What You Don't Want To Hear
I'm used to being the strong one. The one other people go to when they're experiencing crises. The one they look to for an objective, rational viewpoint. The one who could look Ben in the eye and claim with utter truthfulness that if we couldn't find a way to stay married, I'd still be his best friend. Because I understand. I can see how difficult this is for him and I know he wouldn't have chosen this for us, if the choice was his to make. I'm used to being the strong one.
But sometimes the burden of dealing with weighty matters such as these become too much to bear and even the strongest of us break. And that's what happened to me last week. I broke. And I couldn't seem to put the pieces back together fast enough before the cracks started showing again.
Luckily for me, I've developed enough of a support system, both in the real world and online, so when I did break, people noticed. One of those people was Nate, with whom I've developed quite a strong friendship. Up to this point, it has mostly consisted of me listening and offering advice as he and his wife dealt with many of the same things Ben and I have experienced. But over the last week, the tables were turned and I was able to share with him the reasons behind my emotional breakdown and he was there to support me. And when I was starting to pull out of it, he urged me to share my thoughts with Ben's readers, because they are imbued with, as he put it, things that you don't want to hear, but need to.
There was no one thing that led to my emotional collapse last week. Rather, it was the cumulative effect of months' worth of pressure and difficult decision-making, as we tried to define our marriage in new terms. It was naive of me to assume that I would escape this process unscathed. I think even a person with an over-developed self-esteem would find herself struggling in the wake of the kinds of tense negotiations we have been having. Intellectually, I understand that my husband's sexuality is not a reflection on me, nor does it really have anything to do with me at all. But it is tremendously difficult, emotionally, to convince myself that his desire for other men does not mean that I am somehow "lacking."
I feel as though I'm not good enough, even though I know if I were a man, I would still not have or be everything he wants. The fact of the matter is, while my husband is everything I want and need - sexually, emotionally, physically and as a life partner - I fall short in a few of those areas for him. And much as I try not to let it, there are times when that crushes me.
When I think about Ben having sex with other people, my stomach starts to churn up. I can taste the acid in my mouth and I can feel the blood draining out of my face. But Ben's sexuality isn't going to change. And I can't realistically expect, with so much of our lives still ahead of us, that he will be able to forgo having sex with other men forever. So I have to think about it. I can't pretend that it isn't going to come up again.
Complicating things further, I know myself well enough to know that a don't ask, don't tell policy is not one that will work for us. There has been enough dishonesty in our relationship for me. So we're facing that whirlwind of questions Drew so eloquently described in his post last week, and, like him, we're not finding any easy answers.
The thing is, Ben's bisexuality, in and of itself, doesn't bother me. I was fine with it when it was an abstract concept. Ben gave me every reason to believe he would never do anything to betray me or my trust in him, so it didn't much matter to me if he was fantasizing about men while we were together. It still doesn't, actually. I fantasize about a lot of stuff I would never act on. He can suck all the cock he wants, in his mind, as far as I'm concerned. It's when fantasy meets reality where I start to panic.
I have a lot invested in this relationship. And I know Ben's not going to throw what we have away for a fantasy man or woman he's having great sex with in his mind. But, to my way of thinking, the odds change when he starts having real sex with real people. Real people have their own charms and can bring things to the table that I can't, necessarily. So I start thinking that now I have to work extra hard to hang on to this relationship in which I've already invested so much. And then I start resenting that I have to work this hard, while he's got me so easily in his back pocket. And then I feel guilty for resenting him, because I know this isn't easy for him, either. It's a vicious cycle, which is why, if you want to get brutally honest, I'd prefer he never had sex with anyone but me ever again. (Although that starts its own vicious cycle in which I beat myself up for being so selfish and closed-minded.)
The thing is, while I know intellectually that this is not about me, and he wouldn't be working so hard to find a way for us to stay together if he didn't love me, and "it's just sex, it doesn't mean anything", I believe that sex is a form of intimacy, and when you start creating sexual intimacy with people other than your spouse, there is risk involved. And it's a risk that impacts both halves of the couple, even though only one half of the couple actually sees any benefits from it (unless you want to make a case for the "I'm happy you're happy" argument. )
I think that's why there is so much talk from straight spouses about their "queer" better halves "having their cake and eating it too." No, it's not fun for you to be in the closet, and no, it's not fun to have these desires and not act on them, and I certainly don't believe that this is fun and games for anyone dealing with it. Cake isn't even an issue. But if you manage to hang on to your spouse and still explore the other side, you have hit the mother lode, in a sense, while your straight spouse gets...what, exactly?
We're not interested in sleeping with other people, so where is our cake? Should I just rejoice that Ben's decided to try and make things work with me? I suppose I could, and maybe I should, given how things have changed. But considering that I expected that to be the case when we said our vows, I really don't think that's a gain. Maybe I should just celebrate that we've swept the dishonesty and hiding out of our relationship? Well, to be honest, I didn't ask my husband to start lying to me in the first place, and I did everything I could to ensure he had a safe harbor at home, where hiding wasnt necessary, so the fact that we've now eliminated that is great, but it still doesn't strike me as a gain.
THIS is what eats at me during those dips in the roller coaster, and what caused me to lose it last week. I love my husband and I want the life with him that I imagined when we stood up in front of our friends and families and took our vows. But Ben can't take back his bisexuality, so how do we restructure our marriage so that it doesn't feel like at least one of us is getting the short end of the stick? I don't have any answers yet, and neither does he. And the question just keeps getting harder.
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