Stupid hope

Cried myself to sleep last night. Missing him, wanting so much to be with him.

A few days ago, it seemed there was a glimmer of hope that Husband and I were about to open up this marriage. That I could start dating "Larry." (I haven't written much about Larry, but there's a tiny bit of background in this post.)

Hope is potent stuff. Without hope, what keeps one going?

For a while now, I've been living without any hope of being poly with Husband. I've reached a place of resignation...I go through my days knowing that this is how he is, unwilling/unable to renegotiate the terms of our marital relationship. Given that, this question has emerged: will I stay with him, being monogamous with him the rest of my/his life? Or will I someday leave this relationship and become more free to love others? Knowing I have this choice down the road is what keeps me from feeling utterly hopeless. For the present, I'm staying here for our child's sake and because I'm still financially dependent on Husband.

But I know I shouldn't feel too sorry for myself. I'm not living with an abusive, repulsive ogre--my husband is a kind, loving, attractive, fit, funny, responsible, brilliant man. He loves making love to me, he works hard to support our family, he's a wonderful father to our child.

I've tried to explain to him how it feels to me, this constraint of monogamy. How it chafes. At times, I feel imprisoned.

Imprisoned!? He's incredulous when I tell him that. I understand his reaction. I really do. The whole situation is tragic. He's a wonderful husband; why isn't his wife content to love him & only him??

Days, weeks go by...harmonious family life...I don't bring up my yearning, he thinks "we're doing well." Then I'll say something that indicates I still want to be more free, I'm still thinking of a future when I'm single--and it throws him for a loop. But I thought we were doing so well! How many times have we been through this cycle now? (I know we're not the only ones who struggle with the need to get along, but also avoid complacency...I once saw, on a list for people dealing with the challenges of being in a poly/mono relationship, the tongue-in-cheek suggestion that the poly partner greet her mono spouse first thing every day by saying, with a smile and a kiss, "Good morning, dear! I'm still poly, by the way.")

I tell him, "I think about it all the time. ALL. THE. TIME." It hurts him to hear this. Why is this news to him, once again? I guess it's because, like me, he needs to have some hope. Hope that I'll come around, that I'll forget this poly nonsense and be content with our marriage.

But this last time, it seemed to sink in a little more--that even though I love him, and am sure I always will, I'm looking at a future on my own, not married to him.

Something he said, I don't remember the words now, but something about our relatively calm, but sad, conversation on this recent morning made me think he was giving the open-marriage scenario another thought. Dared I hope?

I tried not to hope, but I hoped a little. Hope sprang up where it had been dead for some time.

I brainstormed a detailed list of dating-related items for us to discuss and negotiate. Thinking he might be ready for that. Soon? Not as soon as I'd wish? I can be patient...

I was singing through my days. Hope is potent stuff.

Last night, finally. We talk. He's already been on the phone during the evening with a confidante, his best friend from grad school days. I didn't hear his end of the conversation with Grad School Friend, but the look on his face isn't feeding my hope that we're on the verge of a change.

He expresses his fears, doubts about us dating others. I listen. We talk, we're both calm, but tired. (In the past, there has been more rage...maybe we're past that now.)

No agreement about opening things up. It's not okay with him if I call Larry. My hopes are dashed. In bed in the dark next to him, I'm not ready for sleep. There's a pressure in my chest, in my throat. I touch his shoulder and murmur, "I'm not angry at you, but I'm going downstairs. I need to listen to some music."

I lie on the sofa, the ipod plays songs of yearning, and the tears come. I sob. I'm picturing the two of us, Husband and me, standing inside a heavy door--Husband is holding the knob, the door is open the barest crack, there's a sliver of brightness from beyond, and Husband is peering out. Looking. Deciding. Then he pulls it shut on us, with finality. It sounds like the slam of a prison gate.

I sob. Upstairs, he doesn't hear. I think I hear him snoring.