The Alarm Sounded. I Didn’t Run Toward It

I have this feeling in my throat. It’s tight. My body is sending me some signals that I absolutely cannot ignore.

It feels almost like a lump, like I want to swallow, but it’s hard to get past. Like those moments when you’re about to cry, but you’re holding back.

Except, I’m not sad.

I’m really fucking angry.

I got a text from my ex last night and didn’t read it until this morning.

He’s concerned he’s been a victim of a scam and he’s closing all of his bank accounts at our bank except mine. (Ummm, he can’t close mine…because, well, it’s mine.)

I texted back, “Oh my gosh, that’s scary. I’m sorry that happened.”

Then went on about my day.

He sent a long text explaining what happened. Something about Venmo and it being “bogus.”

This was followed by an email from NextDoor, “Items for Sale Near You,” and there’s my aquarium.

What was going to be a “Not my dumpster fire, not my marshmallows” has struck a personal chord in me.

Okay fine. Technically, they’re his fish now. But the ad said, “Comes with plants.” No mention of fish.

I saw one fish in the picture. One.

I worked on letting it go.

I imagined a balloon floating towards the sky.

I still see my lonely fish in the tank.

I do some deep breathing and remind myself, “I have the fish I took with me. They’re so happy, they made babies. I can’t control what he does. Only what I do.”

I watch my fish. My little baby fish swim around the tank.

As I do, I realize that his name is on my checking account. The one he said he didn’t close (because he can’t). Unless he meant draining it, in which case he technically could.

But more importantly, his actions were affecting my life.

Fear creeps in.

If he’s worried enough that he closed all of his bank accounts at our bank, maybe I need to be worried too. Because if the bank needs funds and he’s closed all of his accounts, their policy is to transfer money from other joint accounts.

I hop onto the website and do some investigating.

Sure enough. All the money in our shared accounts has been brought down to zero. One account is in the negative.

I called the bank. They advised me to close my primary account because it had his name on it and open an account in my name only. I texted him to let him know.

He texted me, “No biggie.” Then said it was only one account at our bank that was tied to his PayPal.

So, this was the start of my anger.

“No biggie.”

Then he said that he hasn’t been online and wanted to know if he still has access to my account to transfer money to me.

And that’s when I got very angry.

I’m trying to figure out what the anger really is…the lump in my throat tells me there’s sadness among other things.

Sadness about my fish dying.

I get it. They’re “just” fish. But for me, they’re much more. They help me with my emotional sobriety. I’m watching my aquarium as I type this.

But the deeper reason is much more complex. This whole situation stirs an old familiar feeling.

Breadcrumbs of information.

Tell me what I need to know. Lies, half truths, half lies, omissions. Catastrophize it so I’ll take action, and when I do what he wants…it was “no biggie.”

As I sit here and write it out, I know why I’m angry, sad, and I admit, a tad bitter…I’ve been through this countless times.

Before he was in recovery and after.

The alarm sounds and I respond.

Even from several hundred miles away.

Once, before recovery, he was working against a deadline at his job. He was frantic. He couldn’t promote without finishing this project. I’d never seen him so stressed before.

He panicked and asked if I could help. I did. I got the project done.

Turns out, the alarm he sounded and I responded to was an actual emergency. One he could’ve prevented if he wasn’t active in his addiction and cheating on me while he was at work.

Breadcrumbs

Lies

Half truths

Half lies

Omissions

After he was well into recovery, I got into his truck with him. There was a piece of paper with his handwriting on it. A woman’s name and number.

Since my second disclosure had just happened, he had agreed not to do those kinds of things. If he had contact with a woman outside of school or work, he’d let me know to alleviate my anxiety and help with my betrayal trauma.

Seeing that piece of paper…well, let’s just say it didn’t do wonders for my betrayal trauma.

Four different stories. That’s how many I got in less than ten minutes. I know because that’s how long it took to get to the store.

Breadcrumbs

Lies

Half truths

Half lies

Omissions

But wait, that wasn’t sounding an alarm, Laura. Why did you bring that up?

Great question, Bookender.

Because that’s the lump in my throat.

That’s the anger.

That’s the hurt.

That’s the frustration.

That’s the feeling of “Are you fucking kidding me?”

But most of all, it’s that feeling like Michael Corleone: “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”

So, where do I go from here?

I accept that these moments are going to happen until the divorce is final.

I do my best to maintain emotional and communication boundaries.

And I continue to remind myself: Not my dumpster fire, not my marshmallows…even if it occasionally drifts over to my campsite.

But even though the alarm bell sounded today, I did a lot of good things.

I didn’t ask him for details about what happened.

I didn’t try to solve his problems.

I noticed my emotions and worked through them. (Which is how this post ended up being a novella.)

And I didn’t engage in circular discussions about how he could get support money to me. I gave him options and left it up to him to choose.

The alarm sounded.

I just didn’t run toward it this time.

Let’s Stay Connected

If this resonates with you, I’d really love to know. You can comment below or email me. You’re also invited to join other Bookenders on Reddit.

And if you’re looking for deeper exercises, I wrote Bookends of Recovery & Healing Workbook to help you heal from betrayal trauma and addiction by using creative exercises, action tools, and guided reflection.

Warmly,
Laura 🌻