I was miserable. I couldn't deny it. No, I wasn't just having a bad day or just in a rut, I was downright, purely miserable. I wanted the marriage to work so bad, but how could it work out when it didn't get off to a good start and just got worse and worse over time? Nothing improved like I thought it would, it just got worse.
I am pretty much an old fashioned girl at heart. I had always wanted to be the Mrs. Happy Homemaker. I wanted to spend my days taking care of the kids and have a nice, hot dinner on the table when Hubby came home. I wanted our love to grow and grow with time and to be married until death do us part.
I am also one who doesn't like to waste time…especially years. My head knew I needed to get out pretty early on, but I resisted. Maybe things would be better. I didn't want to be divorced. How would I support myself? How would I survive the heartache?
And most importantly, why, pray tell, why couldn't I be happy? I heard countless stories of women married to cheaters, abusers, drug users, alcoholics, and bums, but I wasn't married to a man like this. He didn't drink or do drugs, he paid the bills, he didn't beat me up, so why couldn't I be happy with him? Why was I so utterly miserable?
We really couldn't get along at all. When we should have been holding hands and talking, we were ignoring each other. When we should have been together celebrating, we were apart. Birthdays and anniversaries when other couples were celebrating together, I was all alone, he never even said "Happy birthday" or "Happy anniversary" and just didn't seem to care an iota about me or my happiness. While other couples exchange gifts and do something romantic for their anniversary I am laying in the dark, trying to cry as quietly as possible, wishing he could know how miserable he made me.
The wasted time was killing me, I couldn't stand it. I would be alone all day, he would come home, then we wouldn't say a word to each other. We would go about the evening like we were complete strangers. And so many days were like this, I could never keep count. This dysfunctional so called relationship was normal for us. It was wrong for a married couple to live like this, like cell mates in a prison who were forced to be housed together, but couldn't stand each other. My heart ached constantly because I wanted to be happy, I wanted us to be best friends and have a healthy, loving relationship all the while I would steal looks of disgust at him.
Yes, if I happened to look at him, I could feel the disgust on my face, feel the anger in my heart, but at the same time longing for us to be a loving couple. I couldn't understand it. We were so wrong for each other and I didn't know why. I thought I had really, really simple needs and it was like he had no interest in fulfilling any of them. I felt like he never even tried.
Days, weeks, months, and years passed. Things always got worse, we never got closer and fixed things like I hoped. I knew then I needed to get out and I knew now. I had left before, confused and heartbroken and for one reason or another, mainly because I couldn't find a job and support myself, I would be back. Sometimes things would get better…for the first day I was back, then predictably return back to the awful norm.
How could I live the rest of my life so desperately unhappy, lonely, and miserable?
So finally I left and this time for good. I knew it was the right thing to do, but it was still the worst pain of my entire life and I firmly believed I would never be able to recover.
In the beginning I would think about him all the time as I made my new life. I felt sorry for the kids. I would try to understand "what went wrong" but it was no use. I will never figure that out. The tears would come unexpectedly at any time for any reason or no reason at all.
One minute I would be absolutely fine, not even thinking about it and the next minute I would be crying. I would be driving in the car and that horribly depressing song "Like We Never Loved At All" would come on and I would cry. I would be in public and something would remind me of something and I would struggle to stop the tears from flowing.
And so life goes on as it always does.
In my life things greatly improved. Before I was living alone in isolation, but now, I actually had a life. Time went by and I thought about him less and less and the tears stopped coming. The laugher and smiles came more frequently.
The intense, desperate sadness and anger eventually gave way to numbness. The time that passed in between thinking about him, what went wrong, etc. became greater and greater.
I was moving on and I was getting good at it. I was staying busy and really didn't have the time or energy to dwell on what I couldn't fix. I found new friendships of caring people that I really enjoyed. The kids were thriving. I was staying busy with work. I was meeting new people and reconnecting with old.
I started feeling these new feelings…things like satisfaction…even dare I say happiness and contentment. But then I felt bad that I was feelings these things. We were supposed to feel happy together, not apart. I wanted to share my happiness with him, I didn't want to be happy alone. No, this is how I wanted to feel when we were together. How could things go well when we were living completely separate lives, far away from each other? No, it wasn't supposed to be like that. He needed to be with me and be happy with me.
Such deep rooted plans are difficult to let go of.
I realized just how better off I was without him…and it hurt. No, that's not how it's supposed to be. I'm supposed to be complete with him, he's supposed to make me whole and vice versa. We're supposed to feel empty without each other and complete with each other. How can this be? Fate, why can't you understand how things are supposed to work? The tears are coming again.
Two steps forward, one step back.
And so life goes on as it always does.
The painful unanswerable questions give way to acceptance. And then hope and excitement for the future makes it's way in.
I look back and am quite pleased with how time heals. Scars are left over the wounds, time can't do anything about that, but the wounds themselves don't hurt like they used to. Occasionally, something will make the numbness subside so the wounds hurt again, but the pain comes farther and farther apart and is less and less painful as time goes on.
And soon, with some more time, I feel that the pain will disappear all together. I mean it hasn't been that long since I left for good.
I've come a long way. I'm doing ok. In fact, I'm doing a lot better than just ok. Things are so much better and looking up. I'm happier than I've been in a long, long time.
I survived the "D" word and am much better for it.
