By Raymond Mhor
NOTE: If you have not read the first installment of my story, please take the time and read, I Lost My Balls & When I Regained Them Again – Pt 1
I was back in the USA and I have to say it felt good. Donald Trump was just elected President and I felt encouraged about the prospects living in the US again had to offer.
One good thing that happened was a house came on the market. Thank God I had my military benefits and was able to get a VA Loan.
My parents helped us get a vehicle and that was a true blessing. So, finally, things were looking up, but Panama had taken its toll on me and my marriage.
Instead of being the man of the house, I had allowed myself to basically become the chef, chauffeur and supporter of everything.
She and I had separate bank accounts and what she earned was hers, but what I earned was hers also.
Remember, I was an author and blogger. I had to do everything I could to bring the readership back to life. From all that happened and the horrible internet in South America, I had lost close to 2/3rds of my subscribers.
I was able to make all the bills but had little left in the bank. On the other hand, my then wife was pulling in some nice change with her home business. Unfortunately, it did not help meet the bills. She had no problems (with her money) buying really expensive cameras, violins, and lots of other toys when it struck her fancy.
The negative was if there was anything I wanted, I had to save for it myself. After a while, I became very resentful of what was happening.
It was about a year after coming back to the US I reached out to an old high school friend and broke down in tears. I told him all that was taking place and what had taken place down in Central America.
After several questions and us really going back in time, I came to the realization I’d lost myself a long time ago, even before moving down to Central America.
He started pointing out things to me as to how I had changed over the years, how she had become the dominate force and how, from his point of view, I had become a glorified slave of sorts.
It was hard listening, but he had known me since the age of 15. We had always been close and able to tell each other basically anything.
That night I broke down. I was in a really dark place. I started looking back at all I had allowed to take place in my life and how I’d surrendered my mind, body and soul. I had surrendered myself to a wife who had no problem not reciprocating.
I never realized until that moment how much of an abusive relationship I was in.
When you are in a place like this, you can’t tell the forest from the trees and you think life is normal. It is almost a form of Stockholm Syndrome.
You hear about other married couples and some of the problems that they have, so you think that it is the same with everyone. All marriages had the problems we had. But it isn’t the same. Not at all. I was an empty shell of a man and was totally lost to myself.
I sought out marriage classes, books and seminars. I thought the problems all me, and I was going to try my hardest to do what was right.
The biggest problem is that my ex did not think anything was wrong.
And why should she?
Hell, I was waiting on her hand and foot, giving her everything she wanted and making her the center of the universe.
I even became part of a men’s group that cost me $500 a month for personal coaching. I received materials to help put the marriage back on track, or at least from my perspective to help save it. (NOTE: this training was totally worth the finances, at least to me personally, as I did grow from it.).
The interesting thing is that when you start growing, if your significant other does not grow with you, they fall behind. And that was what was happening. She loved what I was doing and how she was reaping all the benefits and attention. But when it came to be her turn to pony up and do her part, suddenly she hated the program I was involved in.
She said she did not like what I was becoming (a found man again) and all the other things that I was discovering about being the man and leader.
I was trying to become the leader and be even more loving and cherishing. I wanted to be everything a woman would think a spouse should be.
Nails in The Coffin
My attempts were in vain.
One evening I came into the bedroom over to her side of the bed and was stroking her head trying to be the nice husband. She looked at me and told me, “You touch me too much.”
I gently pulled my hand back from her head and apologized. So, I turned and walked out of the room in shock.
My own wife told me that I touched her too much. I honestly did not know what to do.
I went downstairs and poured myself a rather hefty drink and went to my office and just sat there in shock.
I am not sure if you can understand when your wife tells you something like that, it pulls the rug out from under you and a part of me felt ripped out.
I stayed in my office till I knew that she was asleep and then crawled into bed numbingly drunk.
The next day I tried to talk to her about it, but she blew me off saying that there was nothing wrong with “us,” and that our marriage was great.
I thought to myself, “How can it be great when you say I touch you too much?”
Now know I did not grope her or demean her. I tried to treat her with respect and such. So how can she come off and say that I touch her too much?
It must be me. I must be the problem. I did not know what to think. So, I tried to not touch her so much.
All the while I was doing everything I could to be the great husband and treat her right. I lost more of myself thinking I was doing the right thing.
The Final Nail
A month later, I went into our bedroom and found her playing her guitar.
She paused and I gave her a nice smile and bent down to give her a quick little peck on the lips. She looked at me with a dirty look and then said, “You kiss me too much.
Can’t you see that I am try to play my guitar?”
That was it. That was the last nail.
“FINE! F-U, I won’t kiss you anymore.” And with that, I stormed out of the room. I was more than angry.
I had had enough.
I could not believe what I’d heard. Whatever semblance of being a man was left in me took its exit stage right. I was in total shock.
For the next few days, I gave her a very cold shoulder and she knew that I was angry. “Are you going to stay angry just because of what I said?”
I was done.
There was no more trying to fix whatever it was that was broken. I blamed myself for all that took place and I totally lost the person I was … me. I walked around as an empty shell of a man. I did not like what I had become, being just a flicker of who I used to be.
To hell with it all. I did not care anymore, nor did I want to care anymore. I had given my all until there was no more to give.
I literally felt empty.
I’d look in the mirror and not know who I was looking at. The life seemed to be draining from me and I was only existing.
I would wake up every day and play the “married game.” She thought all was honkey-dory where inside I was screaming to escape the life I was trapped.
I was married to a woman who did not want me to touch or kiss her anymore.
I was completely lost. This was a place that was not healthy for me to be or dwell in.
I needed to do something.
I was going down to stay on this dark path not leading to a good place.
Then, one day, I saw a kilt that had been hanging in the back of my closet.
I put it on…
And I felt something…
If you liked this article, you might enjoy reading this one …
By Cynthia A. Nichols
Okay, I have to admit, I am a total sucker for a kilted man. I think the words, “total sucker,” don’t even come close to describe my complete admiration deeply enough.
I believe it was Sean Connery who made me a believer in kilted men but seriously, what woman isn’t taken by Sean’s Scottish brogue and his gorgeous, kilted self?
When I met my “real & authentic” kilted Scottish-Texan, Raymond Mhor, I began immersing myself into his Celtic/Scottish lifestyle. First came the Outlander Netflix binge so I could catch up with the rest of the world. I ate, drank and slept Outlander – all those men in kilts! (Even some of the soil-dirty ones still look amazing!).
After, we began attending Outlander parties, enjoying local Scottish Highland games and the best was volunteering at our Highland Game Group’s Bagpipe contests (with all the contestants kilted! Woo hoo!)
Love Kilts, Scotland & Outlander?
Please share this article with all your Celtic / kilted friends and if you have an interesting story that is Celtic, kilt, Scotland, Ireland, Outlander related, please contact me and let’s talk. I am always looking for great stories to share with the kilted Celtic community.
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