Say Something.......

*This post will be among several in a series tied to music and songs that permeated and enveloped stages in my life. 

I had pushed through the prior days' life changer. I had mustered all I could to remain stoic, til that moment....that first moment where I could finally be alone; where I could finally let my guard down.
 

The dark of a 5:30 morning commute lent itself to space; space away from him, away from the sleeping world; away from the need to hold my guard up high. As though I was in drama being scored, the song came on, that song. Say Something. 

I broke, the fractures in my splintered my heart gave way to the pain, the anger, .......the sadness. With just the slow, rhythmic tapping of a note the road disappeared, clouded by the welling tears that refused to hold back, the gasp of air, the first sob, the burst, it left no chance to push things back in any further. And so began 10 minutes of a commute often blinded by tears. 

The prior day had marked the 3rd day of being Mr and Mr Visser. The cake hadn't staled and the newness of a ring still felt foreign on my finger. The day before also marked the last morning I would wake up thinking that the other Mr was someone I would spend the rest of my life with.

His phone "buzzing" on the night stand wasn't that unfamiliar to me. It seemed to have been a constant since pulling him into my world and into my country. I initially accepted that this was all new to him. Keeping contact with the family, he had never traveled this far from, made some sense.

But that morning there was an internal nag. The pulsing of the phone vibration hadn't changed, but something drew me to it. And so, as it buzzed on and on while he showered in the next room,  I picked it up and saw the beginning of the end. 

"I love you more." 

Not an unfamiliar phrase to me. He had said that to me for a long while; every morning check-in and every "goodnight" over the prior months and year. Those small windows of time (being 14 hours across the globe form each other) always ended with those words.

It would seem those words shouldn't have signaled the end, but this message wasn't meant for me. These terms of endearment were endearing another.  And looking further, they had been lulling another into his world for some time. 

As he entered the bedroom freshly cleaned from his morning bath I could only look at him and show him what I had seen on his phone. 

I was reeling in shock as memories from a beach wedding 3 days earlier hadn't had time to be sepia'd into nostalgia. 

 Among the questions in my head: "What had I done??" "What had I sacrificed for??" .........."What do I do?"

In further amazement I knew who this "more" loved was. A man who had been brushed aside early on in our relationship. Someone we had discussed and agreed would have to fade away as our focus centered on doing whatever it took to be together. 

He claimed that this other guy had faded away until just mere months earlier. The claim continued that re-ignition had occurred through a few texts. I can't say anything but "claimed," as life has shown me that optimism should have its limits and placed with worthier causes than infidelity.

The flame with this other man had grown until our terms of affection were no longer for us, but for them too.He had fallen for this man he had never met; but, somehow still loved me too. Strong passions had developed through words, not through deeds. In fact this other guy wasn't even aware I existed or that my husband now was only 800 miles from him vs 10,000.

This other had made no duplicate fiance visa applications, no trips to see he got the medical help he needed with his 'status', no, all they had was words. 

As my every-other-day work cadence found these words on my day off it also meant that time had to be spent catching up on college course work. It had been muted as wedding plans were made and paperwork filings done. And so began a day of him accompanying me to the library, shopping, and whatever else had to be accomplished or caught up on post-nuptials. Despite my world seemingly collapsing, life had to carry on.

I recall the library and its rows of blurred brown reference books. I recall attempting to work on whatever. I can only imagine the quality of homework that was submitted that distracted day. But I pushed through as goals and plans for our life slowly erased themselves from my mental whiteboard. 

Shock diminished and turned to anger on our drive home. I don't recall all the words said but I remember something to the effect of "this was supposed to be us. This was supposed to be only us!" I remember the silence and nearly expression-less face he had as I shared my anger, pain, and disbelief. 

And then there was negotiation. 

"I could fix this. We could fix this. We just do a little therapy and talk it out and all would be fine."

 After all, this marriage wasn't ending for me as my attempted heterosexual one had before with a mix match of sexual orientations; it was just at risk because we had some other challenges that could surely be fixed. 

After all, it was words that created this problem, more words could fix it. 

Sadly these misguided sentiments wouldn't lead to me internalizing the important lessons standing in front of me. I would move forward to fix this; this thing I didn't create. 

No, this period of time would serve as the dejavu point in the coming years with another failed relationship that echoed this pattern of infidelity and lies.

"Therapy" was not only a foreign English word to him but a foreign concept regardless of translation. I could only assume his slightly isolated hometown wasn't filled with mental health professionals. Seemingly it was filled, instead, with the norm of mistresses and frequent infidelity. While far from an excuse, his deeds would mimic that of his elders.

We did sit in an office that felt less like therapy and more like a prison cell as a man tried to explain how this behavior wasn't conducive to a healthy relationship. More blanks stares and silence from him. 

He would return to the negotiation table with his own offer. An offer to rotate his time and affections on a 6 month cycle bouncing between Utah and Seattle. I should become the eternal part-time husband and he could love us both. 

That wasn't getting us any closer to a solution. 

He tried negotiating a visit to Seattle to meet this guy once....and then decide. I did agreed to accept his offer to visit Seattle with one condition, if he went, he could never return. 

3 days is what I gave him to decide what door to walk through next in his life. I'd come home from work on that 3rd day to find out our fate. 

Despite the anger, the sadness, and the disbelief of it all, I knew he couldn't return to his home 10,000 miles away. Not now. I'd seen firsthand how backwards his country was when it came to HIV treatment. He wasn't going back. I couldn't.The anger would dissipate one day, life would go on for me. I, luckily, could see through all this nightmare and realize it would only get worse if I let pain decide his fate. Sending him home was a death warrant. I would not live with knowing I could have made a difference and chose anger over compassion. 

How would I tell my sons this story some day in the future with the ending that he went home and eventually couldn't get the treatments he needed to have his own future? This is not the world I wanted for me; this isn't a world I wanted for them.

Those 3 days seemed eternal. I kept what distance I could, but that wasn't really an option. We were temporarily housed with the officiant of our wedding. I couldn't show signs of marrital problems. We didn't need that pressure. I couldn't live with that pressure. And so the act of a happy newlywed carried forward in my life, my work day, my friends, my every interaction. There was only one friend I confided in, but that is a story for another day. 

Finally on that 3rd day I rushed home. Like a puppy whimpering outside a door hoping to be let in, there is no better description I can find, I was powerless and at his mercy to tell me where life would go next for me. I hesitated for a moment and then turned the knob to enter our converted garage bedroom to find out what lay ahead; and then, as I felt the world stop, I asked.

The exact response fails to come to my memory. I wasn't taking mental notes, there was no capacity for that. He stayed. Seattle ended. It was over. I was chosen. While I know I was relieved, I don't recall feeling like this was a total victory, it was just a respite from the pain.

Even as there was a momentary calm, I could feel anger growing. Sure, towards him, but inward anger as I looked back at my 3 days of whimpering at the door of our marriage; hoping to be let back in. I would not let that happen that way again. I would never again allow someone who hurt me hold all that power. I would not be a puppy sitting outside a door anxious to find if the door would open to arms extended or to a belt. 

The future would unfortunately demand that I prove that I learned this lesson. But, as before, that is for another day and another story.

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I thought this post might conclude with some revelation and explanation of all that would come next, but it won't. It feels cheap to add a paragraph or two and call that good. Some day those words will come. 

I will say this, I don't understand recovering from infidelity and staying together. It certainly can't be done by only one party. I'm in awe of anyone who can learn to trust ever again. I continue to have suspicions that could ever overcome this, even if they aren't warranted. Sure, many stay together after infidelity, but, (me included, in this and the next relationship), seemingly stay via ignorant, misplaced optimism.

The months and year that would follow would be filled with anxiety at every message alert his phone would receive. As I would find out many times over, that anxiety wasn't unwarranted.

Spoiler alert, it wasn't happily every after. 

The next months and years that would follow wouldn't be filled victories. There would be lessons learned, and re-learned. I would lose many battles in the future. Battles with myself, battles that would pit my optimism against reality; optimism against self-worth; optimism against abuse.