That's the whole banana. Right now, Love to my husband means having sex with someone the same age as his son, although they apparently have nothing in common but their jobs. It makes him look cool. It means drinking nightly and partying like it's 1999. He can't be a Papa, a father, or a husband. He's too busy being a teenager. That's not anger. That's fact.
I may not be entitled to love on my terms, buy I certainly can't deal with love on his. As the song says, Shouldn't I have that, shouldn't I have that, all of that, and passionate kisses.
To quote a favorite movie of mine, The First Wives Club, 'Suddenly I'm boring because I don't want to roller blade'
At this moment, I have no trust in him whatsoever other than to provide more hurt to me, our kids, the grands, basically everyone he touches.
To the best of my knowledge, he suffered no childhood trauma, just the trauma suffered in Iraq. Help is out there. He has no excuse for not getting it. He is just far to prideful and narcisistic to accept help.
