Dear All,

I'm looking for advice on a delicate matter with regard to a particular topic of writing.

One of the social workers here on base who is familiar with my marital situation gave me the name of a friend of hers whom she said was a literary agent. She said her friend might be interested in publishing my journal entries about living in a sexless marriage. I did contact her friend and realized she was a hack when she asked for $1,000 up front -- before reading a word. I didn't sign on with her.

It did get me to thinking, though, perhaps I could get the journal entries published in book form. I'm hesitant for two reasons.

First there is the matter of anonymity. I would not submit my children to the kind of attention such a book would bring. The two oldest are in college. Additionally, and just as importantly, my husband would suffer untold humilitation professionally and personally if anyone he knew were to get wind of what is (or rather, what isn't) going on in our home. My own suffering aside for a moment, punishing him is not my goal. My goal is to share with those women who may or may not know they aren't the only ones living in a sexless marriage in a society that thinks only wives end up this way. If my journal entries were to be published, the book would have to published under a pseudonym. I'm no Stephen King (Richard Bachman) and I have no idea how the literary world would respond to such a request.

Second, there is the issue of need. I can find no books similar to the one I would be submitting. There are a number of advice books about sexless marriages but almost all of them address the sexless wife and no book I've found speaks exclusively of the experience as a wife whose husband is sexless. I find rereading my journals to be illuminating and inspiring. It helps me to track where I've been and gives me a better idea of where I am (further along) and where I'm headed (better places). I wonder if others in the same situation might also be aided by it. Because I can find nothing similar on the market, I have to wonder if it's because there's a niche to fill or if it means the need isn't great enough to warrant a book on the topic.

I have enclosed (following this message) an excerpt from my journal to give you some idea of my approach. If you would be so kind, could you share your thoughts? Do you think there is a need? If so, is anonymity the way to go?

I appreciate your time and consideration.

Sincerely,
Diana

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I have listened to him many times. When we are alone, he speaks with a voice very different from the one he uses with others. This voice, his voice, is dark and angry. I've heard him say it doesn't matter that I love him. I've heard him say he had sex when he didn't want to. These are not the kinds of things he says in counseling so the counselors don't hear it. There, he speaks in circles -- blaming others for his unhappiness, specifically blaming me, but he'll readily blame others as it suits him, even inanimate objects and situations.

Asked numerous times what he wants, he skirts the question, changes the subject and fiddles with a nearby knick-knack while lamenting what lazy and irresponsible teenagers we have; this, despite their part time jobs and full time class loads since both were 16-years-old. He tells the counselors I need to cut the cord. They suggest I learn to separate myself from my children; perhaps he doesn't feel like there is room for him in my life. I tell them the children are 20 and 21 years old. They live, work and attend university in a different country and have for some time now. I suggest this would not be allowed by a woman who couldn't separate herself from her children. He never answers the question of what he wants, but does say he doesn't get what he wants. The counselor asks me what I'm willing to do. What does he want, I ask. She says, Weren't you listening to him?

Once again we never quite get around to the crux of the matter, that he doesn't touch anyone and he doesn't want to be touched. Not by me and not by the children who stood at the airport with tear-brimmed eyes after he recoiled from their hugs goodbye some two years ago. He would later say he must've misunderstood; he thought they were crying "because the free ride was over."

I tell them things he's said, things he's done. He denies them, then defends them. When he has trouble verbalizing himself or stares out the window in response to questions that contain feeling words, they turn to me.

I didn't realize I was being placed in a position of authority by them and competition by him until a great deal of damage had been done to both of us by each other. I thought I was being responsible, caring, giving, sharing of the chores and duties. I didn't see a scoreboard. I didn't know that what he needed was the very thing he feared most and that I would not only be caught in that conflict, I would, in his eyes, become the conflict. I thought we were interdependent. I didn't know I was a rival. I thought we were partners. Had I known and understood what was going on, I could have stopped my part in it. When I did realize it I did stop. I refused his relentless bids to put back me in that role. He has chosen to spin this into my having rejected him. The irony is nauseating.

The counselors say, "He is scared. Give again. Teach him not to be afraid." I cannot give, yet again, to what I consider a human garbage disposal. He may well be starving and he may well fear both his hunger and the food, but even the deepest understanding of his condition doesn't mean I should put myself in harm's way again.