Wednesday, February 12, 2014

'I Was Married To A Sex Addict'

'I Was Married To A Sex Addict'



Written by The Stir Bloggers on CafeMom's blog, The Stir

Early
on in a relationship, the sex is new and exciting and awesome. And you
want it. All. The. Time. There’s that new love euphoria that clouds your
rationality that maybe there’s more to life than being physically
intimate with this person, because omg the touching just feels so good,
and he seems to love your body, and your body loves his body, and crazy
awesome hormones are pumping through your veins, and it really is like
being in an altered state of reality.


When you’re in a new
relationship with someone you really like, and they really like you too,
you basically both become sex addicts. You want it when you want it,
and damn the consequences. So what if you’re a little late to work --
that quickie before you got out of bed that morning was totally worth
it.

Eventually though, those feelings settle down, and you either
break up or you move to a new level of the relationship; one that maybe
isn’t quite as exciting, but definitely much more comfortable. You get
to know each other's bodies really well, but you also get to know each
other better, and pick up on each other’s cues, and respect them and
take care of them, and know that it’s ok if they’re occasionally not
feeling the groove.

Unless you’re with a sex addict.

I
didn’t realize I’d married a sex addict until years after our wedding
day. We only dated for a few months before we got married, so basically I
was still in sex-addict mode myself when I promised to love him until I
died.

Eventually, I’d start wishing I were dead.

My
ex-husband truly believed he owned my body and that I was in the wrong
if I ever denied him access. When I wouldn’t give in to his advances
because I was friggin’ tired from taking care of little kids, or not
feeling well, or just because I didn’t feel like it right then, he would
coldly turn his back on me and heave deep sighs of put-upon-ness, and I
would cry myself to sleep because I just wanted to feel loved without
having to have sex.

He told me that he was being respectful by
only wanting it daily, because he thought three times a day or more
would be a good amount, but even he realized that was a bit much to ask
of a wife. See? He was being really respectful of me! Why didn’t I
appreciate him more?

When you’re with someone that wants it all
the time, there’s never a chance for you to want it. You know he’s
constantly thinking about it. It’s the only way he feels like he’s
living, and it drains the life out of you.

He turned to porn. I
wished he would turn to other women, but as the long-suffering husband, I
don’t think his psyche would allow for it. The porn further warped his
sexual expectations, and his bitterness at my continued reluctance to be
physically intimate with him more than three or four times a week grew.

He
started ignoring me outside of the bedroom too, and I don’t think we
had one real conversation the last two years of our marriage. I tried to
talk to him about it, but he said there was no problem and it was all
in my head, and he looooooved me so much. It was my problem, not his.

Eventually
I started declining more and more, and when he touched me, I would
inwardly cringe. All touch leads to sex. One of the red flags I had
ignored early on in our relationship was his comment that there was no
point in touching if it wasn’t going to lead to sex.

When he
started just climbing on top of me, I didn’t call it rape because I
didn’t stop him, even though I had told him I didn’t want to do it. I
lay there, hating myself and hating him and wishing he would cheat on me
so I could have an excuse to leave. He hated that I didn’t seem into
anymore.

We went to couples therapy and the therapist wanted to
put me on anti-depressants. I didn’t have the fortitude at that point to
try another therapist. Meanwhile, I had started individual counseling
and was slowly re-establishing my own self-worth.

One night when I
really did push him away, he punched the pillow next to my head, and
for the first time, I was really scared. He turned his back on me and in
minutes was snoring. I lay awake all night wondering what to do.

I
started saving money. I gave up trying to talk to him. We were like two
ice cubes living together. The kids were anxious a lot. A few months
after the pillow-hitting incident, I hired an attorney and filed for
divorce. I moved out with the kids with nothing but the photo albums,
some clothes, and my car.

Then all hell broke loose, because all
of a sudden I was the heartless bitch that left her devoted, loyal
husband without just cause. I’ve been called a whore to my face. I’ve
lost friends, and acquaintances look at me with pity reserved for those
that are making major mistakes. I’ve been told I’m ruining my kids’
lives, but the truth is that they’re doing better than ever.

I’m
doing better too. My body is mine again, and I will never again let
someone convince me that I don’t have total ownership over it.

Have you ever dealt with sexual abuse?

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