phantom adoration's story

Once Upon a Time

Twenty-two years! I was sent an email by my N, late at night, this past September. A verbal knife thrust into my heart, in rapid succession. It included his proclamation, "I can no longer honor forsaking all others", options A and B. Option A; We could have an open marriage, we would not tell anyone, especially our daughter (would not want her thinking we were living lie) just pretend and it would not be forever. Or option B; We could proceed with a divorce, he'd prefer this option, although he was in no hurry to divorce, neither did he want it to drag on. Depending on the option we chose (he generously said I could choose) we could iron out details, like with option A, an open marriage, do we continue having sex, he'd rather not but we could talk about it.
He also talked about manogamy, how unrealistic he found it to be and his intention to tell our daughter when she was older about the unrealistic expectations placed on relationships. The only reason, to procreate. Our daughter is adopted btw. He would also like us to set an example of how mature people handle divorce for her benefit as it would likely happen to her. Parenting 101?
I saw the first attorney within 2 days.
I interviewed the second attorney within two weeks, guided along by dear friends.
I have been able to stop the bleeding, but the wound still seeps. My goal, repair with minimal scarring.
I retained the third attorney within a month.
I met my N in 1989, my knight in shining armour, the glare rendering me blind. Charismatic, polite, well spoken, handsome. Self employed, recently separated. I was also self employed, unhappy in my marriage and living apart from my spouse. Still entertained dreams of the white picket fence and children, still hopeful. Very vulnnerable.
Like a moth to flame I quickly succumbed to his many charms.
We altered our lives to become a couple, eventually marrying and adopting a child.
An idyllic life, success, friends, opportunities, and the white picket fence.
Twenty-two years.
After my own dysfunctional childhood I felt he was my reward for having survived what I now know to be a narcissistic Mother. Little did I know.
I thought I was happy, certainly happier than I'd ever been. Love, I did love him, completely. He could make me laugh, he exposed me to his interests, music, fishing, bird watching and I shared equally with him, travel, cooking, theatre. We seemed to have an uncommon bond, a uniqueness. Little did I know.
Now, all of our past seems tainted. Was it real? After all I have tangible evidence of our love, letters, gifts, material things. I just finished Lisa's book, The Path Forward and like many think she used my N as the basis for the book.
I have been reading, researching, studying and have gone to counseling in an attmept to understand, to feel, to find some explanation, to staunch the flow of unhappiness, to ease the depression that is now my partner.
I have journaled, have been writing my N the letter that will never get sent, have created the list of negatives. Have tried no contact. Tried not to respond to him.
For me I can almost return to the moment in time when I began to feel something was just not right. Just over four years ago, I spotted a hairline crack to the facade he lived within. He began drinking more. A comment about my weight, subtle references about my insecurity and admissions of his feeling something was missing, not knowing if we were a good match. Threats of leaving. I was freaked out, incredulous, brought to my knees. What? Your kidding, right? Little did I know. This was only the first volley of shots, the beginning of the end. I set out to change, to become what he needed, what he wanted. I lost the weight, became even more affectionate, expressive. Sought counseling to battle the issues he concieved for me.
I addressed his drinking as well, became a dripping faucet about it. I was frightened. I grew up around alcoholism, first hand experience of the power of this addiction. He resisted any discussion of the problem. Denied he had a problem. Coined the phrase "dripping faucet" to describe me. I admit I was, I now realize the futility of dripping. He has admitted in a recent mail to being an alcoholic. Attended an AA meeting. Explained to me he was not like those people. Told me his efforts were never enough for me. Of course not. He still drinks.
Narcissisim and Alcoholism, a combustible combination.
He would counter his negative observations of me by throwing the proverbial crumbs of affection, sprinkle me, as opposed to showering me, with kindenss, feed my insecurity emotionally, by talking about our future, "spoiling" me with his generosity. He would not say these things if he were planning on leaving, right? Now like oil and water separating, those negative barbs, criticisms, judgements, all float to the top of my conscienceness. For every positive action I experienced I now clearly see the reward he got.
For the past several years my N would express his doubts about us, many times over. My reaction, what can I do to make him happy? Get thinner, keep the house cleaner, provide the perfect oasis, make his life more comfortable? After all he worked very hard, self employed, successful, required by his work to travel. Had to eat out almost every night, sitting at bars with strangers as his companions, his audience, his friends, friends with no last names. Bar buddies. So when he came home, all should be perfect, right? No stress, unlimited affection, adoration and gratitude for the life he provided us. His time with his family was intermittant, no regular schedule, could be weeks together or weeks apart, so our time with him should be sacred. Right? My job to be supportive and take care of him, do what I could to spare him the trouble.
I did my job well. Really well. My goal, to please him.
As I attempt to recover from the devastation his leaving has caused, to make some sense of the pieces scattered about, there is the slimmest clarity, a glimmer of reality. I am able to look at various situtations through the eyes of a victim, which I am. I can see his acts of spectacularity have a common denominator, an appreciative audience of one or many, a reward. The proverbial pat on the back, strokes. For every positive word or action, for every good deed or generosity, for every kindness extended, my N required a positive reaction, applause, recognition, gratitude. He could not act, unless he knew there would be a personal reward. I am great, everyone thinks so! No investment if there was no return. I did not know it then. Like his audience, I was in the front row, box seat, applauding, the consummate source, proud of my N and I always let him know.
My saddest, almost crippling realization; the adoption of our delightful daughter 17 years ago was very likely just another act of kindness, another display of selfishness, a very public action, providing him with immediate respect from peers and family, even strangers, forever. His ability to walk out of her life gives staggering credibility to his disorder.
He is, as much as he is capable of, trying to participate in her life. He has seen her 5 times since he left. She refused to see him the first 3 months. Over Christmas she agreed to meet with him as long as she was not alone with him. He led her to beleive he was going to purchase her a dress she wanted for Christmas, sent her the size chart so she could provide the details to him. He gave her long underwear, albeit top of the line long underwear. For her birthday an e-card she could not open. No gift. She even expressed in her niavete her dislike of 'e' cards as they lacked emotion, he resent it. She asked me, "did he not hear me"?
I filed for divorce within 6 weeks of his leaving. I was hesitant, felt it an admission of failure, felt like I was not being honest. I love him, I did not want a divorce. I wanted reconciliation. But, again friends and the feeling of having my arms tied behind my back and a gun to my temple made me shoot first and fast.
In the past weeks he has asked her inapproiate questions in an attempt to have her provide him information for his legal forms. I have refused to provide him any information. The NC thing in action. When she told him she was breaking out in hives after conversations with him he backed off. He did e-mail me saying he was forced to "pull information out of her" since I was not providing it. Seriously?
Apparently he understands the rules of engagement with her and their communication and exchanges are now seemingly without stress for her. He even wrote to tell me he thought they were making progress. Of course he is being the perfect "Disney Dad", movies, gifts, dinner out, manipulating is after all his forte. I try not to disparage him, a gargantuan effort. He will always be her Dad, he will not be my husband or friend, ever.
Certainly he would never have thought I would file. I am convinced without doubt he thought I would do anything to have him be a part of my life, even opting for an open marriage. Open marriage was never going to be an option for me. For many years I suffered the abuse
unkowingly, to hold on to him.
Almost a year ago to the day I had two heart stents put in. All women take note. I had symptoms I ignored, stress related of course. I finally went to a local clinic and they put me in an ambulance. The verdict, a blockage likley or worse I would require a bypass. On the verge of having heart attack. My N seemed shaken, was appropriatley sympathatic, told me "you can't die yet, we have too much left to do..." Perhaps in narc speak he meant; "...I still need you to be my source, I have not found another that will allow me to walk away yet..."
Surgery was successful. Heart disease is now the leading casue of death among women, symptoms vary. Don't ignore your body if you feel off. My N later told me he did not think the cause was stress, rather my not taking care of myself, not eating right or being active enough. The absurdity of that, btw, I am 60, 5'2, 136 lbs., and suffered from high cholesterol.
I found this forum some months ago. Signed up but only now feel I can share. this period has caused my the greatest emotional pain I have ever suffered. His death would have been so much easier to bear. The tears, sleepless nights, sadness have completely paralyzed me at times. thank goodness for my daughter. She has kept me aloat. My therapist has helped me immensely, even on the days I resisted going. Reading and journaling have given me some purpose, a positive action to this crippling event. Some control taken back. Trying to take care of me.
I have ridden the roller coaster, I have written my N, reasonable, thought provoking, honest ewxpressions of my feelings. What was I thinking? I am accepting there is nothing to be gained by contact but further pain and suffering. I am trying to accept my reaching out is still feeding him, making him feel important. I must extinguish the flame I hold. Put the ashes in a box.
I am thinking serioulsy of having a wake, a closure ceremony after the divorce which is going to take up to a year. We have not even had a temporary support hearing. I will play the appropriate music, Carly Simon's "You're So Vain. I will invite those that attended and were fooled by his one act play, "All About Me". I may have a cremation or burial. Not sure yet. Fire is final.
In the meantime I wonder how to love myself, how to be a good and significant Mother, how to continue to raise an independant, self loving young woman who learns the lessons early and not at 60. I welcome any advice.
As so beautifully said in the book THE HELP, "you is kind, you is smart, you is important" Trying to believe.
Thanks for listening,
Phantom Adoration