Why I'm The Bad Husband. (READ THIS FIRST!)

This entry serves as a bit of an intro to this whole mess.

The "date" on this entry is false to keep it at the end of the blog. I actually finally got around to writing this on Monday, or the weekend, I forget which. Around October 18th-20th somewhere.

You should be reading this entry BEFORE any others, so I've forced it to the bottom.

Let's first introduce your cast of characters: The Bad Husband may refer to himself as "JD" at times.

The Abused Wife (for she is, in so many ways, though not physical, please, there will be no lies in this 'blog so trust me on that score. I'm going to appear monstrous enough in this blog without that impression being created in any reader's mind) may be referred to as "EL" at times.

Our son is called (with incredible affection, don't take this nickname to signify emotional distance) The Boy.

(I believe I might've stolen that from something I've read in the distant past. Some Stephen King novel somewhere, I think. I read a lot of Steve King back in the 80's...it may be pulp, but it's good pulp - he's a fine storyteller. If memory serves he used it in a dream sequence during The Dead Zone, and also Cujo, and maybe The Stand. As you'll see, I read a lot and I remember everything. Sometimes, I wish I could forget things I know. But I can't. I almost never forget anything - unless I had to learn it in a classroom. Then it's pretty likely I forgot it after the test. Hey, I think that was a joke. I didn' t have a sense of humor when I wrote this 10 days ago, I'm editing it now and wow, I guess I got some of my humor back. Hopefully that'll make a more intesting read for you, dear reader...)

So....The Boy is the most important thing to either of us. I hate what I've done to The Boy as much as I have to EL. If he needs to grow up without his daddy...well...I'll never, ever forgive myself. EL, she's an adult. She will make her own choices and do what she needs to do. But...The Boy...how could this happen to him...


OK...cast of characters introduced. Let's move on.


First and foremost: This is not "drama." I have a clear head and objectivity when describing myself here. I know what I've done, and I'll pull no punches. Do not think this is "Woe is me, I'm so awful" angst. No, my friends...I truly have caused my marriage to end. See if you don't agree with The Abused Wife when you are done reading this piece.

One other thing: Here comes the most important statement of the blog. I mean this with all possible sincerity:

Anyone reading this who is a friend or family member: Don't you DARE hold anything she's done against EL. NONE of it. She wouldn't have done it, never would have entertained the idea, NEVER...if not for me and what I did to get it here. Remember - this is primarily about how I ruined my marriage and what may happen to save it. Yes, the first few entries (er, ok, most of them as of the first 10 days...now that I read back...) are obsessed with "the other guy." But...he came along just 2 weeks ago. My wife stopped loving me long before that. Years, maybe. Months, certainly.

You must know that before you read the rest of the blog. It's not her fault. And this guy she's seeing, well, he's not the reason for my failed marriage. He may end up being some part of the reason I can't save it, but...he didn't cause it. I did. Alone, myself...heartless and thoughtless.

She's my wife, it's between us - if I don't hold it against her, if I forgive her (whatever there is to forgive - I don't truly know what' s in her heart or mind...) then that's my business. You just understand that, please, and don't ever think of her differently than you did before. She's still the sweet, wonderful, happy, adorable, cheerful person you always knew. I'm the fucker who brought it to this.



But...read on...



Where to begin? A very, very quick biographical update, I suppose.

We met in 1995. Community College. I was taking the last class I needed for my degree. (2 year Associate's Degree of English. I know, I know, "Do you want fries with that?" But it's served me well, and if you knew more about me, you'd know it was quite the accomplisment. Not that I'm a stupid person. I was school phobic in high school and couldn't deal with being in a classroom or school back then - college was a little better since it's more adult and more in control of the student, but issues lingered. In fact, my sister (a teacher) last night said, "You know, maybe you've got Adult Attention Deficit Disorder and you never knew it." I may have some version of that - I hyper-focus on some things and let others slide like hell. But really, I think I'm just lazy and don't like to study. You don't need a fancy label for that, do you? Anyway, I was in the gifted classes at school, scored highly on all those IQ tests, and have a fair degree of analytical thinking skills, creativity, and so on. Basically, I'm not as stupid as it might seem...)

Wow, that was a long parenthetical! Let's just restart, shall we? So it was the last class I had to take. What did I save for last? College Algebra, of course. Do I ever hate math. I don't know why, I can do it just fine. I guess because it doesn't come easy as a lot of things do, and as I said...I'm pretty lazy.

Are you keeping score? Though it's not one of the Top Issues That Ruined My Marriage, it's sure up there. Lazy. Write it down.

Anyway, that was 1995. We dated a while, she moved up to Scranton, PA for a new job and I moved into her apartment. You know, even back then, I didn't really hold my end up. I earned less money, so I paid less rent. I let her go into debt to buy furniture, then I held that debt against her years later. Things like that.

After awhile, we both got jobs over in New Jersey, but we didn't want to LIVE in NJ. No offense, New Jersians, but you guys have a wacked-out state there, no thanks. So we moved to a little town called Pen Argyl, PA across the border from NJ and only about a 45 minute ride to our NJ jobs at the Rockaway Mall.

Then, I got sick of things in retail, so applied for a job with a wireless cell telephone company as a customer service rep. That was 1998, and luckily, I was promoted rapidly and became a salaried trainer in 1999. The Abused Wife meanwhile continued to further her career in Retail Management, at which she kicks ass. She can manage people, visual merchandise an entire store into great displays, and do all the admin crap of ordering, purchasing, etc. with ease.

Hmm, think I should have told her things like that more often, instead of bitching about my job all the time?

So that's two. Lazy, and not respectful of how good she is at her job, and how much it sucks being a retail manager.

She sort of gave me a hint around summer 1998 that, "I don't want to be your girlfriend forever..." Not that we weren't happy in love, crazy in love at times even - just that I was sort of letting it stay at that level...not making inroads towards marriage. I thought about it, often...but...I tend to let things sit...status quo, etc. Another issue...

I got the hint. I DID want to be married, but I sat down and thought it out really carefully. This was the bigtime. I didn't want to rush into a marriage...because of my parent's divorce, because of the pain that goes with that...I wanted to make sure I was ready and would do right by EL. I was. I did. We bought a ring, and we got engaged at a family reunion in Summer 1998.

We got married in May of 2000. I can say with no cliche' at all - that was the happiest day of my life. Ever. The day The Boy was born was the most "important" day of my life. But for pure joy, for happiness that is bringing tears to my eyes right now at the memory - it was that wedding. I can't believe I didn't have a heart attack and die from joy when I saw her smiling at me behind that veil...

Anyway - things were great. We bought a house a year later. We got some cats. We started discussing a baby. Again, I had some deep soul-searching to do. Was this the right thing? Would our love and marriage last for the next 20 years, minimum, to raise our child right? I thought about the look in my wife's eyes (and, presumably, mine) on the day we got married, and I decided I never wanted anyone else ever again. We agreed to wait about a year to get the house and bills under control and then start trying.

Well...we decided to "start trying" in January of 2002. We were on a trip to Walt Disney World in Orlando (we went about twice a year back then) in the middle of January, and...wham! Pregnant. All I can say is good thing we'd always been careful about birth control before then because that was all it took! She was pregnant as soon as we stopped using it. We were happy.

But...I think things started to go bad already around then. Will I blame stress and work and things? Yes, for causing me to be distracted, but not "blame" them in the sense that it was caused by that. Just, I didn't realize how much stress she was under at work, and what that was doing to her. The pregnancy was pretty normal at first, but EL had some blood clotting factors that needed watching, had to give herself daily injections of a blood thinner that wouldn't hurt the baby, and it was pretty painful.

And I wasn't thoughtful enough about it. I let her deal with it without giving her enough love and affection. I caused her stress during her pregnancy by my thoughtlessness that may have contributed (along with her own work stresses that I wasn't doing enough to help her work through) to some small "TIA"'s - which, I can't recall the acronym now but basically is like a minature stroke. A very mild, with no lasting affects, blockage of blood in the brain that causes effects a lot like a mild seizure. Spacey, trouble walking or talking for a few minutes, head pain, etc.

EL is also epileptic, very very slightly, hasn't had a seizure in years and isn't even on meds...but had a few small episodes during the pregnancy.

So...keeping score? Not being "there" enough during my wife's stressful worklife and stressful pregnancy. That's a third.

The Boy was born in September. A little early - she was having pre-labor getting worse, throwing those TIA strokes, and her placenta wasn't as "full" as it should have been so they induced labor about 3 weeks early. Luckily, with today's technology, that's not as bad as it used to be. The Boy was still a nice respectable 7lbs 9oz when born and aside from a pretty bad case of jaundice at first, had no complications from his early birth. EL on the other hand - she was told, for her own best health...she shouldn't have any more children. Blood clots causing a serious risk of stroke to her were the main reason. We'd said we only wanted one, but nobody likes to be told it's not an option. I'm not a woman, I'm sure I can't understand what it's like to be told something like that. (Though, for other loved ones who've been told they shouldn't have any at all...well...I'm sorry to have brought it up. It must seem pretty snotty for us to complain.)

And here's where it gets pretty shitty. I love my son with all my heart - but why didn't I take a stronger role? I let EL do the lion's share of the work. Sure, she was breastfeeding at first so I didn't have to feel guilty about not doing all the feedings...but I could have done so much more to make things easier, but didn't. I loved them both and am so proud of The Boy my friends would make fun of me as every month we'd get new portraits taken and I'd put them up in my cube. The Boy wasn't even 6 months old and I had about a dozen portraits in there.

EL went back to work and I continued to be the slacker. I didn't IGNORE them...but I didn't do enough. I let her deal with all the day care, made her get up early to take him to her mom's rather than offer to do it some of the time. Made her do the grocery shopping and stuff, she even put his crib together with her mom and dad instead of me. It's bad. I'd come home from work, late - I often worked 10 or more hours a day, 12 on occasion - and be like some stupid 50's TV show dad. Play with my son for an hour, read a story, then say "Hey it's time for his bath..." and let The Abused Wife take it from there while I went to watch TV or surf the 'net. Asshole? You bet.

I could go on and on but you get the picture. That's one of the MAJOR issues:

Not thoughtful or helpful enough around the house. Made The Abused Wife do everything, just about. And would still bitch about the messy house and things. What. An. Asshole!

So...not thoughtful. Not showing my love enough. Not holding my end up as far as taking care of my son, or doing work around the house. Letting the "romance" drain out of our life. Anniversaries and birthdays, I tried to pay attention. I let a Mother's Day go by without buying a gift because I was pissy about something I don't recall. A real bastard.

The sex life...well, don't want to make any friends or relatives reading squirm too much, let's just say that it never really came back to what it was. We were like any other newly married couple before he came around, let's just say that. But afterwards, of course, she wasn't in the mood much...and then with all my distractions and thoughtlessness, I didn't spot that for the sign that it was. I've said already - I'm not a stupid person. I'm educated, I read, I know what's what - I know what postpartum depression is, and even if it's not the clinical definition, I know that EVERY woman feels differently after having a child. I know I should have been working overtime to make her feel sexy, loved, and beautiful to me again after the pregnancy (which she was...she always was!) but I didn't. I didn't do shit. She'd say, "Not in the mood" and I'd say, "OK." Great, eh? Asshole!

Now. The biggest thing of all:

I'm an abuser. I never thought of it that way before, I've never raised a hand in anger against anyone (except my brother, and once or twice my sister, but hopefully anyone with siblings can understand that. Sibs fight) and never would. It's not even very often that I yell AT people. Like, I don't scream at The Abused Wife and call her names, or anything. Can't say never, though. Just very, very rarely.

No...what I do, is get so enraged sometimes at things...a balky computer, a dripping dishwasher, a bolt in my car's engine that won't come loose....and I lose it. I shout obscenities. I scream so hard sometimes I hurt my vocal cords. I once yelled so much - RANTED so much - I had to tell people at work I had a cold for 2 days because I was hoarse.

And...I throw things. NEVER AT PEOPLE. NEVER. Never even NEAR people. I'm not insane, I just got this way somehow as a way to release anger. In fact I'm not stupid - I don't even throw valuable things and I don't throw them AT valuable things. I'll throw a hammer into the corner of the garage where the carpet remnants are. That kind of thing....

None of that matters, though. It's abuse. My wife has to see me do this, which was bad enough. But my son came along....The Boy had to see his daddy screaming in rage at a printer, at a dishrack, at a telephone.

I don't do this every day, or even every week. It might happen 2 or 3 times in a week, then not for 3 months. Whatever. You know? I just have that temper that when it hits the boiling point - sometimes, I gotta scream at it, or throw it.

I'm ashamed, deeply ashamed now. I see it through her eyes, and his. I remember my dad's rages when I was little, and how scared I was.

Even when I'd be doing it...I knew how awful it was. That just made it worse. I'd scream and break a computer keyboard over my knee....and then look at the pieces stupidly and feel so SHITTY I'd want to just die. So what happened? It would depress me more, make me feel worse, making me rage even harder at myself.

But...think of The Abused Wife. She sees this, she sees The Boy. She worries - what if he starts throwing things at us? What if he starts hitting us?

I don't blame her.

I once threw a phone at her feet while she stood in the kitchen not 3 feet away with our boy in her hands. A piece hit her. Just the plastic battery cover - but what if it'd been the battery? What if it'd hit The Boy? Why didn't I see it at the time? She certainly did.

I cannot even remember what the argument was. Only that...I was so upset because I'd been trying that day to do something "right." But instead, somehow, it didn't turn out right and she said something that showed she misunderstood - I really can't remember so I'll make up something just to illustrate: Like, she wanted to go somewhere with the 3 of us but I wanted to stay home to fix the house up, and she got home and said, "Well, we had fun, too bad you didn't care enough to come." That's not exactly what happened on this occasion, I really can't recall anymore...that's just an example. And hell I wouldn't blame her for thinking that - that's why it's a realistic example, you know? But anyway, all I remember was this dark rage coming up about how I'd been misunderstood, and I just screamed, "THAT IS NOT WHAT HAPPENED!" and threw the phone, etc. I SCREAMED as she walked down the hall to get the baby bag and leave the house with The Boy. I was shouting something about how "I try so hard, and you don't understand." Things like that. That was the time it was so bad I couldn't talk at work for 2 days. That was the worst. When she left, I felt about 1 inch tall, hated myself, almost wanted to die for how I'd acted. But that didn't matter. She doesn't know that, and wouldn't care if she did. Why would she? I did that in front of my son. He cried. He was scared of his Daddy.


The other bad one was not too long ago...this one I remember clearly... The sink was full of dishes. Rather than act like a husband and wash them, I tried to add one to the top of the stack. It slid over, dirty filthy food-ridden water spilled out, slopped over the counter, under the dishrack and microwave oven.

I lost it. And I know the FIRST word I shouted was, "EL! DAMMIT!" and then went off into my normal stream of horrible obsenties and incoherent roaring. So...what would that seem like to her? That I was cursing her out, ranting at her and about her, etc. In reality, in my brain, I think, it was more like "EL...dammit...I just made a fucking mess...goddamn dishes..fucking water...goddamn it all..." Not that those words came out. And again, not like it matters. I was ranting and raging, who cares why or what I said exactly, or at who?

The dishrack went flying across the kitchen as I tossed it down. Now, I knew there was nothing breakable in it, just some tupperwear and plastic stuff - as I said, I have that little voice in the back of my head when I'm losing it that says "don't break anything important, asshole!" but it didn't register that there were a few knives in there. Just butter knives and maybe a small peeler or flimsy steaknife...we're not talking meat cleavers here...but what's the difference? And she was walking down the hall, doubtless to see what I was screaming about...so...bits flew all over the kitchen...including these knives, on the floor. The Boy picked one up.

IT was bad. WHY did I do that? WHY did I not stop, cry out in shame, apologize? I don't know. I do know I took the whole kitchen apart that day and cleaned and scrubbed the counters to get the anger out - but it doesn't matter.

I did those things in front of my wife who I love, and my son who I love more and should be being a role model of a rbetter man for. But I'm not.

Why wouldn't she fear I'd someday turn it on her? She can't know what's in my head, that I'd never do that...I'd hurt myself before I'd hurt them (but I'm not suicidal, my readers, don't read it that way) and I hate myself after I do it. But she doesn't know that and she can't know that. So she's afraid.

I made my wife fear me. Fear and love don't mix. No wonder I ruined my marriage.

So...Fear. Rage. Anger. Shouting. Thoughtlessness. Unromantic. Unnappreciative. Unloving. Lazy. Heartless, even.

I am all those things. That's not drama, that's fact.

Repetition time - this is what I said at the top, I need to say it once more: Remember - It's not her fault. And this guy she's seeing, well, he's not the reason for my failed marriage. He may be part of the reason I can't save it, but...he didn't cause it. I did.

Anyone reading this - don't you DARE hold anything she's done against EL. NONE of it. She wouldn't have done it, never would have entertained the idea, NEVER...if not for me and what I did to get it here.


Well....I have lots of good, nice, and kind things about me, that some of you may be thinking of right now, and I bless you for it. I'm not a monster. But none of it makes up for this behavior, the way I treated her. So who cares?

I know I can change the anger thing. I've got that little mental voice in the back of my head that reminds me not to throw something valuable or hurt anyone...so...it shouldn't be an impossible task to just have that voice tell me DON'T DO IT AT ALL. Shut up, count to 10, laugh it off. Nothing is worth the rage, and what it does to people around me. I know I can do that. I don't want to make it sound like I think it'll be simple or easy...but honestly? I think it's pretty do-able right away. For sure, in the last 8 days of knowing all this stuff, I've not even once thought of getting angry at all, really.

I also know I can be more of a role model and husband. I know I can do my part around the house, to raise my son, to take him places and do things with him so she can have her "me time."

I just hope...hope beyond words...that I've got time to do that. That she'll give me that chance, sit back, and watch me for the next few weeks and dare I hope for months, to see that it's not just a superficial change. That I can fix it. I know I can, if she'll let me.

If she needs to be doing something physical to feel loved and desired, with some other person while I do that, I could even somehow bear to live with that - as long as she doesn't fall in love with someone else. Then, it's over forever. That is something I can't even contemplate yet. I'm still in denial...8 days into this, I still won't think about that.

There you have it. The story of how I ruined my marriage. I was blind to what I was doing, she was afraid to tell me. It just went on, slowly turning worse and worse, until she didn't love me anymore and was happier being away from me. She started sharing her pain with someone at work...and...here we are.