I must admit I have a very caring and generous husband, but I can no longer live with him.

Did I cheat on him? No!

Did I make life with him intolerable? Yes!!

Was it my fault? Not entirely, but I did try to blame him for all of it. I was not taking any of the responsibility for the destruction.

We had been married forty-nine and a half years when I moved out. I thought it was a wonderful day, now I was free from the asshole. I was free to be me without him, and I no longer needed to rely upon him for my needs.

Oh, how wrong I was, I found that I really needed him for more than I thought.

We were introduced by my girlfriend during our senior year of high school. He was not in any group or clique but could move from group to group with ease. I liked him, he was kind and caring and showed me that I could be loved, for me it took a long time to accept his love.

My mother and father divorced when I was about four years old.  He was a doctor which my mother help to put through school, but he was cheating on her with a nurse. He left her and me and they went to another state where my mother’s private detective finally found them.

Before he left, he applied my mother with psychiatric drugs trying to convince her that she was crazy. When that did not work, he was gone with his mistress, but he had help from at least one of his sisters.

The divorce was nasty and brutal. He accused her of being crazy, but my mother had him for adultery. In the days before no-fault divorce, adultery was much stronger than other grounds for divorce.

My mother had to fight over and over for child support for me and spousal support for her until she remarried. My father demanded visitation rights which were granted. He had to come to me for visits until I was old enough to travel to see him on the other side of the state.

When I got into my teens, he started to pay more attention to me. That is when it began, the molestation. First, it was just touching, and finally, it was full-on sexual intercourse. I hated it, it did not feel right. He threatened me if I said anything.

For me to push down the thoughts of feeling dirty, I submerged myself into my school work and into my church activities.

Then I met my future husband, like I said he was kind and caring. I felt safe in his presence. He did not touch me inappropriately. His arms were strong and when he kissed me it was a tender kiss without his tongue trying to part my lips.

When we danced he never pressed me close to feel my breasts against him or (if he had one) his erection against me.

When we graduated, I was seventeen and spent my last mandatory two weeks visiting with my father. When I returned home, I was met at the bus station by my boyfriend. That is when I told him about being molested. He gathered me in his arms and told me we would work it out together.

The college year started shortly thereafter, and he was there with me that first year, then he was gone. There was a war in Vietnam, and he enlisted in the Army rather than being drafted. I did not want him to go, but there was no other choice other than to go to Canada. If I or his mother had said just one word he would have gone.

He left in October, and I went back to my studies. We were together on Christmas and New Year then he returned to continue his training, that is when I suffered a mental breakdown and I found myself in the state hospital.

My boyfriend supported me with letters and visits when he could. After a year and a half, he was off to Vietnam. I am thankful that he had not asked me to marry him before he left. Before he left he joined a men’s fraternity, which he enjoyed very much.

When he returned a year later, he returned safe, but he had changed because of the war experience. During his leave before going on to Germany, he proposed and we set a date for six months later.

We married and our honeymoon was everything I wanted except for the sex. I hated it and he was a virgin. Can you believe he was still a virgin at twenty-two years old?

My husband learned how he could please me, but intercourse was not part of my pleasure, no matter how I felt. It really was not his size because my father was much bigger than he was. I used his size complaining that he was too big as an excuse for him not to put his dick in my pussy.

There we only about five times during our marriage that I can say that I really enjoyed sex with him, that was when I was very manic and one of those times was when I became pregnant with our daughter. After her birth, my husband was a very proud husband and father.

Our sex life was not much, I allowed him to fuck me occasionally, I claimed more headaches than any woman would have.

Nine months after our daughter was born, we were off to Germany again. This time I was able to enjoy our tour of duty, visiting all the sites we could see in and around Munich.  

I had two miscarriages in Munich, and we learned that one baby would have been a boy. My husband and I were heartbroken.

Three years later we were back in the states and stationed at Fort Huachuca, Arizona. My daughter and I were there for ten years. During the first four years, we tried as hard as we could to have another child, but I could just not get pregnant. We went through all sorts of tests and they found nothing wrong with either one of us. We were politely told to relax and take it easy, and it would happen. Counselling did not work; I would not discuss my aversion to sex because of the molestation.

After those four years, my husband was on orders for Germany again. We decided that my daughter and I would stay in Arizona, and he would come home every six months if he could. During his third visit home I had a complete hysterectomy, that ended my childbearing attempts. He was gone for his last six months when I really needed him for his strength and support, but he had no choice.

When he came home, I was a real bitch to him and my daughter. That was when I made my first attempt at leaving him, but my ten-year-old daughter would not leave. I had abused my daughter verbally while he was gone, now I not only was a bitch to my husband but continued to abuse her while he was at work. The abuse was verbal and mental never physical which I know my husband would have noticed.

Sex had stopped, totally. I only allowed him to kiss and hug me, and never when I was unclothed.

Four years later my mother-in-law, whom I adored, was diagnosed with breast cancer and we decided to retire and return to our hometown. We got to spend nine months with his mother before she passed. My husband was devastated, he was very close to her.

I loved her very much, but I had different opinions about the rest of his family. I thought his father was a no-good son of a bitch, and his brothers and sister were low-life scum, and I did not want them anywhere near my family. I bad-mouthed them every chance I got.

After retirement from the Army, my husband decided that he wanted to be a carpenter, which he wanted to do before he went into the military. He went through his apprenticeship and was rarely out of work. Then nine eleven struck, he worked for another year until everything dried up. He was out of work for two years and we worked hard to support each other during this dry spell. It was during those years that I was diagnosed as bipolar.

Two years later he went to work for an insurance company as a Medical Claims Specialist. Several years later he was eligible for retirement, and we did.

I was starting to have some problems with my memory and reaction time while driving. I voluntarily stopped driving after almost causing two accidents. Later I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. Because I was no longer able or willing to drive, it fell upon my husband to chauffeur me around, I started to go into a depression, I hated that I needed to depend upon him for all my transportation needs. He also took over doing the shopping, which made me mad because he was so much better and faster than me and he enjoyed it.

After several years I was starting to come to grips with my predicament, I am a slow learner sometimes, then we were hit with COVID, my world then fell completely apart. My immune system was compromised, and my husband did not want me to go out any more than I needed to. My bipolar depression started to take hold and I became that bitch again. I called him names, his family names, and I hated the fraternity he belonged to, I did not like him having fun, especially without me or that I controlled.

We began to fight more and more. I got involved with a woman back in the Midwest who I lied to about certain aspects of my marriage and told her that my husband was an abuser and had always been one. She is the one with her husband’s support who encouraged me to leave my husband. She had never met us or knew anything about us other than what I told her. One day he was out doing some errands, when he came home, I hit him that I did not or could not live with him any longer and I wanted to move.

My husband tried to talk to me about it, but my mind was made up and I was going to move whether he accepted it or not. When he realized that I was not going to change my mind, he told me that if I moved out, I would never be able to return. When my husband said that I stopped and thought about it but decided that I could live with that decision.

It has been a rocky ten months since I moved out. I live in a retirement community and am learning how to manage on my own. My husband and I are starting to talk to each other and are now in the process of obtaining either a legal separation or a divorce. I do not want a divorce, but I can see my husband’s point of view that it might be better, we shall see.

That is how I fucked up and destroyed my marriage. I lied and cheated, not with another man, but cheated in other ways to turn my marriage into what it is today. Everything I did to break up my marriage, caused my daughter to no longer speak to me, but she is very close to her father.