Porn-tastic Doesn’t Exist In Everyday Life

When the shit hit the fan, and I threw him out on his ass, he thought he could get compassion or empathy, possibly pity, from me by proclaiming himself a porn and sex addict.  In his fantasy world he thought proclaiming this, and “promising” to work on these issues would allow him back into the house.  Back to the family.  Back to do whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted.  As if nothing had changed.

I have learned he would watch porn every day, several times a day.  Using his phone he would watch porn on his long commutes to and from work.  Probably while at work.  Definitely at home.  He hid all of this from me.  He became highly skilled at deception and hiding what he was doing.

He would come home from work fired up; no doubt from the porn he’d watched while driving.  He would come in yelling and screaming at us, at me.  Sometimes throwing things.

Nothing in reality was “perfect” or “porn-tastic” enough for him.  Reflecting into our past, doing some memory recall exercises in therapy (those kind of suck by the way), has brought A LOT to the surface.  It was necessary for me to understand I was victimized by him; on multiple levels.  It was necessary to build a timeline, to recognize abuse; to understand the impact of my tolerance I once called supportive patience….

I became nothing more than a possession to him.  Something to be used as he wanted. When he wanted.  If I fought back there was hell to pay.  To anybody that doesn’t believe that psychological warfare, emotional abuse, intimate partner abuse, and narcissistic abuse isn’t as bad as physical abuse, I beg to differ.  The worst part of them is that there are no physical wounds to show.  Making it hard for victims to come forward.  Making it hard for victims, like me, to accept that they are actually victims.

In the beginning of our relationship this surfaced as pressuring and coercing me into having sex on the nights I didn’t feel up to it.  Eventually I would give in, bending my boundaries, because I didn’t want to deal with the guilt he would inflict.  I kind of thought that this probably happened in every marriage.  I made excuses that every wife has to deal with this on some level.  It was super intermittent.  No pattern whatsoever.  This was also during the years that he, at least acted like, he loved me.  We were a partnership, we were good; a poster family for the all American life.

About 12 years ago I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia.  I’d suffered with extreme chronic pain and chronic fatigue for years at this point.  Right around this time the intense burning nerve pain became a factor; as did migraines.  Ultimately leading to this diagnosis.  I decided that no more would I put up with putting out just because.  Why should I put out when my body felt like it was on fire, or when even the lightest touch hurt me?  Why should I sacrifice my well being for his instant gratification?  I was cautioned by my medical teams to take care of myself to attempt to hold off any further progression of the Fibro.  That’s what I intended to do.  I started to take a sexual stance when I really needed to.

Although I feel like my compartmentalizing talents had been used previous to this point, I’m confident that I began refining my skills around 11 years ago.  I didn’t know it at the time.  I didn’t consciously know that changes were happening with him that would trigger this talent to go to work.  I didn’t consciously know anything was wrong, or that I didn’t feel safe in my own home anymore.  There was no conscious, blatant, event or series of events that would create the shift…. I didn’t necessarily feel a shift, but looking back I feel like this may have been the beginning of our current nightmare.  Thanks memory recall.

About 10 years ago he started to “critique” my kissing.  It made me upset.  He would accuse me of not being passionate enough, not having good technique; he’d get upset that I don’t like his tongue forced down my throat.  Were either of us the kissers we had been when we were 18?  NOPE.  How dare he!  The negativity was so intense I eventually got to where I HATED to kiss him.  It wasn’t worth the struggle; getting yet another lecture on how I sucked at it.  Now I know my kisses were just not porn-tastic enough for him.

Roughly 6 years ago he decided that if I get to say no on nights where I just can’t fathom having sex, or can’t swing multiple sessions a day, he gets to withhold all types of affection as a form of punishment.  Suddenly he became allergic to my touch.  How dare I touch him in any capacity.  Need to cuddle?  Forget about it.  Need emotional support?  Forget about it.  Need some positive energy on a rough day?  Forget about it.  He began to revel in burying me emotionally.

During this time frame he started threatening me that if he doesn’t start getting more sex, better sex, he was going to start looking somewhere else for it.  He would tell me it was my obligation to make sure he was satisfied.  He would tell me I was not a good wife if I didn’t have sex with him, or at least get him off.  He also started pressing me to do things he knew I didn’t like doing…. just so he would have an excuse to withhold affection and give me a hard time.  I played into his trap.  I took a stand, and he dished out his “punishments”.

5 years ago I suspect he had his first affair with a coworker.  When I noticed their “chemistry” at a work event I confronted him.  It didn’t go well.  He told me I was paranoid, being a jealous bitch, I was just trying to control him with my opinions, and I was flat out wrong.  I asked him to block her on social media.  He did, but it didn’t last.  When I started seeing her comment on my posts he was tagged in I approached the subject again.  This time he had a whole scenario planned out.  He claimed she had been beaten by her husband… “what am I supposed to do?  Not help her?”  He didn’t like when my response was, “call the cops.”.  He flat out refused to block her from social media, then would rage against me for suspecting an affair.  He just couldn’t stay away from her.  She was his new addiction, I was emotionally discarded.  Then he would inflict massive amounts of guilt on me just because I knew it.  He would tantrum for days, holding a grudge, bringing it up constantly.  You see, by now he knew if he raged hard enough, went into full on attack mode, I would have a physical reaction and my body would make me drop it; for my own health.  Damn Fibro.

2 years ago, and yes I know this sounds crazy, his physical scent changed.  He would come up with an excuse, like he had been in coolant at work, but that wasn’t it.  His basic body chemistry changed.  I don’t know how to explain it.  It was GROSS to me.  I tried to keep going, I tried having “hot sex” with him.  This was right around the time I woke up in the middle of the night to him watching porn and doing who knows what based on the bed movement that woke me.  When he realized I saw what he was watching he shut it off until I went back to sleep.  I’m sure he started in right after I snoozed off.  He then made a point of telling me it was a one time thing, that he wouldn’t do it again but that he NEEDED MORE from me.  Never mind me or my needs.

I tried to put up with it- hoping our move to the East Coast would help.  It didn’t.  His smell wasn’t what it was.  His personality wasn’t what it was.  His interests weren’t what they had been.  His whole being wasn’t the same as it was.  I couldn’t figure it out.  He seemed hostile, aggressive, and scary; not even a shadow of who I thought he was.  The total transformation took years, but I still couldn’t put my finger on it exactly.  I couldn’t figure out the root cause; secondary causes.

It got so bad, by 2018 post move, that I couldn’t even sit next to him to watch a movie with the kids.  Should I get within an arms reach he felt he had the authority, the right, to molest me in front of my children.  Multiple times, when he would walk up to me in front of the kids he’d start dry humping me from behind; I’d have to fend him off and yell at him that it wasn’t appropriate.  Multiple times sitting on the couch I’d have to fend off wandering hands trying to get into my pants, or up my shirt, to fondle me.  Multiple times I attempted to stop the behaviors by having a reasonable conversation.  Explaining that it was not appropriate to do these things in front of the kids.  Explaining it made me uncomfortable and I needed him to stop when I asked him to the first time, not after several warnings and I have to shove him off me or fight him away from me.

He would literally laugh it off.  Walk away.  Tell me I’m the crazy one.  I made the mistake of thinking he respected me on any level.  He didn’t.  He didn’t love me.  He didn’t consider me human.  He didn’t consider me valid.  He didn’t like that I was trying to put up healthy boundaries.

Every time I tried setting boundaries it was like a challenge to him…. He’d show me what he could do to my boundaries.  He knew what buttons to push to make my body physically stop my fight.

The Shattering happened.  He hadn’t counted on that happening.

LIFE is NOT supposed to be PORN-TASTIC.  It’s supposed to be REAL.  Do whatever you need to for a REAL life.  Don’t put up with porn and/or abuse of any kind.  Get help by any appropriate means possible.