Chapter 13: The Turning Point

Many of us live in the space between what is and what might have been.

Our disastrous trip to Palm Springs was a turning point in our relationship – at least for me. I never felt the same way about Bill again. During the four-hour trip back home, I thought long and hard about the night before and the three years since we met online. Somewhere along that ugly and parched stretch of the I-10, I realized how oblivious Bill was to the pain he inflicted. Earlier that morning, he had gone about his morning routine as if nothing had happened.

I finally understood just how impenetrable he was – like a slab of granite – nothing got through – not emotion, not warmth, not regret, not sorrow, not affection, and certainly not guilt. Like granite repels water and heat, Bill repelled almost every human emotion known – except when it came to certain sexual desires. Only then does a kind of peculiar passion emerge.

I wasn’t serious about suggesting an open marriage. It was more of a test that I knew Bill would quickly dismiss. However, in my mind, Bill was already benefiting from a one-sided open marriage that he decided and defined for himself. Bill did not view his sexual encounters or internet pursuits with other men as infidelity and denied violating any marital principle where there was an assumption of exclusivity.

As I thought about all these things, I suddenly realized something was different and missing. My emotional response was somehow changed. I searched for the powerful and debilitating emotions I had experienced only a few hours earlier, and they just weren’t there. I think I cried all of the feelings – and the love – right out of me.

It felt as if I had been suffering from a long-running fever that finally broke. I felt remarkably better. I was calmer, cooler, and even relieved. I was determined to pursue happiness on my terms. To find contentment and enjoyment again – with or without him. The release felt so wonderful I almost burst out laughing.

The transformation wasn’t as immediate as it sounds.  For days, weeks, and even months after, there were still incidents that reminded me that everything was different, but nothing had changed. The difference was, I was no longer spending countless hours in a game of hide-and-seek, searching for evidence of wrongdoing, or agonizing over the injury. I came to accept that no matter the risk, the consequences, or the pain Bill inflicted on me or our relationship, come hell or high water, he was never going to give it up. It is the very definition of someone who is afflicted with addiction. 

Over time, the bleed of my feelings was nearly complete. The final separation occurred after the accidental discovery of a hideous mask Bill had added to his special wardrobe. This was no cheap Halloween mask. The mask was that of a female, complete with eyelashes, bad makeup, and long brunette hair. The opening for the lipstick-covered mouth was unusually large and for good reason.

Although I was no longer searching his computer or phone for clandestine pursuits, sometimes things would happen right before me when I least expected it – like pulling up to a busy intersection just in time to witness a horrific crash. Driving through a few seconds earlier, and you would miss it – a few seconds later, and you would miss it. But sometimes, you’re at the precise moment when it happens, and you have no choice but to watch.

It was quite by accident that I came across the mask when I was looking for a pair of sunglasses I had left in the truck. I knew right away Bill wasn’t driving around with that mask in his truck because he was robbing gas stations on the way home from work. I had a pretty good idea what he was up to, and it was nauseating and grotesque. I realized that just because I was no longer hunting for evidence of what he was up to didn’t mean he had stopped. Of course, Bill offered the same old excuses, denials, and lies, but none of it angered or caused me the same kind of intense pain the way it once had.

Soon after discovering the mask, I began to lose interest in other aspects of our relationship, namely sex. (I won’t say I missed the intimacy because that implies closeness and tenderness, which rarely existed.)  I grew tired of the pageantry, the CD outfits, the toys, the poppers, dildos that were never big enough, the theatrics of it all. I felt as though I was nothing more than a prop, a stand-in, and a poor substitute until Bill could arrange for the real thing. I didn’t intend to lose interest – it was just the result of the unintended consequences of cause and effect.

Eventually, the anger, frustration, resentment, and heartache I experienced for those two-plus years were slowly replaced with indifference and apathy. Today, I no longer agonize over the defeat, questions about whether I made a mistake nor am I paralyzed by grief or self-doubt. Those are distant feelings I left behind in Palm Springs in a torrent of tears.