My New York State of Relations.

You know you’ve reached the pinnacle of a Manhattan relationship when you’re more terrified about meeting his therapist than his parents.

For months now Kibben and I have been living together in a quaint one bedroom apartment in Columbus Circle with baggage big enough for a four story townhouse in the West Village. With it’s rollercoaster-if-it’s-not-one-thing-it’s-another structure, I found it not only exhausting to live through, but exhausting to write (as I’m sure exhausting to read as well!) In any case, Kibben and I have managed to coexist without either one moving out, breaking dishes, or changing locks on the other- although the thought has come to mind.

Among many of our fights, the subject of concealment. In my case for the last 8 months I’ve managed to make my home completely sterile of any medication or artifact suggesting that someone in the residence is sick. It not only makes it easier for me to handle mentally, knowing that I’m not surrounded by it all the time, but easier for him as it isn’t overwhelming on him. That was my mindset. He doesn’t see it that way. He sees it as me hiding things from him, which leads to him thinking that if I’m hiding that then there’s some sort of secret behind it. At the beginning, he was too busy and overwhelmed to visit the doctors with me, and I now have a rather strong support system based on my friends which I lean on. He’s now asking for validation that I’m sick; ie: visiting the hospital with me, talking to my doctors, etc. I can gladly provide that which I have been doing gradually lately, however now I’m so used to managing without him, that to jump right in with everything would not only overwhelm him even more, but completely break me down. I want to let him in on things, however it needs to be on my own terms and time. What I’m most afraid of is that I’ll let him in as before, and he’ll not even notice or do anything about it. I fear that it’s just for his validation that he’s inquiring, and not because he’s actually able to take care of me…

     …And that’s exactly what I told his Upper Westside therapist last week as I was sitting in her uncomfortable leather chair. Among other people, he’s told his therapist his doubts and concerns about us which prompted my appearance in her office. Most would think it odd to visit a boyfriend’s therapist to talk about them, however most people would think it odd to come home and find your boyfriend rummaging through your finances looking for doctor’s bills. For months I’ve heard how lovely she, the therapist, was and how nurturing her character is so I went open minded with the goal of helping my relationship. From the first phone call confirming a scheduled appointment, she was harsh and cold. As open minded as I had made up my open mind to be, I began to feel like a lamb being lead to the slaughter. Hours leading up to the appointment I could feel my stomach tossing, but would as quickly dismiss it thinking that this was going to be a positive 45 minutes talking to someone who would understand both his and my side and help us both towards a resolution. The therapist has known about me from the very beginning of the affair. She’s heard Kibben’s mental battles between staying with his wife and seeing me, our highs and lows, etc. from his perspective. After leaving my new job and hailing a cab up Central Park West, I arrived to the beautiful lobby and was sent up 9 floors into a small waiting area. After a snip greeting from her I was escorted into her office and no sooner from when I sat down did the questions start firing: “why aren’t you letting him in?”, “why aren’t you helping him?”, “why are you putting him through this?” As soon as I would say a thought, she’d hammer another question. I was taken aback by the fact that in no part of the time spent with her did she ask me to tell her a little about myself, or how I felt about all of this. At one point she asked about my health, yet in such a raping way, I started to cry. I cried walking back home along the park- I had never in my life felt more like a mistress than with his therapist. Kibben called while I was walking to ask where I was. He walked up Central Park West and met me before his session with the therapist. Upon questioning my tears and my response of how unpleasant it was, all he did was nod.

 

When someone is warned about having an affair, the cliche lines goes something like “when you sleep with a married man, you’re sleeping with his wife as well.” Well, if that’s the case, I would go so far as to say I’m sleeping with Kibben’s entire family. With the divorce proceedings trudging through, his family, who were so gracious towards me in the beginning, are now suspicious and standoff-ish towards me. I was always told of what a horrible person his soon to be ex was to his family. His sister told me stories once of feeling unwanted around Kibben and the ex, and his mother would recount nasty comments she’s said to them. Taking that into consideration, it’s understandable they would be hesitant toward another of Kibben’s ladies thinking that history will repeat itself, however, why would they begin to act this way towards me now? I’m not alone in this scenario of women who were welcomed in to a family, but were soon in arms length once the man confided with a family member his intent on marrying her. Suddenly everything gets awkward. I can’t help but take it personally. The one or two lined e-mails that come in weeks late to respond to something you send them. And they only all come together to gather when Kibben has visitation with his son, never with just he and I. They say they don’t want to intrude. Great. I don’t want them to, but I would like to have some sort of bond with them if Kibben and I decide to marry.

When the days are good; they’re great. When the days are bad; they’re miserable.

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