Hidden Truths

I’m not writing to tell my story to OD. I’m writing to document my life. To write as much as I can before I forget it these memories. Because these memories have guided me to where I am today. I want to log into this website in another 10 years from now and re-read these vital moments of my life so that I can be grateful of life’s lessons. So I can remind myself that if I hadn’t made monstrous mistakes in the past, I would’ve never really learned how to love the right way.

Yes, I’m prefacing this entry (and probably a few more) with a warning:  there will be moments that will be hard for myself to revisit. Moments I’m not proud of, quite ashamed of, darkest secrets, and embarrassed to admit. Yet, these are moments that taught me to love with my heart, but also my head.

Back to Travis. Fall of 2011. A few weeks after the Honeymoon.

“I’m an addict. I’m back on pills. I’m so sorry.” We talked throughout that night about what our plan was going to be. He decided he could fight this fight on his own and didn’t want to tell our families. For the next 48 hours, I witnessed what it looks like when an opioid addict goes through withdrawal. If you’ve never seen this, I don’t recommend it. Watching him writhe in agony. Squirming and sweating and crying and yelling. On the couch, then in the shower, then in the bathroom floor. There’s nothing I could do but watch it unfold. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen anyone in such visible physical pain.

Here’s the part where the time of  events get all mixed up in my head. I can remember Travis becoming sober for a while. But I never really knew. I also don’t remember the second time he told me that he started using again. Sometime that following year. Maybe January of 2012? I became a ball of paranoia. One day I found at least 15 empty cigarette packs underneath his side of the bed; he didn’t smoke inside the house. Another time I searched through our entire house and I found two empty prescription bottles hid between blankets in our guest bedroom closet. Wait, I remember how I found out the second time. Travis worked for his uncle at a local pawn shop. His uncle told me that he witnessed Travis completing a drug deal. I feel like Travis was the one who told me, but it could’ve been his uncle. I can’t remember. One confrontation I know happened after the second time he told me he was using. I know this because when I found two white pills, Googled the number on them, and discovered that these were hydrocodone, I confronted him and he explains, “oh, those were from last time I was using. I promise, baby. I’m not using again.” So many explanations. So many lies. But what other choice did I have besides believing him? When I told him I still had my suspicions, he’d just get really angry and tell me that I would never let him “live this down.” “Do you know how hard it is to walk around with everyone thinking your an addict?” No, I guess I didn’t. And yes, he was good at making ME feel guilty.

Throughout the course of these months, there was something that had REALLY started to bother me. We had stopped having sex. I mean, I knew this happened to married couples, but uh, nearly newlyweds? And I was young, full of sexual frustration. Finally, I got up the courage to ask him one night about the lack of intimacy. He suggests that we create a sex schedule. Maybe on Tuesdays and Thursdays, we have sex. I was so taken aback by the conclusion that his mind had generated. It actually hurt to hear him say it. And I let him know that I was offended and that for us–where we were at in life–sex should be happening naturally. I became a confused 22 year old who just could not wrap my mind around what was wrong with me. Why didn’t he desire me like he did when he and I first began?  I did gain a little bit of weight. Was that it? At one point, I even thought that maybe I had married a gay man.

That’s why it felt good when Dylan texted me. Telling he missed me. He missed everything about the way it felt when we were together. Quickly turning into sexual conversations. He loved my body and I loved the way he reacted when I would send him a dirty picture. I desperately needed to feel wanted again. Dylan had always been great at making me feel desired. If you were to travel back in my diary, Dylan appears maybe once or twice. I saw him a few times before meeting Travis. He’s the first boy that I remember looking at in a sexual way. It all began in 7th grade computer class with him playing “footsie” with me underneath the table. The attraction and chemistry, it never ended. Dylan and I would go back and forth for years. First, I wanted to be more than friends, then he wanted it, then I broke his heart, then he broke mine. He became a playboy around our small town.  Dylan became calloused to love and emotionally scarred. There were a few heartbreaks of his that I think he decided to build gigantic walls. And to be quite frank, he loved the sexual attention he got from girls. After all, he was crowned “Donkey Kong,” among the high school boys and it wasn’t because of his stature.

After the month-long build up and exchange of texts messages back and forth, I found myself travelling mid-day to his apartment about 2 hours away from where I lived. It was where he was living while he went to college. It didn’t take long for his ravenous energy to start removing my clothing. Dylan enjoys the entire act of having sex. He takes his time to enjoy all that can be done before he finishes. He’s learned how to control his body so that he can enjoy you and you can enjoy him. There was no “quickies” with Dylan. It lasts and lasts…and lasts. After we rolled off each other and could barely breath because we were panting, I started silently crying. What did I do? I hated cheaters. I hated what I had just become. I crossed that threshold; the people I despised the most. He noticed that I was crying and then we talked. I told him everything I was feeling. I shared with him what was happening in my marriage. He listened and comforted me and he was the friend I’d always had and needed in that moment. He tells me at one point, “If you were mine, I’d never let you leave the bedroom.” To this day, I have never forgotten these words. Actually, there’s several things that Dylan has said that are ingrained into my memories.

I don’t remember the drive back home. I don’t remember if Travis was home when I got back. All I remember is fear. And guilt. Because fuck, I still loved Travis so much. But I was so angry. After all, he had also done horrible things. And after all, he was the one not having sex with me. And I justified my behavior. And I justified it a few more times when I went to see Dylan while I was still married.

So now it’s out there. One of the ugliest things I’ve ever done. But it’s still not the worst.

More to come, but that’s all I can handle for right now. If you choose to judge me, you can. But there will never be a harsher judge than myself.