Hell, CdnDW, I'm still finishing my fucking "rounds," so to speak. So yeah, I'm still here. I appreciate you asking me. As you probably gathered from my other posts, I'm fighting mad today. I just have floating rage. Whatever. I'm honestly trying to settle myself down a bit before I sign off.... Until last June or so I avoided this site for a long time because I'm the furthest person from a group joiner or a whining bitch of a guy. I talked to a therapist once who started to lecture me about dependency on therapy and stuff. I said, "FUCK YOU!" I see therapy as a means to an end. I need to deal with a pile of crap. I need to look clear-eyed at my own life, my own personal history, and the world around me. I want to be free to pursue the life I want. I mean, sure, I care about the people on here. I didn't have any idea that it would turn out to be a community of people who I actually LIKED. That's a fucking surprise. It's still pretty surprising. Don't get me wrong. I'm not about to show up to some fucking weekend retreat hug-fest. I'm still entirely anonymous. Which is what I want to be. But I'm honest. And that's helping me heal. It really is. And I appreciate your honesty and that of most of the other people here. I can see myself in your lives, and I can see my wife in the things write. And that helps me sometimes, honestly, get my head out of my ass and understand and appreciate this woman who chose to throw her lot in life in with mine. When I first read the post, "waiting for the other shoe to drop" I was stunned. That's what my wife said like 100 times. She'd be crying, saying, I don't trust you. I'm so scared. I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And I didn't know what to do, except be steady. Keep trying. Focus on making our life the life that we want day after day. But it's hard when you're not trusted, especially when you're not trusted FOR GOOD REASON!! Especially when guilt and shame are your go-to emotions and resentment is like your most trusted strategy.

I came to this site because I was all fucked up from the Sandusky news. I felt like I was going backwards in my recovery. And I saw a mention of this site in a news story. I'm pretty sure I had heard about it before. I think I may have even visited it. But the stuff I saw was all about just fucking bullshit that didn't appeal to me. Weepy suckers who lay around feeling sorry for themselves while spouting lines from Jonathan Livingston Seagull about selfacceptance and bullshit like that!

But the truth is that this site actually has some good dudes on it. Regular dudes who are just finding a way forward. And we use this space to talk through some tough issues. That's all it is.

Maybe this isn't the best site for your husband. Or maybe he's not ready yet. Don't push it. He'll come when/if he's ready. We each got to go our own pace. I know it's hard to ask for your patience. I mean, you don't have to be patient. You could say, fuck it. If you don't start making progress and trying... then I'm gone. And you could say, Hey, if you're on this site, at least I know that you're trying or that you're in a place where it looks to me like you're trying. That's fair. You could do that. It might work. It might not. He might say, I'd rather just walk away than go on that site and hold hands with those fucking wierdos!

But I doubt it. Here's what I would do. The first time I considered coming to this site is when I came across this news story: http://www.westword.com/2004-05-13/news/stalking-the-bogeyman/

I'm not that similar to this guy, but I'm similar enough that I identified with him, especially with the cold and murderous rage that he felt, and with his recklessness and toughness.

I don't know if the author of it is on the site, but I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't drop in from time to time.... I don't know. I guess it doesn't matter.

But if you really want to get him here, tell him to read my posts. I don't have any special insight, but I sure as hell try to write down shit as it comes in my head unfiltered.

Good luck. Thanks again for asking. Bob