Another WW/WAW, Need Guidance

[JAS84]

Hi All,

Been reading through the forums for weeks, and it's about time I introduce myself and my situation. I will use a couple of things I had written at the start of this mess to describe the situation, and fill in the blanks as I found them out. Below, "N" is my wife, and "M" is our son.

March 9th, 2015
Why did I start to do this now? My life is falling apart, that’s why. My wife is planning to move out in to an apartment and take our son, and I will then be relegated to a glorified babysitter who pays for the privilege of seeing snapshots of a life he helped create. (We worked out what she would be taking, and we are going to attempt week-on, week-off co-parenting. I will have the first week)
Surely this seems one-sided, does it not? Well, it certainly is. Except that it’s not necessarily the way you think it is. I killed love. Stabbed it in its heart of hearts, and left it to bleed away. There, I said it. It devastates me that I could take something so precious, so dear, and seemingly cast it off like it was nothing. I did not even know I was doing it at the time, because of my own selfishness, my own ignorance, even though it was staring me in the face from the moment I made the first mistake.
What was the “first mistake”, you ask? Well, to explain that requires a little back-story. Bear with me, I will get there.
I started working at McDonald’s as soon as I was legally allowed to have a real job, like many teenagers did, and still do, to make some pocket money to do whatever it was that we teenagers liked to blindly spend their money on. For me, it started out simply enough. I bought a guitar with my first paycheck. I put the rest in a new bank account. I really have to tell you about that guitar though.
It was a B.C. Rich Warlock. It might have been the cheapest model they made, surely out of some child-labor-filled Asian factory with 100,000 others that day, but it was mine, and I bought it with my own money. Money that I had earned. I was addicted. I enjoyed working, and I enjoyed getting money. I also enjoyed spending it. I would buy things I needed, things I wanted, and even sometimes things nobody should really ever need or want. But let’s be honest: I still lived at home, with a mom who would do anything to make sure I had what I needed. So, most of the things I bought were “wants”.
So, this pattern continued on for a couple years, where I would make my money at McDonald’s, taking pride in my job, and doing everything I could to the best of my ability. They noticed I was good with the computerized equipment, and continued to ask more of me. By the time 2001 rolled around, I was one of the (if not THE) youngest swing-shift managers that this particular store had ever had. They continued to ask more of me, and I continued to deliver.
Still working at McDonald’s. This was about the time she started working there. N, with an uncommon spelling, blue eyes (with a couple little flecks of brown in them), lower half of her hair buzz-cut. Large breasts, well-shaped behind. I was awestruck, and absolutely enamored from the first time I saw her. It took weeks for me to get up the nerve to approach her on anything more than a professional level. One day, I asked someone (as us silly kids sometimes did) to go ask her what she thought of me. She told them she thought I was cute. SHE THINKS I’M CUTE! After a little while longer, I asked her if she wanted to hang out, and she said yes.
That moment was THE moment. The beginning of the rest of my life. I wanted to marry this beautiful girl, and I barely even knew her. As I got to know her, though, the feeling only became stronger. I had to contain myself for a long time to keep that feeling hidden, lest she think I was absolutely bonkers.
So, we hung out, first as friends, with a group of her other friends, and eventually started hanging out by ourselves. Every time she called, my heart buzzed. Every time we were together, I felt like I was invincible.
We used to smoke weed. Pot, grass, herb, trees, whatever you care to call it, we smoked it. We had a lot of fun. We got silly, goofy, and did stupid things. It was just… Fun. Usually we smoked behind a church in the neighborhood, but we did in other places, too. I enjoyed it so much, I started smoking all the time. At work, at school, at home, and it, combined with teenage hormones, thoroughly screwed up my emotional base. After a while, the only thing I knew, was that I absolutely loved this girl!
I gave up on other things in life. I dropped out of school halfway through my senior year of HS, as did N, except she was only a sophomore. I eventually got fired from McDonald’s, but found other work. We had moved in together, into a starter apartment. I then worked on a loading dock for a large trucking company, and when that wasn’t to my liking, N’s mother helped me get a job as a seasonal/temp worker at a company she was working at. Again, I excelled, and was asked to stay on as a full-time employee. I eventually went back to HS and got my diploma, and started going after my career goal of working with computers. Nichole started to smoke less and less weed, while I smoked more and more.
Because of all of this pot that I had smoked, and some other things I have tried once or twice, my memories are not always clear, and many things, good and bad, happened during this time. I still have trouble with it now, after more than 3 years. I know I’ve done some permanent damage, but that doesn’t change my love for N. Nothing will ever change that.
It is hard to say this, but even at 30 years old, I still feel like I am emotionally handicapped in some way. I often refuse to express emotion, even though I have been given a safe environment to express myself. I bottle it up instead, but I am slowly getting better at it. SLOWLY. I blame some of it on the pot, and using it to avoid emotional conflict, but a good deal of it was still my fault. If I did something wrong, or something happened that I didn’t like, I shut down. I still do from time to time, but as I get older, I find that it is getting easier to deal with, but not the way that I would like.
N, on the other hand, was always able to communicate her emotions passionately and effectively, sometimes too much so. But, I will never say I did not deserve the tongue-lashings I received. I am stubborn. I am fundamentally self-centered, but am always learning to expand my horizons. I believe that a good person should not be the way I am, and I am doing everything I can to change it.
It is even more important now that M is in the picture. At 4 years old, M needs to be in a stable, loving house, with TWO parents who love each other and him, and express it freely, and often. I want to be that kind of person, and I am teaching myself to be. It is hard for me, but I am doing it.
I’m sorry. What started out as an explanation of how I killed love has turned into an abridged version of my adult life story as I remember it. I am not skilled enough with the written word to accurately express all of the little details in the correct context and chronology. Really, though, I am just impatient, and the thoughts are flying through my head faster than I can type them.
I am, however, much better with written words than spoken ones. I can never get the right thing out of my mouth at the right time, but usually am able to find them immediately after the fact, when thinking back on the situation. Remember the “Jerk Store” episode of Seinfeld?
[censored] it. I’m just going to list them.
The first mistake that I remember is after eating some psychedelic mushrooms, getting high, and laying in bed with N in our starter apartment. I was off in La-La Land, and imagining our little group of friends as characters on a kids show, similar to Barney & Friends or something like that. We were going around the circle, and everyone was telling everyone else they loved them. I said out loud, “I love you, Dawn.” Dawn was one of N’s good friends. To me, this was mistake number 1, at least the first one I can remember. It still bothers me to this day.
In that same apartment, I got angry and put my head through the wall. Not much to say about that.
After we bought a house, I was still smoking weed. A LOT of it. I burned through a lot of money too. At one point, N had enough of it (she had stopped smoking it years prior), and threatened to throw it away. I was spending more time smoking it than I was spending with her. Yes, it was that bad. In my effort to get it back from her, I wrestled her down to the ground. Not my finest hour. It was shortly after that incident that I resolved to stop, but it didn’t happen for a while after that.
I have repeatedly gotten lazy around the house. This wasn’t just “not doing laundry” or “not washing dishes”. There would be times I would not brush my teeth or shower for an entire weekend, and not even bother to change out of my underwear. Looking back on it, it’s not because of any one thing, but mostly because I was generally unhappy, and didn’t know how to express it. This would usually result in N telling me off, rightly so, but I was so bull-headed and in my own depression that I could not comprehend what she was saying. This was the warning, and I was too far away to realize it.
When N was pregnant with M, I slept on the couch. A lot. As in, for most of the pregnancy. I was ready to have at least 1 child when we got married, but was not ready to have conceived one within a couple weeks of the honeymoon. I was scared, paranoid, and just generally unsure of things. N seemed so sure of things, I felt like it would bring her down if I mentioned it. This, according to her, was the most catastrophic thing for our relationship, and I have begun to understand why. I should have been there, being supportive and available, and we should have been a team, parents-to-be ready to take on this new scary world of nurturing life, and I let her down. She should not have had to tell me. I was still smoking weed at this point in time, and was often off in my own world, doing the next thing, alone. Now, I have had some thoughts about a second child, but that will now likely never happen, at least not with N. The problem is, if I cannot have it with N, then I don’t want it. She is an excellent mother, definitely a better mother than I am a father, and I can’t imagine anyone being better at it than her.
I have looked at/masturbated to pornography on a regular basis, and have repeatedly neglected N’s physical and emotional needs as a result. This I KNOW is my fault, and I still haven’t found a way to express this vocally, but I will try to type it out. I have a bit of a nylon fetish, with an additional kink for pretty female feet in pantyhose or stockings. I don’t know why, but it really gets my rocks off. The first part N knows, the second, maybe not, but I know I have paid extra attention to her sexy little feet when they were encased in silky pantyhose. There have been times where N would wear some pantyhose for me (and one time I particularly remember when I came home from a work trip), and I even bought her some that we have had fun with, but deep down, I know it is not her thing and it makes me shameful, and makes me feel like I have exploited her in some way. She even allowed me to wear them one time when we had sex (a fantasy brought on by the porn), but was very adamant that it would not happen again. I can live with that. The problem I developed, though, is that I started treating her wearing them as the only times we would have sex. NOT because those were the only times I was interested, but because I knew it would be a “sure thing” as it were. This is wrong, I know, but I found myself unable to speak the words that would let N know.
I didn’t do anything special on M’s last birthday. I didn’t realize this was such a big deal, since we were having a party for him that weekend, but quickly realized it when N lost her cool. I did honestly think the party was the special thing.
I embarrassed myself and N at my step-mother’s 50th birthday party. I was I a foul mood, and it just kept getting worse. I couldn’t shake it. At one point, we were asked to take a big family picture as a memory of the party. I refused. When my brother tried to physically move me towards where the picture was being taken, I intentionally planted myself against the high-top table so that when he pushed me, it would knock over a bunch of drinks. When that happened, I left. I sat in the car for hours while everyone enjoyed themselves. N told me at that point that she was mad enough, combined with all the previous happenings, to exclude me from M’s birthday party, and to possibly leave. I apologized to my step-mother, my father, and my step-brother. My brother still hasn’t returned my calls or text messages. (He has since done so, and we are fine)
I’m sure there are things I am missing. I have screwed up too many times to count. I have shown that I am, by some rights, a monster, and that I deserve everything that I get as a result. But at the same time, I am learning to be a better person, and N has been a big part of it, as has M. I understand that life is not some science experiment where you do all of the wrong things you can to see what gives first. I know that, and I know better, and I have the burden of living with the mistakes I have made for the rest of my life.
N will be gone soon, and she’s going to take M with her. Then my vicious cycle of self-destruction is complete. Only, I feel like I have finally broken the mold, but just a little too late.
I don’t believe I deserve another chance. But, I still want one. I’m not going to get it, but a man can at least dream about when times were good, right? You know, before he [censored] them all up.
I think I’m going to let N read this. Maybe she’ll understand, maybe she won’t, but I think there are things in here that she needs to know. Things that I haven’t been able to express over the years. Things that I have thought about every day since their occurrence, and things that prove how I managed to kill love.

A few days after this, I found out about the affair by snooping on her phone (she had begun hiding it when I walked into the room): Emotional at first, crossed the line into physical (only confirmed kissing) shortly thereafter (supposedly fueled by large amounts of alcohol).

This is another letter I wrote her:

March 22nd, 2015
After really taking time to understand your pain, I realize that you have been suffocating. You couldn’t breathe. You gave this marriage your all, and hung on as long as you felt you could, hoping for change. Your decision to leave wasn’t one you took lightly, and it was one of the hardest decisions you have ever made. Now that your decision has been made, the air is starting to return. Although I want to be that source of air for you, I can’t ask that. It has to be something you want, and the right answer for you will come with time.
As much as I would like to remain a family, that is not the purpose of this letter. I am not writing it to ask for another chance, or for forgiveness. My intent is only to say some things, that, given time, will hopefully allow your heart to begin healing. You have been hurt deeply, and deserve kindness and understanding in all things.
When you agreed to marry me, you expected to be loved and cherished for the rest of your life, and your heart to be cared for and kept safe. You trusted me to do that. Instead, you came away feeling neglected, insignificant, and cold. One example of this: How horrible you must have felt each night when I chose to sleep elsewhere, instead of the bed we had the privilege to share! The man you entrusted your heart to, had left you starving for affection, togetherness, and support. Those things are part of the air you needed, and my selfishness kept that from you. You decided that I had become a threat to your well-being. Now that I understand those needs, I am overwhelmed with regrets for how I treated you, and our son.
When I look back on our relationship, I realize that all those times you were asking for my help, you were also putting your feelings out in the open. I responded as if I was being attacked, raised my defenses, and often, shut you out. That was foolish. I see it now: Every time you needed to say these things to me, it wasn’t just the words expressed over the actions. You were showing me your vulnerability, really baring something that was not only in your mind, but in your heart. You were revealing concerns, and telling me that you could not bear the load of taking care of our home and family all on your own. You began to fear our future as a couple, and my ability to be a capable father. You continued to take these risks – baring yourself to me – until you couldn’t take the pain of my response anymore. How terrible that must have made you feel! Please know that, no matter what happens between us in the future, I will always try to be safe with your heart.
If I were a friend of yours, hearing the things from you, I would want to hold you, console you, and give you at least a small part of the comfort you deserve. I would want to punch your husband in the face and scream at him to wake up and stop treating you this way!
Well, I am awake now. I know that I haven’t been safe for your heart in the past, but I do want you to know that I am safe now. Please know that if you ever need someone to listen to your heart and share your pain with, I am here for you.

I found out just today (4/16/15), by snooping through text messages, that the OM appears to be someone she works with. The snooping is not as painful as it was, but it does cause anger in me, and I know I need to stop, but at the same time, I feel like I might need it as evidence if I were to pursue an at-fault divorce based on adultery at some point in time.

She has been in the home, doing whatever she wants (I believe our son has met the OM, as her "friend", and they spent a day with him), and packing her things. Her apartment will be ready next week, and she will move on 4/25/15. She has asked me and our son not to be present on moving day.

Once she is out of the home, I believe it will be easier to deal with things. Since I will have my son the first week, I will almost be "eased" into it. I assume she will probably spend a lot of that time talking to/being with her OM, while she unpacks. I also suspect the main reason she doesn't want me around on moving day is because he will be there helping, but I know that it would also be less stressful for our son.


Thanks in advance.