LITMIR.BIZ

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with a hard object. After that moment passed, I asked Michael what he meant by a “moment of weakness.” He refused to reveal any details, assuring me that it was nothing to get upset about. I asked the question again, but Michael told me that my imagination was playing tricks on me.

      I stayed awake that night, trying to understand what was going on. If nothing had actually happened between them, then why was Michael so afraid to break his ties with Jimmy? He did tell me that he was afraid that Jimmy might go to his parents and they could “misinterpret” the story, making it into something that it wasn’t. He said that he had to keep seeing Jimmy because this was the only way he had some control over the situation.

      I pieced together different incidents that made me uneasy during our marriage and a picture began to form. I remembered Michael’s statements about having to survive by doing unmentionable things he wasn’t proud of. He always quickly added that he did these acts as a teenager and only for money, so I didn’t dwell on it. Several times when we were having financial problems, Michael mentioned that he could earn money quickly by dancing in clubs. When he added that it would be an all-male club, I angrily told him it was out of the question. I assumed or maybe hoped this was what he alluded to in his past that he wasn’t proud of, but now I wasn’t so sure. Other hints started running through my mind.

      When we lived in New York City, we often dined in a restaurant located in the gay section of Greenwich Village. Michael told me he spent a lot of time in this area when he was younger. Once we went to a movie theater in that neighborhood, and we were the only male-female couple there. All of the other patrons were men, and many of them were gay couples openly displaying affection. I felt uncomfortable there, especially when some of them were eyeing Michael up and down. When I expressed my discomfort, Michael said I was paranoid. After all, he was a married man and wore a wedding ring to prove it.

      Michael pampered himself and looked into the mirror countless times, admiring his good looks. He often remarked that gay men would tell him how handsome he was, and if a gay man says it, you know it is true because they only complimented good-looking men. I thought this was odd, but I assumed his ego needed constant reassurance, and he was not fussy about the source of compliments.

      Michael would throw “gay” into our conversations frequently, whether as a joke, an observation of a stranger, or a mocking imitation of the stereotypical movements of an effeminate male’s hands and walk. One day we passed a blond teenage boy riding a bicycle, and Michael explained that in the gay world, the boy would be called a “cutie pie.” He was annoyed when different coworkers occasionally asked him if he was gay, and he always let them know that he was a married man with a child. However, I remembered the famous quote about protesting too much. I started to feel that my daughter and I were a shield for his denials when someone made this accusation.

      When I thought about all these things combined with my friend Zack’s warning before the marriage, I concluded that my husband had homosexual tendencies, and might, in fact, be “bisexual.”

      The next day, I sat Michael down for a talk and stated that I thought he might be bisexual. I didn’t ask him directly because I knew he would lie. After the words were spoken, there was neither confirmation nor denial. I quickly added that I could accept that he had “bisexual tendencies.” In fact, if once every six months or so he had to go away for a few hours, and I would never have to find out about it, I could live with the situation. And if, by chance, I did find out, I only hoped it would be with a consenting adult and not a teenager. I had the situation all wrapped up neatly under acceptable terms that I could live with. I became sick to my stomach when I visualized Michael with another man, but I was counting on never finding out if it happened.

      I understood very little about homosexuality. If I had known more, I would have realized how ridiculous and unrealistic my terms and conditions were. I should have considered that Michael’s approval of this plan was just a tactic to placate me while giving him the green light to continue cheating on me.

      I also demanded that Jimmy be removed from our lives, no matter what the consequences were. It was Michael’s word against his, and who would believe an unstable teenager over a married man and father? Michael finally agreed, and I started to feel as if I could still hold the marriage together and survive emotionally. I also thought that my extreme generosity would make Michael love me more.

      The next few months were calmer. Michael assured me that Jimmy was gone, and he made a sincere effort to keep the other group members out of our personal life. He moved their sessions out of our home and into the store we rented. This made my life much easier because the group had outgrown our home, and I was forced to leave it whenever the meetings took place. This put added strain on me, and made me feel like an outsider in my own home.

      Michael started talking about having another child, claiming that a son would be the fulfillment of his lifetime dream and change his focus. He never explained what he meant by his “focus,” but I assumed that he meant he would cut down on the time he spent with his group and his “bisexual thoughts.” In my desperate attempts to make my marriage work, I manipulated our limited sexual activity to my most fertile days.

      A month before our third anniversary, I conceived, but I had mixed feelings. After the initial excitement wore off, I didn’t feel the same sense of joy that I had with my first child. Early in the pregnancy, Michael became involved with someone he hired named John who was 19 years old. When I confronted him with my suspicions, he claimed once again that I was crazy and paranoid. By then, I was familiar with his behavior patterns and knew something was going on between them. When I watched Michael get dressed up and put on expensive cologne when he went out, I knew he was feeling an attraction.

      On the evening of our third anniversary, Michael told me that he had to do something important and would be home shortly. I prepared a special dinner that sat warming in the oven until he quietly unlocked the door at 3:00 a.m. I was sitting on the living room couch staring blankly at the walls. I didn’t say a word while I listened to his explanation. Michael coldly stated that he was trying to find a place for John to stay because he had been kicked out of his house for doing drugs. Michael had the gall to blame me for his absence on our anniversary because I refused to allow John to stay with us.

      Up until this point, I never threw the issue of homosexuality in Michael’s face, but now I found myself bringing it up in every argument. I distrusted him so much that I suspected him of doing wrong daily even when he wasn’t. I began watching the clock every time he left the house, calculating the minutes until he returned. I searched his pockets when he slept, hoping to find evidence to confirm my suspicions. I became a person totally alien even to myself. The worst part was knowing that I was too weak to do anything even if I did find proof.

      What I originally saw as strength in Michael was a misconception. He used his strength to bully me, mentally beating me down through verbal abuse. He robbed me of my self-esteem that took years to build up by berating me privately and publicly. He kept telling me that without him, I could never survive alone, and eventually I started to believe that I was helpless. He criticized me daily, finding fault with my parenting skills, housekeeping, family, and friendships. I began to eat to compensate for my unhappiness, and as I gained weight, he said that my size was the cause of his lack of sexual interest. He repeated over and over that no man would ever love me as much as he did, and without him, I would be condemned to a life of loneliness.

      I became a prisoner of my own insecurities. I was afraid to leave my home, fearing Michael would bring someone into my bed. Friends who had known me for years questioned what was happening to me. I told my family and closest friends about the problems, and although they were sympathetic, they didn’t really understand the situation or have any answers. Michael did his best to distance me from the people I was closest to at the time by starting fights with me in front of them and making them choose sides. My family and friends stopped coming over and instead met me away from home on those rare occasions when I left the house. Michael strongly warned me that he would leave if he ever found out that I discussed his secret with anyone. This included talking to a marriage counselor, even though I pleaded with him to go with me for help. He also threatened that he would not leave alone—he would take the children and I would never see them. With nowhere to turn and living with constant fear, I was left to deal with

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