Are You Tired of Me My Darling? Oh Answer Only with Your Eyes

If someone stepping on your throat apologizes for doing so, it doesn't mean a lot if she doesn't lift her foot and let you breathe.

Last night's tandem therapy session (hard to call  therapy with Shayla, marriage therapy, when the goal isn't to recouple)  was Jenny talking for 45 minutes, and me listening, largely in silence.  Jenny is in excellent spirits because she is feeling much better than she has since chemotherapy began.  Also, I don't discuss Eric the pinché motherfucker. She mentioned last night a couple of things worth noting.  One is, she is ever so grateful how I am caring for her.  But, she just can't let go of  Eric the pinché motherfucker.  Two, she is upset I am talking to people about the affair--and that apparently I didn't tell Kelly (which one?) that I had an affair 10 years ago (when we were separated as a result of an affair she had). With regard to the former, I told her the story of falling in love with someone else when I was in law school.  I told her the person never knew, and I never acted on it.  I didn't act on it because we are married.  I acknowledged I had an affair, and noted that she had an affair with Jason, which she admitted to me then, but now denies.  I explained I didn't have an affair because it was a choice. She is having an affair and that is a choice.  

Regarding the latter, talking to people about the affair, I said, just as you are unwilling to stop your affair, I am unwilling and have no obligation to stop talking about it.  She prattled on about how its hard with couples friends and they don't have the full story, and I made it very clear that she is welcome to talk to anyone she wants.  She denied saying shitty things about me to her friends, but I did have unfettered access to her phone for months, and, well, she is lying.  The therapist doesn't know that, and I am not raising the issue. 

I find the therapist largely worthless, except as a mediator, when we are together.  I would think the therapist would talk to Jenny about the consequences of engaging in such behavior with her daughters knowing what she is doing. 

The primary issue to me is that what I did was wrong, and what Jenny is doing is wrong.  Jenny predicates her behavior on, "well you did it."  True.  But I stopped.  She refuses to stop, and has told the kids it continues.  Her actions are telling them this is ok.  Period. It isn't. It's cruelty, especially when she is terminally ill. Worse, because she chooses him over the girls time and again. The pain is immeasurable for both the kids and me.  Cold as, well, ice.

The ice was here, the ice was there,

The ice was all around:

It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,

Like noises in a swound!

      

  --Samuel Taylor Coleridge 

 

My saving grace is that I have people I can talk to about this, who keep me sane.  But, as time has progressed, it has gotten quieter.  The sense of normality of the situation is jarring, given its unique circumstance. As our joint therapist said last week, she has never had, and will never have another case like this.  She just won't. What a fucking blessing for me.  On the bright side, I'm journaling. At least that.