The photo accompanying this entry is of my wedding ring. As you can see, it’s not on my finger. In fact, it’s over my trash can. And since it’s at least a full size too small with the weight I’ve gained since it was adjusted, it was a pain to work off my hand. I used to joke that having it too small was intentional; that way, it would take a lot of effort to work it off.

I’d be dishonest if I were to write that the road to recovery from pornography, sexual addiction, and emotional issues while dealing with social anxiety disorder/arrested development/borderline Asperger’s Disorder wasn’t without its low points. In reality, the journey is full of them—those deep, dark valleys that seem too deep and too dark to look up and see the other side of them. And the only way out is a rough, narrow, and dangerous climb where there is no guarantee of even surviving to see the next sunrise. Further, there’s no guarantee that you’re going to have others there to help you along the way.

That pretty much describes where I am as I sit here, in this moment, to write. I’m there because there are decisions to make—hard decisions about what’s left to lose on this journey, and whether it’s worth keeping.

My wife and son, for all intents and purposes, moved to her parents’ house in mid-April in preparation for back surgery and the anticipated recovery period. The reason that was given then was that she didn’t want me to use all my vacation time and miss work in order to take care of her. I also reasoned to myself that with my medication and the side effect of sleepiness, there was no way I was going to be able to handle our son 24 hours a day while she recovered.

That was just short of six months ago. Since then, there have been a stream of reasons why she can’t return. The latest today was that she didn’t want to return because I don’t have a new job since being laid off from AT&T and dropped from the payroll a few weeks ago.

Over those past six months, I’ve had to walk this path alone, with the exception of the four to seven guys that I meet with every Monday night for accountability and transparency and support. I’ve been so amazed at the progress I’ve been able to make during that time. But I’ve not had the support of the people that matter, the people that will be most affected by my future direction: my family.

And in honesty, after the latest excuse, I’ve crashed to a new low emotionally. Which leads to this crisis of decision. Certainly I can’t go back to where I was, but my journey back has already cost me more than I thought I would have to pay, and now I have to decide whether what’s left is worth keeping or if I should just let it all go and start over with nothing. I can no longer deal with the excuses, the looks and stares, the lack of trust, the lack of genuine affection. I’m in a place where I am totally unable to do what I’m supposed to be doing as a husband, as a father, as a man.

I guess this is the meaning of “surrender” all along—to be willing to give up everything, if necessary, to become something, someone refined through the process. Refining requires being passed through a fire. Fire is obviously painful, and, by myself, I won’t survive it.