I have been in an emotionally abusive friendship with a man, let's call him Frank, for several years, and my husband, let's call him Ted, is turned on by sexual violence.
I have recently ended my relationship with Frank and it has left me spinning. I am like a junkie desperate for a fix. I have tried to break with Frank before, but this time I am trying harder, I know my blind-spots. He will keep hurting me if I let him.
This morning I told Ted in what I hope was a gentle and reasonable way that I don't think it is fair that I should be in actual pain to give him pleasure. Anal sex hurts, even with plenty of lubricant. There has got to be some kind of compromise.
Ted and Frank are the main characters in my life. I wish I could say I am an accomplished something but I am not.
Because the break-up with Frank is so recent and raw I expect an flurry of writing, I won't know how to pace myself, or how to exercise quality control. Perhaps it'll be all about him, even though there is so much else to write about, perhaps this blog will die in a few weeks. That's OK. I have no goals or expectations.
Frank is gone and now I am left to face myself and my marriage, for better and for worse.