overreacting and paranoid,” he said. “Nothing is going on.”
He turned and walked back into the room as if it was his day and his party. He slid right back down in his seat next to the bridesmaid. I watched them through a window from the porch as they giggled and whispered into each other ‘s ears. I was too humiliated and angry to return to the party.
When the two of them stood up and started heading for the stairs, my heart started pounding. There they were, wading through friends and family—including their own children—and heading upstairs for God knows what. I followed them and halfway up the staircase, I stopped them.
I did not want to cause a scene so my voice was very low, but very deliberate. I said it directly to my husband—I could have cared less what that bridesmaid had to say.
“Where do you think you are going?” I hissed.
“We’re just going into the bathroom to get high,” Ben answered.
“Oh, no you’re not,” I said. “We are leaving. Now. Let’s go.”
He gave the bridesmaid a little shrug, we collected the kids and we left the party. I was devastated. Alarm bells were going off in my head, and I knew then that something was horribly wrong between us. I wrote off some of Ben’s behavior to the alcohol, pot, and his need to blow off steam after months of long hours at the hospital and office. But there was plenty of serious doubt left over. I was still upset the next morning when we went for a long run on the beach at Torrey Pines. I could not stop crying. My journal entry surrounding this day follows.
July 10, 1997
…Ben acted so embarrassing and humiliating with a cosmetically altered mother of three—in front of his own parents and sister and me, not to mention his own four children. For the first time in my life I was truly disgusted with him and wanted nothing to do with him. The pain he causes me now is greater than the joy he brings me.
On our flight home from California we were sitting together in first class and our kids were safely out of earshot in coach. Something had snapped deep in my soul. I told Ben that he had two weeks to find himself a serious therapist and get help or he had to move out of the house. I do not know where I came up with the two weeks. It seemed a reasonable amount of time for him to find someone and commit to working on himself. I also think I was trying to buy myself some time too—to be comfortable with the ultimatum I had just issued.
The ultimatum appeared to sink in, because Ben immediately started seeing a therapist, Harold Brown, Jr. His credentials were impressive; he is a Licensed Professional Counselor, a Masters Addictions Counselor, and a Certified Sexual Addiction Therapist. After Ben’s session with Harold, describing the events of his behavior at the wedding, this therapist scheduled a joint session to discuss general issues surrounding our marriage, the wedding, and a course of action for the coming months.
I readily agreed to go although I was feeling very nervous being in a therapist’s office. I sat down next to Ben on the therapist’s green leather couch. Harold got right to the point and started asking me a series of questions. “Maurita, I want you to answer the following questions for me with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. I just ask that you answer as honestly as you can.”
“OK,” I said. But I remember thinking that my husband’s therapist looked so young. What the hell is he going to know about life and what is going on in our marriage?
Even at thirty-five, Harold looked like he was in his late twenties, as if he’d just walked off the beach with a surfboard under his arm. His eyes were a piercing blue, and he looked as if he’d just shaken the sand from his hair.
“Do you trust your husband with credit cards or your family checkbook and finances?”
“No,” I answered.
“Do you trust your husband when he calls you and tells you where he is or who he is with?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Do you trust your husband alone, when you are not around or out of town?”
“No.”
“Do you trust your husband to watch out for your kids when you are not around?”
“No.”
“Do you think your husband has cheated on you?”
“No.”
“Are you happy with the way things are going in your marriage?”
“No.”
The questions went on for a while, and the number of times that I said “no” over the next few moments started to echo in my mind. Later, Harold’s questions lingered in my head when Ben and I went to dinner. We waited for a table at a restaurant called Collector ‘s Café.
“I’m glad this is your problem and not mine. I’d be fine never seeing that guy again,” I said to Ben about Harold. Little did I know that many, many sessions were ahead for both of us.
At Ben’s next session, Harold dropped a bomb on him. He said Ben had to leave town immediately and enter strict in-patient treatment. He said Ben was out of control and needed immediate, serious help. He didn’t even want Ben to return home to pack his bags. He said he’d prefer me to drop a bag of essentials by the office. He wanted to put Ben on a plane that night! Yikes, I thought to myself, this sounded really drastic. But Harold was the expert, and he felt it was necessary. At the time, I didn’t know everything Ben and Harold knew.
Harold had recommended that Ben attend Sierra Tucson for his in-patient treatment, but after doing some research on his own,
Ben instead chose the Menninger Clinic in Topeka, Kansas. Ben later told me that he knew the time had come. The jig was up, and Harold helped him see that he needed help.
A few days later, I put Ben on a plane to Kansas, not knowing what was going to happen next. He packed for a two week stay. We thought that was how long it would take to figure out what was wrong with him, then he could come back home and work on himself here in town. I immediately began avoiding people and friends as much as possible, as I would be asked the inevitable question, “Where is Ben?” I told everyone he was in Connecticut to spend time with his sister. I settled in with the kids and waited to hear from Ben.
Chapter Two. The Disclosure
August 3, 1997
…This is not fun. My life is on hold while B. reckons with his demons. I am filled with self-doubt and guilt about him going away. Have been through so much this week with B. being away in Kansas. Trying to keep up with his absence to everyone is very hard so I try and avoid everyone and don’t answer the phone. Haven’t even told my parents and siblings. I am really hopeful and pray that Ben is seeing how incredibly destructive he has been to himself and us. The kids are fine but I know they miss him. Ella came home from camp yesterday. She grew taller. She seemed depressed when she came back to the house. I think it is because B. is away—she denies it. I have been having good runs since B. has been gone.
One of the first nights that Ben called me from rehab, he asked me to read a book called Out Of the Shadows, by Dr. Patrick Carnes. I read it and was absolutely shocked. It was a book about sex addiction. I had never heard about such a thing. I couldn’t imagine why he wanted me to read about something so dark and sick. I called my brother David.
My younger brother lives in New York City, and he has for quite a while. He is a documentary filmmaker and college recruiter for a major university, and he happens to be gay. I vaguely remember the day he came out to me, telling me he was more attracted to men than women, that he was pretty sure he was gay. I can remember having my suspicions but dismissing them because of his popularity with girls in high school. He even dated girls in college. Girls loved him.