Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is REAL

I see him struggle as though he's being controlled by something else.

I see his frustration as his mind spins and spins and he is unable to adjust.

I see the hurt and confusion in his eyes when he can't stop but wants to.

It is as though OCD has a grip on him and won't let him free even though he is trying to break free.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is REAL.
And it's a bitch.

People Notice

People Notice. 

They have been asking me "what's wrong?" or "what's going on?" and they tell me "I'm worried about you" because they have noticed my subtle steps backwards. My isolation.

It's not like me. 

It's also not like me to share another persons story {especially a loved ones story}.  It's not like me to share someone else's secrets or their shame. 

But what happens if I am a part of their story? What happens if someone else's story directly affects me and hurts me so deeply that I leave Facebook and Voxer and all my chat groups? 

Because I did.

What happens if I don't ever want to leave my bed? 

Because I don't. 

And what happens when people start noticing? 

Because they do. 

"Alice Where Have You Been?"

Where have I been?

I have been honored to be part of some projects on fighting pornography.  I have been interviewed for a book that is currently being written about the effects that pornography and sex addiction has on the spouse of an addict.  I have been asked to present on pornography and participated in firesides about body image and eating disorders.  I have felt so under qualified to work with so many amazing people who dedicate their lives to making this world a better place.

I have been fighting for my marriage.  I have been working on trusting myself and my intuition.  I have been fighting against myself to trust my husband... because it feels like it's time to take those steps but I am terrified to take those steps.

I have been raising 3 beautiful children.  Teaching them about all the scary things that exist in this world and all the wonderful things and all the things in-between.  I have watched as my oldest has ventured into the big world of Jr. High and my baby growing into a little lady.

But mostly, of all these things I've been doing and all these places I have been, I am recovering.

This year has been so difficult.

Specifically one incident involving my baby has been so difficult.  And, although it was one single incident, there were so many factors that enabled this incident.  So many neglectful and painful factors.  However, this isn't my story to tell, it is hers.  I am a part of her story but it isn't mine to share.

As for my part in her story, my recovery from what she went through...

I seem to remember all the details yet, at the same time, it has felt like a tornado with winds blowing me every which way.

How does time and trauma do that?  How can it seem so fast and violent and out of control and yet, time seems to move in slow motion so that I don't miss any of the painful details?

Time is so strange.
Life is so hard.

I had a friend ask me today, "Alice, where have you been?"

I have been everywhere.  Some places have been beautiful and hopeful and wonderful.  Some places have been ugly and hopeless and dark.  I have been up and down and everywhere in between but the one place I haven't been is here.  I didn't know how to be here without writing a story that wasn't mine to write so I took a break and waited until I was ready, and now I'm ready.

Now I am here.

Dear Mr. Wonderful

Dear Mr. Wonderful,

I need to start jogging again so you think I'm in the category of all the "other girls" that you find sexy and attractive. That distract your eyes and heart and take over your penis.  

All of those "other" girls.  

The skinny, tan, young, blonde, brunette, red, blue, purple women that seem to be more than me. All the pornstars that you think are unbelievable, all the strippers that I can never be, all the bodies you've touched and dreamed of touching that aren't mine.  The random neighbors, random grocery store workers, hair stylists, the wives of your friends, etc… 

The list never ends. 

I feel like such a failure around you because of all of this. I feel like a waste of space, like I'm worth NOTHING.

It's suffocating.
It's debilitating. 

You make me feel like a mistake. Like the world is better off without me. 

And sometimes I actually believe this.
Today is one of those days.

I Don't Understand

Dear Mr. Wonderful,

Why do you find it so difficult to love me?  Why have you ALWAYS found it so difficult to accept me completely?  Why do you struggle finding peace in your decision to be with me?  I just don't understand.

I remember the day you knelt down on your knee in the snow and asked me to be your wife.  I remember feeling like the LUCKIEST girl in the world.  I remember feeling such relief that the ups and downs of our dating relationship and your indecisiveness were OVER!  I waited patiently, even though it hurt me, when you wanted to break up and then be together and then break up just so you could make sure you were able to venture out, but I understood.

Now I don't.

The Darkness will Clear

Mr. Wonderful got me my own hotel room for one night so I can get grounded again. I know he does this 99% for me and my sanity but that other 1% comes from his fear of "WHAT THE DAMN HELL IS HAPPENING TO HER!" 

My daughter is taking all of this better than I am. 

***UPDATED 12/2015***
I have been working with the detectives and the police.  They have brought a lot of clarity to me. I hate it when people lie. I especially hate it when someone I really trust lies to me. I am surviving but I can't believe what people will do to cover their tracks. But I guess I can, I am just use to it from addicts. 

Truth!

Truth!

Our 2 hour marriage counseling session was… exhausting. 

But different. 

We are back to doing “check-ins” but they seem more authentic, more… I don’t know, something. 

I’m still recovering from last week in Newport and Mr. Wonderful saying some pretty hurtful things. Blaming. Projecting. All the bullshit.

It is ALL bullshit. 

I know it, I’m just wondering if he will ever know it.

Sometimes it feels like I live with two different men. 

Unicorns and Rainbows

My Perception of My Marriage BEFORE “D-Day” 

"D-Day" stands for "Discovery Day" or "Disclosure Day" or "Day I want to DIE", etc...

Basically it's the day you realized that what you thought was real wasn't. 

Who you thought you could trust you couldn't.

It was the beginning of the longest and hardest journey of my life.

A journey I am still on.

A journey I will probably always be on.

But it's okay because the world of unicorns and rainbows was never real and I wouldn't have found true happiness there.

What lies ahead is more genuine, more authentic, more pure.

Although this journey is ugly and complicated and confusing and painful... the best lies ahead.

Or at least the best ME lies ahead. 

Alone in a Marriage

I don't think my husband will ever feel like he is lucky to have me as his wife. 

I don't think he will ever not think he could have done better.

And I get to live with that. But I don't know how to live with it. I don't know how to let that be his thing because I feel like part of me beats the hell out of myself for not being enough for him.

This is so hard for me to talk about and it scares me. That's why I'm typing it.

Things with Mr. Wonderful aren't getting better in our marriage. I still see him manipulating me and stretching the truth whether that is through minimizing or exaggerating. He loses  his perspective quickly and will retaliate with pride. He can't admit he is wrong or when he does, he doesn't mean it. I don't feel supported by him in this relationship and I never have. I don't feel like he really wants me to be the best person I can be. He doesn't stand by me and help me grow in a living way, rather he judges me and gets scared when he notices any personal progress I make.

My husband is wonderful at many things. Being a husband isn't one of these things.

A Day to Erase

Today my 7 year old daughter was molested. 
The story is long and the details are confusing. 

The 15 year old boy that molested her has special needs. 

It is complicated but it never should have happened. 

It was preventable. 

***UPDATED 12/2015***
As I go back through my writings that I never published my blood boils so much at the entire day. 
I have to edit most of this original entree. 

My daughter is strong. 
She spoke up immediately. 
She talks about things openly. 
She is beautifully healing. 

Ironic Honesty

For so long I have begged for honesty.
No matter how cruel or painful or disgusting or impossible honesty seemed, I begged for it.

As honesty becomes more consistent for Mr. Wonderful it becomes less painful for me.
Currently it is a part of our lives and our marriage.

However, sometimes honesty stings me like the day I found out about Mr. Wonderful's addiction.
It comes out of nowhere and rips my heart apart.

It is so random.

Today Mr. Wonderful was watching a video that I am in.
The video was made public today and it is currently on an addiction recovery site.
It exposes Mr. Wonderful and his addiction.
He was more than supportive for me to participate... now that I think about it, he was more excited for me to participate than I was!

Anyway, back to my story.

Today Mr. Wonderful was watching this vulnerable video and afterwards, I asked him if there was anyone in particular that he was nervous about finding it and viewing it.

His answer...
An ex-girlfriend.

He was concerned that a specific ex-girlfriend would find the video and discover that he wasn't the perfect man he led her to believe that he was.
He was concerned that a specific ex-girlfriend may realize that what seemed like a teenage heartbreak, was actually a blessing as the man of her dreams was an addict in disguise.
He was concerned that this specific ex-girlfriend would express a sigh of relief when she realized that  by the Grace of God she was spared major heartbreak and betrayal from Mr. Wonderful.

I beg for honesty and Mr. Wonderful was honest.

And his honesty hurt like hell.

Reflections

As cliche as it is, ringing in the new year always seems to spark some sort of reflecting for me. As I looked back over this last year, 2014, I realized a few things.

What has changed in me? As I asked myself this question, this is what came to mind.

A lot.

I have learned that being vulnerable is beautiful (and scary).  I have learned that I have the answers I need within me (and I am learning to trust those instincts).  I have learned that I have a support system (a tribe) like nothing I could have ever imagined. I have learned that I am strong, I am strong enough to stay with Mr. Wonderful and strong enough to leave. I have learned that life is ever moving and changing and that I have to proactively work to stay healthy.

What has changed in my marriage?  As I asked myself this question, this is what came to mind.

NOTHING.

And I was hit by a wall of hopelessness and sadness.  We turned on the television 3 minutes before midnight to watch the ball drop in New York and, like any hit segment or series on television, there were sexy, skinny, skimpy girls dancing around on stage before midnight struck.  I found a wave of fear crash over me followed by the realization that this fear has been present in all my New Year Eve experiences for the last 7 years.

Unfortunately this feeling doesn't come just once a year, but it is STILL the primary feeling in my relationship with Mr. Wonderful.  Will this ever change?  Will the anxiety ever go away being replaced with a positive feeling?  Did the lies and addiction and deception and manipulations go on for too long to ever imagine being in a healthy marriage?

I don't know.

But I sure hope it's not too late because I'm really sick of having to work so hard to stay in this marriage.
To stay happy and healthy in this marriage.

I'm exhausted.
I want a partner. A friend. A safe spouse.

Happy New Years to you.  May you learn and grow in yourself AND your marriage.

I never would have guessed.

Thirteen years ago I never would have guessed that I would be where I am... thirteen years later.

Thirteen years ago on August 14th, 2001 I was at my wedding dinner celebration.
It was at a beautiful golf course.
We were with our family and closest friends.
We were getting married the next day.
It was a happy celebration.
I wrote and sang Mr. Wonderful a song.

Thirteen years later, on August 14, 2014 I was meeting with an attorney.
It was at a friends house.
I wasn't with any family.
We discussed the possibility of divorce and what that may look like.
I was so sad and confused.
I came home and cried myself to sleep.

I never would have guessed. 

Breathing

I swore I would NEVER have another separation in my life... EVER.  I swore that the 8 month separation back in 2010 would be the only time Mr. Wonderful and I would have to sit down with our wide-eyed carefree kids and explain to them that their parents need space to breath think.  And in order for that to happen, the man they adore and love, their dad (Mr. Wonderful) would have to move out.

In 2010 when reconciling after our separation I remember telling Mr. Wonderful, "this is it, if we can't make this work we are divorcing because I don't believe in separating for convenience and confusing our kids"... and now, well...

Mr. Wonderful moved out on Monday.  I asked him to.  He was cordial and somewhat understanding.
He knows that he has hurt me on a indescribable level.  He gets that.  He doesn't think he can help it so he wishes I was just strong enough to understand when he tells me he resents me for not being "the hottest" but he understands how that stabs me so hard that I feel like I am dying inside hurts me a little.

So, we are breathing.
I am breathing.

Or maybe I will start breathing in a few days or weeks because right now I'm finding it pretty difficult to breath.

Mr. Wonderful, why? why?? WHY??? can't you love me?

WHY?  
Just love me.  
Just let me be enough. 
or just get some courage and confidence Alice and stop caring if he loves you or not...

Alice Arrives

The Forth of July is such a great day.  It's full of fun, family and fireworks!  It always seems like the perfect day for a hike or a swim.... or both.  The barbecues and the parades and the desserts and the music... the red, white and blue colors displayed in every direction along with the feeling of a country united is so, so beautiful.

The Forth of July is one of my favorite days.
The Forth of July is such a great day.

The fifth of July... isn't.

I try not to wrap myself up in technicalities but I am unreasonably sentimental.
Today is D-Day.

I can't help but think about the knock at my door, my bishop showing up and Mr. Wonderful reading me the "letter".  The letter that contained the truth and reality of my marriage.

My life.

I can't help remembering how I lost the ability to trust Mr. Wonderful in a single moment... and then, in a moment later, how I lost the ability to trust everyone.

See... I am sentimental.  I can't help it.

To be sentimental is a wonderful thing that contains beauty and happiness and it is a terrible thing that contains ugliness and sadness.

Mother's Day Performance Spectacular

Mr. Wonderful is an amazing performer.  He puts together the most spectacular birthday celebrations, gifts and surprises. But his best holiday accomplishments seem to fall on Mother's Day.  What a day for me.  He makes it the best most relaxing day by taking care of our 3 beautiful children and just spoiling me.

I almost can't wait for tomorrow.

Mother's Day Performance of a Lifetime! 

Oh, before you get jealous of my wonderful performing husband… did I mention that he is sleeping on the couch?  Oh crap, now back to my reality I suppose… yes, Mr. Wonderful did a little confessing today that went a long with a tad bit of lying so… my marriage isn't fun or happy or blissful by any means…

but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy Mother's Day and the performance of a lifetime right?

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO ALL OF MY WARRIOR SISTERS AND WoPA's.

I LOVE YOU.

I can relate...

Let me touch on something I haven’t really talked about on this blog yet. 

My addiction. 

Yes, I hate and love and hate that I can relate to Mr. Wonderful and his sex addiction. 

I mostly hate it. 

And I mostly am so grateful for this knowledge.

Let me try to explain my bipolar emotions on the subject.... 

I can’t imagine how it would be to try to understand addiction without having my own experience with it, with my eating disorder.  I have heard, on more than many occasions, hurting wife’s plead with their husbands to “just stop”… “why can’t you JUST STOP?”… “don’t you love me? don’t you love our children?  don’t you love our family more than you love pornography or sex or your addiction?”  “Yes, yes I do love you and our children and our family more than I love my addiction!” the husband explains.  “Then why don’t you just STOP?” cries the wife. 

Well, lucky me (or is it unlucky me), I haven’t had to completely start at the beginning with the concept of the power of addiction.  So, although I have heard my own pleas at Mr. Wonderful to “just stop” I live in the reality that it isn’t that easy. 

If it was… I would have “just stopped” with my eating disorder behaviors and thoughts years ago.

I have lived with the pain of people judging my struggles.  I have lived with people pleading with me to “just stop”… “if you love your family, if you loved your kids, you would stop being so selfish and STOP… just eat, JUST EAT ALICE!” 

These pleas, these words never rang truer and louder in my head then when I was facing inpatient treatment with potentially months apart from my little family.  Believe me, no one was harder on me than myself.  “Oh Alice,” I would cry, “just eat… you can avoid this whole situation if you just eat… you are so selfish so unbelievably wrapped up in yourself, you are a bad mother, a terrible wife, an incredibly indecent HUMAN BEING, just eat.”…but I couldn’t, I was too far down the path to “just eat”.

Sounds ridiculous huh?  It’s okay, you can say it, I get it, it does sound ridiculous… but, I just couldn’t eat. 

So, I couldn’t think straight, I started randomly passing out, my liver started failing. 

And I had to leave my family.  I could have died.  I really had to leave my family, for 75 days. 

And it was so painful and so awful that I rarely let my mind go back to the day that I drove away with Mr. Wonderful.  I drove away from my home, I drove away from my children, leaving them lost and confused and too young to understand. 

Oh, this brings back so much pain. 

I’m going to take a time-out before proceeding with this post and where I was hoping to go with it. 

Entering Wonderland 'Part One'

It was 119 degrees and I remember laughing, literally laughing, at how hot it felt outside.  It was July 4^th, 2007 and it was our first summer in the blazing heat of Arizona.  My family (Mr. Wonderful, our 2 boys, and I) had been in this new and exciting place for a short 5 months.

When Mr. Wonderful was offered a promising job in Arizona I was excited.  I was ready and fearless and confident and ambitiously ready to take on the world.  And so, we moved. 

It was the first time Mr. Wonderful and I weren’t living within 5 miles of at least 20 of our relatives; his parents, my parents, his siblings, my siblings, my grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles, etc.  But we were thriving in our new life.  We loved our neighborhood.  We loved our ward.  We loved the people we were meeting and the friends we were making.  I loved how strong our marriage was growing because, for the first time, we were forced to rely on each other completely.  We were communicating with ease and supporting each other in ways our extended family normally would.  We were each other’s everything… and more. 

I was happy.  I loved the sunshine.  I felt like, not only was it 119 degrees outside in July, while my little family sat on the asphalt waiting for the fireworks to start, but it also felt like it was 119 degrees inside my own heart and soul.  I was just.that.happy.

When the doorbell rang in the evening of July 5, 2007 I answered it without a thought.  The kids were in bed, the dishes were done, the evening had arrived and I wondered who was stopping by for a visit.  When I opened the door a familiar face in a suit stood on my front porch.  I struggled trying to remember exactly who this man was.  I knew he was a member of my bishopric, but I wasn’t sure if he actually was my bishop!  In an attempt to hide my confusion from him, I smiled curiously.  I remember thinking it felt a bit strange when he pushed his way through my front door without me announcing that my husband was home first (normally, in my church, a man won’t barge in {or even enter} a home without first knowing that another man is home).  Just as I was thinking how strange this was, Mr. Wonderful bounced around the corner welcoming our BISHOP into our home.

“Hello bishop” I said, in a way that would make anyone believe that all along I knew he was my bishop.  The bishop shook my hand nervously and took a seat in our big blue chair.  I joined as Mr. Wonderful awkwardly sat on our couch…

…and here is where my life changed forever.

…and here is where things get very blurry.

Annoying Fly

So, the other day I was thinking… and I guess I was feeling too.

I was feeling bad about something that triggered me.  I was feeling bad for Mr. Wonderful.  I felt guilty that Mr. Wonderful had to "deal" with my unpredictable triggers and the unpredictable emotions that often accompanied those triggers.

Sometimes I get angry, sometimes I get so sad.  Sometimes I'll down right cancel any plans right as we are walking out the door due to my inability to "handle" the real world while dealing with the trauma of betrayal.

I started apologizing to Mr. Wonderful for my inconsistencies when (in mid apology) I realized that what I had to "DEAL" with was so much bigger in comparison.  {Now, don't get me wrong, I believe in apologizing to anyone and everyone (even those that have hurt me beyond belief) when I have done something that merits an apology.}

While I was apologizing something clicked in my brain and before I had thought it through I said… "Mr. Wonderful, I'm so sorry that you have to deal with me when I experience random triggers and random emotions that come from all the hurt and pain of our relationship and our past."  He graciously accepted my apology, so I continued… "but the more I think about it, what I have to deal with compared to what you have to deal with is metaphorically like comparing the hassle of swatting an annoying fly to the hassle of shoveling the poo left by a dozen grown elephants.  I'll admit it, flies can be annoying, especially when you are trying to enjoy a picnic outside… but I think anyone would choose to swat a fly over the task of running around with a shovel that weighs 50 pounds scooping enormous piles of shit that seem to be the size of a 10 year old… what do you think?"

Then I walked away.

PS… I think I may start sharing my story soon!

Lately.

Lately I feel like I'm spinning into an oblivion.

I am wounded and I am not scabbing over.  I want to be a scar.  You can't hurt a scar.  You can see a scar and you absolutely remember how it got there but, unlike an open wound or a scab, you can't hurt a scar.

After all these years my pain is still too raw.  Raw feels awful.  Raw feels vulnerable.  Raw feels sensitive.  Raw feels like spinning.

Help.
Alice.