tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54139474041828081062026-10-16T11:03:40.188-07:00A blog about being the partner of a sex addict, and mother to a son with alcohol, drug, and emotional issues. "These sentences are how I solve the problem of myself."Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.comBlogger175125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-67888718539098340442013-01-31T21:08:00.001-08:002013-01-31T21:09:43.747-08:00

Oh my. Has it really been so long? July was my last post. The good news is that this long hiatus essentially means that my neurofeedback and therapy worked well enough that I didn't need this outlet so much. The bad news is that I've lost touch with you few souls who I shared something with. An acknowledgment of wounds, of helping each other down unknown paths hoping it was towards some sort

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-12233487740129582362012-07-21T08:36:00.000-07:002012-07-21T08:36:31.200-07:00

Last night I dreamt of an invention that showed how long an addict had been sober. It was all very sci-fi - a set of embedded lights under the skin in two lines, like a landing strip, from collarbone to the bottom of the ribs. These lights glowed bright red when the addict's acting out had been recent, and as the days of sobriety racked up, the lights would gradually dim.  Once the

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-26058809721098037542012-07-17T23:35:00.002-07:002012-07-17T23:36:36.719-07:00

Kyd is going to work with his father. The last time this happened a lot of bad shit went down and my sister had to drive from her college and pick him up. Pick up a shivering, crying, hurt and angry teenager. I then spent the next year dealing with the fallout. Understandably I have deep reservations about this arrangement, but per the usual Kyd has backed himself into a corner, burned his

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-18742141125257419322012-07-17T10:43:00.000-07:002012-07-17T10:43:04.483-07:00

Realized this morning that if I DO get this job I applied for and I DO move out that I DON'T get to have the holidays in this house. Not even one set of holidays.  Motherfucker.

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-21245868751903828122012-07-16T15:55:00.000-07:002012-07-17T10:49:25.278-07:00

When I don't write here it's sometimes because things are going well enough that I don't need this secret space of mine. Sometimes it's because I'm frustrated that the situation is the same.  The situation is the same. Roi is an emotionless robot (he says so himself), Kyd is emotionally unstable, Lexie is doing ok but full of anxiety and dragging her feet on leaving the nest, I want to

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-10140438393441788382012-07-15T22:57:00.001-07:002012-07-15T22:57:39.269-07:00

After too many days of dry, parching heat, the rain has finally come. I'm not sure all of our vegetation will spring back, some of it looking rather...dead. Beyond repair.  I can't help but compare by making this an analogy of my life at the moment. So long a dry-spell without love or genuine kindness. Too long with the lies and manipulation and control. Far, far too long away from

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-22904530598128040302012-07-10T08:44:00.000-07:002012-07-10T08:50:52.376-07:00

I'm in trouble. I have been floating in this limbo with Roi for so so long. Not floating, that's the wrong imagery. Locked into it, trapped in it, wishing to flee and holding that wish down with an iron grip the way one grits their teeth and locks the tongue to the roof of one's mouth to hold back bile.  Lexie and I speak in code: "LBR" - life before Roi. How we were dirt poor and

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-30438841631417717642012-06-30T22:50:00.001-07:002012-06-30T22:50:52.884-07:00

It is late. I'm a wee bit tipsy lying here on the couch wondering where I should begin from where I left off. An hour ago I texted Kyd, a playful nudge to make contact. It's been nearly a week since I've heard from him.  Roi kicked him out of the house, twice. That's a complicated story, and I'm still sorting through the notes to piece together how I feel about all of it, so I'll get to

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-39337501271613419492012-06-29T21:10:00.001-07:002012-06-29T21:10:27.626-07:00

Various conversations and readings in the last few days have me thinking about sexual trauma. It's a given (depending on who you talk to) that being a partner to a sex addict causes relational trauma, but I feel sexually traumatized too. Before SA I was comfortable with my sexuality, I think as comfortable as anyone can feel in such a confused culture. I was comfortable with what I liked and

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-66643589660699446912012-06-29T21:09:00.000-07:002012-06-29T23:50:35.638-07:00

I found this in drafts from about a year ago. I'm experiencing a lot of anxiety over this work situation. I've got to do more sales and bring in more work, yet I'm depleted of the necessary energy after having to manage my recovery AND Briar's complete dysfunction around work. She's screwing up royally but I can't talk to her about it. She is unable to take direction or criticism.  We

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-14404130282508210062012-06-29T21:06:00.002-07:002012-06-29T21:06:55.497-07:00

It is officially summer. Officially the most triggering time of year since my life with Roi. I had somehow convinced myself that it's been forever since any indiscretions but then I just went back through this blog and realized that it's been about a year since any acting out with sex addiction and a mere 4 months since another breach of trust with prescription drugs.  This is what

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-17938650223013718382012-04-17T11:20:00.001-07:002012-04-17T11:20:52.598-07:00

I'm sitting at a cafe waiting to pick up Roi. He spent the weekend in New York and then extended his stay by two nights. Without asking. Certainly without respect to my schedule, or my triggers. He was decidedly unapologetic about it. Heck, he went so far as to guilt me.  But then, I know this. This is Roi, and this is how he does life. It's good to no longer be surprised by his absurd

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-48559204265795923732012-04-12T21:32:00.000-07:002012-04-12T21:32:09.654-07:00

It's me again.  Here we are at the new house. And it's lovely. More than lovely. It's solid, and grounded, and peaceful, and grand. It holds a gentle energy within its walls. It sits on a hill on a quiet street, meeting squarely the mountains across the way.  Kitten has found all the best nooks for naps, including nestled in beside me in my office chair as I work.  All of

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-6221638234521311132012-03-06T08:32:00.001-08:002012-03-06T08:32:10.753-08:00

Kitten 2 is still alive so far. An hour ago we found her quivering under the bed again, breathing in short raspy breaths. The landlord had come over and frightened her into hiding with his deep baritones.  Now she sits up against me cleaning herself, her fear forgotten.  I am thinking about the new house and the extra bedroom. It's tiny and yellow and full of sun and I've claimed

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-30296212738328722202012-03-05T11:08:00.002-08:002012-03-05T11:14:00.065-08:00

Let's talk about my character defects for a moment.  I'm stubborn to a fault. My mother used to tell me I would cut of my nose to spite my own face. Granted, I would shoot a venomous look her way and say, "what does that even mean?!" I wasn't big on reflection. It is difficult to label this only as a character defect since my stubbornness has also gotten me through very tough times when

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-24133243295000583572012-03-02T08:47:00.002-08:002012-03-02T08:47:39.257-08:00

My post of the other day reflected a somber mood. Not long after that post I descended into a blubbering mess over a restaurant getting my order wrong and Roi feeling accused when I wasn't, in fact, accusing him of anything.  I was in a bad brain state because I had just started a new Neurofeedback protocol, and even though I had given Roi fair warning that the new treatment could set me

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-70438916855874784612012-02-26T22:22:00.001-08:002012-02-26T22:33:30.626-08:00

That was my reply to a comment on one of my last posts. Which? It's been a while. You probably thought I was gone from this blog forever. No. Just positively overwhelmed by life in these last few months. I've been trying to swim in the great tidal wave of life folks. Probably just like you but, funny, I manage to always convince myself that my problems are more complex, my feelings wider

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-26942994995015296572011-12-05T22:17:00.001-08:002011-12-05T22:30:13.218-08:00

There are these moments when I see clearly how hard Roi is trying to learn to live with the new him, the new me, the clattering and discordant us.  The new him is disbelieving that he was ever that man who once set to work seducing the bookkeeper of one of his clients. Who made plans with her to meet at a resort in upstate New York. Who sent her a photo of himself petting the face of a

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-43364921657883989842011-11-22T21:17:00.001-08:002011-11-22T21:39:02.445-08:00

Existential ennui. A problem we only have when life is luxurious enough for it, no?  Lately I've found myself hoping that Roi would screw up in some major way again. Not yet, not now because I still couldn't handle it. But maybe a year from now when the economy is moving again (will it ever move again as it used to?) and when Lexie has moved on to college so I can go for my masters, and

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-90765347379954415922011-11-02T09:36:00.000-07:002011-11-02T09:36:02.185-07:00

My neurofeedback treatment continues to go well and I feel I'm improving daily and more my "self" than I've been in a long time, but the jury is still out on how much of my "self" is problematic versus my situation being problematic and where all the lines are. Lexie is doing reasonably fine and she and I have become increasingly close over the last year. Our cat died recently and that

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-57585021140405146012011-10-21T21:38:00.000-07:002011-10-21T21:38:50.373-07:00

I've missed this space. I mean, I think I've missed this space. But then, Fall is coming on and I always write more in Autumn as I fold in on myself.  Roi and I feel very very done, but I've stopped trying to predict what might or might not happen with us. There's been some recent drama - nothing nearly so awful as before, nothing even involving a woman as far as I know - just enough to

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-3882218921048575322011-09-15T22:37:00.000-07:002011-09-15T22:46:01.643-07:00

First off, there's this. An essay written by a well-meaning MAN telling women, "I see it, I see what we do, I see what the culture does. It's insidious, and it's not cool."  He's talking about gas-lighting in the name of getting away with poor behavior. On one hand, right on. On the other hand it irks me a little. Because women have been saying this for what feels like nearly our entire

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-66132690685986764032011-09-13T21:42:00.000-07:002011-09-13T21:42:57.141-07:00

I know the new blogger interface is meant to be more "intuitive", but it's only annoying me. I don't like change. Way to be predictable, I know.  For the record, I am now convinced more than ever that neurofeedback is a gift from the gods. I missed a lot of NF time over the last month due to being away, wanting more talk time, and then canceling an appointment which I cancelled because I

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-6129026425721490612011-09-09T08:31:00.000-07:002011-09-09T08:34:07.493-07:00

I haven't had enough neurofeedback lately and it's showing. I am being reminded, not-too-kindly, that my brain is still vulnerable to PTSD symptoms, and that talking to therapist or anyone else does little to help me in the intersections of triggers.  Two nights ago I had terrifying dreams. There were two tracks, both interchanging, and equally chilling. I only remember bits of one. I

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5413947404182808106.post-28529329607466571582011-09-02T20:40:00.000-07:002011-09-02T20:40:59.619-07:00

Therapist is really settling into her chair in a way I haven't seen before. She's got one leg over the arm now, the other leg tucked underneath the first one. We're talking about my "future", as in career and livelihood. It's never easy for me to explain what I want to do, and frankly, there's no real job title for it either. I have several "talents" that look unrelated, or abilities that

Briarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13714626226636654484noreply@blogger.com4