I’ve told this story before, and I presume I’ll tell it again. I am reluctant for I don’t know why. Maybe it’s just that only the people who have been here longer have heard it, and so there are new people who may not react as understandingly. Maybe it’s because people always think of it as “cheating,” and not, as I think of it, as trying to save myself.
Nine years ago, our son was born, and that seemed to start this ever so gradual distancing between my wife and I. When I got up the courage, I’d try to talk to her about it, but I always figured there was nothing she would do. She just didn’t want to make love that much any more.
Now when I say “make love,” I really mean it. Sex is not and can not be “just sex” for me. It is the way I experience love. Part of the problem is that I had very low self-esteem, though I didn’t know it. I figured I didn’t have any rights. I didn’t want to force her to make love. I only wanted it if she truly wanted me. I figured that if she didn’t want me, then she didn’t love me.
None of this was conscious at that point. So, for me, sex is how love is expressed. It’s where I feel safe. Where I feel like I am truly accepted (for I thought of a penis as an invader in the woman’s body, and I couldn’t imagine her likeing it, really). So, no sex = no love, although I thought it meant no sex.
It may have played a role in me going crazy. Literally. So I started doing the things that are classic symptoms of a bipolar mania. I started staying up all night; I stopped eating so much, my brain was racing and I felt like I was smarter than I had any right to be. And… and I couldn’t stop thinking about sex. I’m 52 and I was masturbating so often—like when I was a teenager.
But that wasn’t it. It wasn’t just sex. I wanted a person. I wanted all those things that people have mentioned above: appreciation; to feel like a person; to feel a connection—all those things that sex brings me.
So, I started looking, online. And I found. And I don’t know, in the course of a few months I had six such relationships going, some overlapping the others. Well, virtual love is not the same as rl love. And I had an opportunity, while away at a conference, to meet one of them.
A few months after that, in the middle of another online affair that started going disastrously wrong, I told my wife. By this time, I was also acting very erratic and getting angry at our kids, and when my wife told a psychologist friend of ours what was going on, the friend told her to get me to a doctor as soon as possible. That took some doing, but the diagnosis was pretty much instant.
So we started therapy. Couples therapy. Personal therapy. Self-help therapy.
When I first told her, she couldn’t react. Partly it was too much for her to take in, and partly it was that she was so worried about me and had to get me treated. A month later, the meds were starting to kick in, and she had her breakdown; and was so angry with me. I hope I never see anything like that again. She is a gentle, calm woman, and she was flicking me off with her middle finger out in public.
It’s a work in progress. I always loved her, and she always loved me. I’d just felt powerless. If I did anything wrong, she’d divorce me. I never felt safe. For almost eight years. Now I know she wants to hear. It’s still not easy for me to say. I try. The therapy helps. I’m starting to feel more like a person, not so much like an alien. Being online has helped me work through a lot of it.
I’m ashamed of it, but I’m more ashamed that I can’t stand up for myself, than for what I did. Maybe if I could have felt secure and appreciated, it wouldn’t have happened. I still have low self esteem. So often I think I deserve to be cut off. Cut off from her, from my kids, from my house, from my finances. When I was really depressed, I offered to disappear, leaving her all of it. I wanted to find a gutter to die in.
Personally, I think most men’s stories might be similar, if they had access to their feelings and could explicate them. I think men cheat because of some kind of pain. I think we fool ourselves when we say “it’s just sex.” I don’t believe there is such a thing as “just sex.” I think we’ve become divorced from our feelings and humanity somehow, and it usually happens because we don’t feel like any woman could really want us, so we have to take them, if we are going to even get a semblance of what we want; but we call it a conquest, like it’s a good thing, because of cognitive dissonance. We know it’s bad, but we have to make it good, or we won’t be able to look at ourselves in the mirror.
There’s lot of loneliness in the world. A lot! So many of us want to connect. Not just men. Women, too. Yet we keep on missing, our cupidic arrows going wildly astray. We get bitter and angry and complain that we don’t understand each other. And we lose compassion, and we judge, and we make it all worse. The sad thing is—I don’t see any way out for most of us. It’s just too damn hard.