wander downstairs and find him chatting with “people” online, or worse, on the phone.  Typically, whomever he was talking to was quickly closed out or hung up on so that I would not see/hear the content of the conversation.  I would like to take a moment to point out that I am in no way, shape, or form, an idiot.  Sure, it might seem that way from the things I have put up with, but I really am not. I can definitely put 2 + 2 together.

So, I did what any good wife would do – Spy.  I will tell you, if the CIA is looking for a good agent, they should really give me a call.  I became a world class sleuth to figure out what he was up to.  I would check the internet history [shudder], chat archives, phone records, etc.  I was completely disgusted at what I would find.  One morning, I woke up a little earlier than normal and actually walked in on the bastard having phone sex with someone.  I was livid.  He is SO lucky that he is twice my size, or I might be writing this blog from the Texas State Penitentiary System.  Not really.  Yeah really.

This is about the time I start hearing, “What??? WHAT??? Leave him!  Leave him!!”  Believe me.  I have heard it.  I have heard it from the little voice in my own brain.  But the caring, compassionate person in me said, “He is sick.  He is having problems.  He isn’t working.  Where would he go?”  I thought I was doing the right thing – trying to support him both emotionally and financially.  But it was a major blow to my ego.  My self-esteem, which wasn’t great to begin with, went right out the window.  And I was trapped.  I was miserable.  I couldn’t imagine that someone I loved SO much… and had done EVERYTHING for would do something like this.  Especially after the last time

Unfortunately, this behavior continued for years.  Every time I would walk into the room, he would hang up on whoever he was talking to.  The cell phone bills were outrageous (anywhere from $300 – $1100 per month – which I had to pay for).  My heart was shattered.  I know now that I had fallen into the pit of despair with no chance of Carey Elwes coming to rescue me.

I have no evidence to say he actually ever slept with anyone during this time.  It doesn’t matter.  The phone and internet relationships were enough to kill off most of the feelings I had for him and destroy my self-esteem.  I felt trapped.  I don’t know why I felt trapped, as I had all the leverage, but I did.  I was told that it was my fault that he had to seek out these other women.  My fault for not spending enough time with him.  Yeah, asshole… because I am asleep.  Or at work.  Trying to support us.  Trying to keep us from becoming homeless.  Trying to keep my own sanity when those around me are losing theirs.  I felt useless.  Unloved and miserable.  Nothing will ever change that.

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[…] Originally posted here: Girls, Girls, Girls […]



FancyLori says:

Oh my God. How do we get ourselves into these situations?

But, sidebar: Not really. Yeah really. AND Not a cool dog, like a lab. BAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA.

Obviously I need to rewrite the bipolar pamphlet. It is a wellknown fact that almost all bipolars suffer from some form of hypersexuality. Of course I wouldn’t know this personally.

Being the adorable and redheaded bipolar that I am.

Bahahaha.



a0m0y7 says:

Jerk, next time we are out late, I won’t tell you that it might be nice to inform him. I really really am sick to my stomach.

You are not DUMB, actually I have to say that when I met you i thought “this girl is so much smater than me!”



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