I was only kidding myself. On some level, I knew it was a losing battle, but I refused to accept it.
In the later part of our second year of our marriage, a young man, Jimmy, joined Michael’s group and became a constant visitor in our home. Even though he was almost 18 years old, he refused to make any decision in his life without consulting Michael. Jimmy scared me because his behavior was typical of the cult mentality. He had a glazed blank look in his eyes, and his speech pattern was monotone and deliberate. Michael was spending more time than usual with Jimmy and laughed at my warnings about his mental state. He bragged that since Jimmy joined the group, he left the delinquent crowd he had been part of and stopped taking drugs. When I pointed out that Jimmy had replaced this with an obsession for Michael, he shrugged it off and told me that I was imagining things. Jimmy gave me a very eerie feeling. There were days I would look out my window and see him standing there just staring. Michael blamed me claiming that I caused this by not allowing him in the house whenever he wanted to visit.
Four months after I started complaining about Jimmy, Michael started acting differently. After several nights of restless sleeping, pacing back and forth, and unresponsive conversation, I asked him what was bothering him. I assured Michael that he could discuss anything with me without my getting upset. He was still reluctant, but finally started to talk.
He told me that I was right about Jimmy and his obsession for Michael. He decided he had to do something because Jimmy had become much too dependent on him. I felt a strong sense of relief that Michael finally saw things from my perspective. I told him that the only logical solution was to ask Jimmy to leave the group. Michael said this was impossible to do. He started to list a number of reasons why, such as his concern that Jimmy would go back to drugs and destroy his life. He then casually threw in that something had happened between them during a “moment of weakness.” He kept on talking as if nothing out of the norm had been said, but I no longer heard the words he was speaking. I felt a strange fuzziness in my head as if someone had just hit me 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
