My Husband's Affair Became the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me (32 page)

I would sneak out for walks late in the night and cry and scream and wander around hopelessly, as if I might bump into someone who would listen, care and give me advice. But that never happened.

One day I felt I could no longer deal with my life. Jason and I were talking seriously and I was bawling as usual. I told him that I wanted to fall asleep for a month or more. Maybe when I woke up Mom and Dad would no longer be fighting. Maybe if I slept long enough, someone would notice that I wasn’t around. Maybe after a month of not talking to me, someone would care. I knew Jason loved me. I tried to think about him as much as possible, because I felt that he was the only person in the world who cared about me. I just couldn’t get rid of my overwhelming pain and crazy emotions.

I thought that I was strong and tough, physically and emotionally. That is why I didn’t have to tell anyone anything. I could handle things alone, I thought. That’s why my mom could tell me her problems and I could help her, because I thought I was stronger than she was. She didn’t seem able to handle things since my dad’s affair.

I tried to protect Dustin and Tamara from the fights. I had to be strong, since Mom and Dad weren’t doing a very good job of keeping them safe. Everything seemed too hard now. I had no adults to talk to, no one who cared and no one who I gave enough credibility to, to receive advice from.

What a pressure to be sixteen and to feel as if you have no one in the world, yet to have problems dumped on you every day. I felt like I was choking. I didn’t want anyone to know how much I cried, wishing I had never been born. It probably would have been better. I cost my parents a fortune. I got in trouble for everything. I had no clue what to do. What I did know was that I was no longer capable of dealing with all this stuff.

The thought of sleeping for a whole month sounded so nice, but how? It was impossible, or was it? What about sleeping pills? One pill puts you to sleep for twelve hours, so could sixty pills put me to sleep for a month? They didn’t have a maximum per day warning on the bottle, so I figured it might work. I bought sixty pills. I was aware that there was some danger in trying this, but I thought if I could just fall asleep and never wake up it would be better.

That night I got ready for bed and put on nice warm comfy pajamas, as I planned to be sleeping for a while.
Ha,
I thought,
I hope they miss me
(thinking about my family). Soon I was ready for bed and I called Jason to say goodnight and that I loved him. Then I took the pills with a glass of milk. I felt really, really hot. Dismissing it, I got into bed so that I would be lying down when the pills took effect.

As I was getting into bed, I took a look around. I had cleaned my room that day and I thought briefly what a great idea this was. I

would be like Sleeping Beauty in my comfy pajamas and clean room, surrounded by fluffy blankets. As I shut my eyes I drifted off peacefully.

On the first night of Brian’s much-needed two-week holiday, in the middle of the night as we were sleeping, I was awakened unexpectedly by some strange rattling noises that seemed to be coming from our main bathroom. I got up, put on my bathrobe and went to investigate. To my horror, I found our sixteen year old daughter, shivering and convulsing.

“Danielle, Danielle,” I tried to talk to her, but she was not coherent. I could feel the adrenaline shoot instantly through my body as I ran to get Brian for help. He was just as devastated as I was to see our lovely daughter like this. Neither one of us knew exactly what to do.

We worked together as a team to help her, to get her to the hospital, yet we were not getting along with each other. We had another unresolved fight that night before we went to bed. Since Danielle was convulsing, she felt heavy. It was difficult to lift her and it was frightening to see her this way. As we carried Danielle to the van, her eyes opened, yet looking into them, it was as if she couldn’t see us, like looking into blankness.

Arriving at the hospital emergency entrance, some staff assisted us in bringing her in with a wheelchair, while she continued to shake. I was scared. I wondered how many catastrophes I was going to go through. I felt like I couldn’t handle another one, yet they kept coming with unrelenting persistence. I looked at the nurse with humble desperation.
How had this happened to us? What had we done wrong?
Tears were streaming down my lace.

“She’s probably taken an overdose of a drug called ecstasy,” the nurse said. “She’ll probably be okay. Don’t feel bad,” she tried to comfort. “This is not the first time we’ve seen this.” The hospital staff took Danielle away and encouraged us to sit and wait. It would probably be best if we didn’t watch, we were told. We took their advice.

Brian and I sat for an hour, numb, just staring. We didn’t talk, but we held hands. After about an hour the nurse came out and told us Danielle’s condition had been stabilized and that she was going to be okay. The doctors had run several tests but had been unable to determine which substances may have been in her system to cause this. They suggested Brian and I go home and get some rest. We were exhausted and took their advice. What else could we do?

The next day neither of us was in any mood to enjoy a holiday. Brian’s much-needed rest was ruined. We were supposed to be attending a wedding that morning. I decided to go anyway. I wanted to honor my friends and I reasoned that it might be good for me to distract myself from the pain for a few hours. Brian chose to stay home, which I understood.

I sat at the wedding glad to share in someone else’s happiness. I myself felt stiff, as if I were moving in slow motion. I knew I was having tremendous difficulty producing a smile on my face. I wondered if I would ever know happiness again.

Danielle was released from the hospital two weeks later. Now at least the doctors were working with us rather than in secrecy against us as before. They had not been able to identify the substance in her body, but later Danielle told us that it had been sleeping pills. At this point, I blamed myself for her attempt to escape from life. I saw it as my responsibility to prevent her from putting herself in such danger.

The psychiatrist we’d met before, Dr. Johnson, was assigned to Danielle’s case and she was scheduled to continue to see him on a regular basis. After a couple of sessions, Dr. Johnson felt we were ready for a family session together, Danielle, Brian and I. He explained it was not just Danielle that needed help, but the entire family dynamic needed to be changed. Brian and I were willing to do whatever it would take to heal our family, and save our hurting girl.

During our first and only family session, Danielle became very angry. Dr. Johnson was trying to get a commitment from her that if

she ever felt like killing herself again, she would give him a call first. Danielle kept refusing and never did make the commitment he was asking for. Brian and I sat quietly and listened. Finally Dr. Johnson said to her, “You are right, Danielle. If you want to kill yourself, you can kill yourself. There is absolutely nothing we can do about it. We can put you in a straight jacket in the psych ward and you can swallow your own tongue. We won’t be able to do a thing about it. Your life is your choice.”

As painful as it was to hear him say these words, the truth in them set me free. I realized, for the first time, that I was trying to control something I didn’t have any control over. The choice for her to live or die belonged to her and not to me. And if she made the choice to die, it would not be my fault. Her decision was not something I could control.

We are all given the freedom of choice, and that is something no one can take away from us. Realizing for the first time that Danielle’s future was up to her, and not me, set me free from a painful bondage and obsession, and it freed me to just love her. It also freed me to be myself. Now I realized that if a child has problems, it does not mean their parents have been bad parents. Even people from the best of homes, with the best of parents can have major problems. And those with the worst of childhoods are also free to choose to heal, learn and have a great life in their adult years. What we do with our life is an individual choice.

CHAPTER 20
chicago? 

OCTOBER, 2000

We do not understand:

Joy ... until we face sorrow

Faith ... until it is tested

Peace ... until faced with conflict

Trust... until we are betrayed

Love . until it is lost

Hope . until confronted with doubts

AUTHOR UNKNOWN

Several weeks into our marriage course, I felt completely discouraged and disillusioned. It was supposed to be the answer to all our problems. Although it may have been a wonderful course for those wishing to improve a reasonable marriage, it was hardly the place for a couple with a marriage in crisis.

It was as if I was having a heart attack, and after being rushed to the hospital they were busy giving me a liver transplant. It may well have been a life saving operation if it was the one that I needed, but hardly helpful when a different ailment was threatening my life. When dealing with the devastation of an affair and its phenomenal impact on the marriage, people who have never been there, well-meaning and kind as they are, are often far from helpful.

One night on the way to one of our meetings, Brian and I were having another fight, triggered by the weekly homework assignment. Again I was supposed to listen to him, without interrupting to share my side of the story. I was so tired of being told I didn’t listen, and didn’t admire and respect him, that I just exploded. I stopped the car and insisted that he get out. I went to the meeting alone. When they asked about Brian, I told the truth, we had a fight. Brian walked over six miles home in the cold, in the rain and in the dark. That was the last time we attended the course that was supposed to save our marriage.

Shortly after that evening, I decided to see a counselor on my own. I felt Brian needed counseling. I felt Danielle needed counseling. I felt sure I was the only sane individual among us. However both Brian and Danielle refused to see counselors, so I went alone, hoping to learn to live through the mess I found myself in.

At the first meeting with the counselor, I started to unload my horrendous story: the affair, the teenage battles, the drunk driving and the burning vehicle. After about ten minutes, he interrupted me. Unlike my friends, he was unimpressed by my noble efforts to try and save my family. Instead he questioned me.

“Exactly what motivates you to do so much good for your family?” he asked.

I was stunned. Instantly I knew the answer: I was motivated by an obsessive drive to fix my childhood in my adult life. Suddenly the pain of everything I suffered as a child flashed before me, especially the pain of growing up in a broken home. This made me subconsciously decide to do anything to stay married to my husband.

Now if I was going to have any hope of a happy home, “anything” was going to need redefining. All of a sudden it was clear that what had appeared to be noble was really just codependency. It was time for me to stop trying to save everybody else. I was astonished to see how much I was a part of my problems.

With the counselor’s help I began to learn what a healthy relationship really looks like and I began to change drastically. I stopped trying to please everybody, stopped taking responsibility for other’s mistakes and stopped apologizing all the time. I set clear relationship boundaries. I began to think and act more independently. It was all for the better, but the change was also difficult for both of us. At one point Brian remarked, “Anne, you are changing and growing incredibly as a person. I see that it is a good thing, but at the same time it scares me.”

The next time I talked to my mother on the phone and updated her on the events of my life, she gave me some unexpected advice. She conceded that my father was not all bad, that he was sometimes wise, and that he might even be able to help me. She strongly recommended that I call my father and tell him of Brian’s affair. She told me that it was not fair that my father had no chance to help me through such a trying time and that one day when he did find out, he would feel hurt that I never told him.

My mother’s words carried a great impact. Besides, deep down I really did want to talk with my father. Deep down, I didn’t agree with the advice others had given me to keep my troubles a secret, in order to “protect” Brian.

I wasted no time phoning my father in Chicago, and I told him everything. He listened compassionately and without passing judgment.

Two days later he called me back.

“I’m going to be arriving in Vancouver in two days,” he said.

“But Dad,” I said, shocked, “really, you don’t need to come here. I’m working things out. I wasn’t expecting you to do anything. I just thought that it was only fair that you knew what I was going through.”

I was terrified at the thought of having my father arrive in the midst of what seemed more like a war zone than a family. It was not unusual for me to have difficulty getting along with my father at the best of times. But I saw that he viewed it as an opportunity to show his only daughter how much he loved her, and after several attempts to dissuade him from coming, I realized that he wasn’t going to budge on this issue. I knew he wanted to help, and he said he wouldn’t interfere. He also promised to pretend to know nothing of the problems in our lives.