18 April 2008

Two months

That's how long it's been since my last blog. I'm not sure how long before my next. Not only does R read my blog secretly, but there is also at least one anonymous "friend" that stalks all of my internet activity. I've secluded myself to just 2 message boards that I feel safe on (well moderated, and never spoken of by name, by invitation only, etc).

6 months ago I didn't feel safe on my laptop. R had installed a keystroke logger and watched everything I did. I still don't trust that I can speak (type) freely on it. Which leaves the desktop, which R has constant access to, so I can pretty much guarantee it's bugged in some way. I'm not out trolling for a lover or stashing money so I can disappear, so I'm not feeling any sort of guilt. But R has taken away my way to share my feelings while still being private, if you know what I mean. Every time I log on I'm reminded that he didn't trust me (at the time I was having a flirtatious fling, so I guess he was slightly justified, but R assumed it was a sexual affair not just humorous flirting), and that I can't trust anything he touches.

It's crazy, but so many of the issues I still have can be linked back to that program. If I am at the store and run into the DJ I was accused of sleeping with, my heart pounds and I'm scared to say hello, even though we were friends for years before R and I got married (and nothing happened between us, no matter what my exBFF says- she admitted to trying to use the "news" to get into R's pants, but that's beside the point). My mind races and I immediately call R and tell him every word of the conversation, just to make sure he hears it from me first. I've turned shy around even my closest friends if we go out, because I don't want anybody to assume that I'm acting "too single" or "not married enough" or whatever they want to call it. I have actually really withdrawn from my message boards even. I post a couple times a week, usually oooh-ing at a new baby or answering the "what are you doing this weekend?" poll. Never anything personal, never anything that deals with R or emotions. Just the usual "awww, look at that beautiful tiny, I just wanna nibble his/her toes" and I disappear again. I hide even the good things, because I'm afraid I'll get comfortable sharing and let something less-than-perfect slip.

So I write this blog, knowing that R will read it. And the anonymous friend (who posted as "concerned" or "worried" or something like that earlier this year). And I prepare to disappear again. I'm going to be scared of my shadow for a very long time. *insert groundhog joke here* Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice trying to save my marriage. Some days it seems beyond repair, others it seems hopeless. But every once in a while we have one great day and I wish we could have more. So I stay, and hope those great days become more frequent. So far they haven't.

*Oh, and the tattoo is finished- the outline anyway- for those of you following that saga. As you can tell from the above, pics are probably not going to be posted here anytime soon, but you can email me and I'll send you one that way (in a week or two, once I've actually taken the time to take pics of it)... infertileroy@yahoo*


T. said...

I'm sorry you feel this way. I hope things come together for you and you find peace and fulfullment, whatever your state in life.

Lucrezia said...

I just stumbled onto your blog, and I don't know you, but when I read that your husband had installed a device to record your internet activity, that you are withdrawing from people and thing you enjoyed previously, all because of a flirtation that never went any further...well, your husband should be ashamed of himself. He may be a wonderful person in many ways but you are being understanding of him in a way he was obviously not of you. Again, I'm sorry if this is out of line. I'm just a stranger on the internet. But you shouldn't be made to feel guilty when your offense was by far the lesser - spying and jealousy and trying to control your partner is worse than any flirtation could ever be.