Sandi's Place

[Dia]

Here it is. It's on page 4, but I don't know how to link to a specific post instead of the page.

First of all, let me give you an analogy about why a supposedly 'good', committed spouse gets drawn into an affair.

Imagine that you're in a closed room and the oxygen is slowly being sucked out. At first, you carry on with your life and you don't even notice. Then something seems subtly off, but most likely, you think it's you - you haven't been getting enough sleep, you're stressed, you need a vacation, something like that. As the precious oxygen drops lower and lower, everything becomes a struggle and an act of will. You start tapping on the windows to get someone's attention, but no one listens. "Hey, I can't breathe. I think there's a problem in here."

Joy, happiness, hope, optimism -- they're all being sucked out of you just like the air. Every movement feels like pushing through molasses and you're breathing in deep, ragged gasps. You may even pound on the doors screaming and crying for more air, just a little more... please...

Eventually, you sink to the floor in utter defeat, weakly saying goodbye to your spouse, your life, your children, because you know you're dying and no one cares. No one will help you. You're too weak even to cry.

Then just before your eyes close, someone slips a hose under the door and there's this thin trickle of pure, sweet O2. You're in disbelief for the first few breaths. Am I hallucinating? Is this real?? Someone is finally giving me what I need to live? A few more breaths and maybe you can push up from the floor. Another few and maybe you can even stand. You walk around, touch the walls but there's still no air in the rest of the room - so you have to go back to the hose.

Sometimes, maybe not for everybody, the hose begins to whisper.

"Breathe deeper. It's here for you."

"HE put you in here (your spouse). He's the one starving you for air."

"I can get you out. I can take care of you."

"I'll give you all the air you want for the rest of your life. All you have to do is open the door..."

You look back at your spouse, but the windows are thick, soundproof glass. He didn't hear you begging and pleading for air. He didn't seem to notice when you slumped to the floor half-dead. Or maybe he did. Maybe he was on the other side of the window telling you everything was fine; that the lack of air was all in your head. And maybe he even got mad at you for needing to breathe in the first place.

So you listen to the hose some more.

If you stay in the room, you'll die without the hose.

If you leave the room, you have to give up your life and leave your spouse behind.

How long will you let yourself gasp for air in the vacuum box before you give in and take the only thing promising you life?


The oxygen, of course, is love, and that's what it's like to get sucked into an affair.