The last couple of weeks have been a storm of emotion, other things figure in here as well, and I’m one tired unit.
I need to see the chiropractor so maybe we can release the tension in my upper back. Laying over the exercise ball has its limits, though it is a savior when the doctor isn’t available.
For the moment most of my hurt, denial and sadness has been drained. So the vexation is still there? What do you want from me perfection? Hand to heart, I promise to temper my tongue–mostly.
So last night my husband asks me what I want to do this weekend. Normal enough question, if you’re in a different marriage. In all fairness he’s been trying to do things with me. That’s part of the problem. He goes through the motions, and his heart just isn’t in it. It’s a difficult situation for both of us. I’ve been playing along in hopes of rekindling a fire, long since gone out. We both know it’s not working, and neither has wanted to admit it.
I’m done with ‘pretending’. Do I want to do something this weekend? Besides the wake on Sunday? Em, yes and no. I have things I want to do. Pretending we enjoy each other (on the last shopping Saturday before Christmas) isn’t on the docket.
He and I are in two completely different spaces. I opened my mouth and made it real. I’ve cried, huffed, growled and howled, hence my current physical state. The illusions, delusions have been exposed for what they are; a sorry state of denial in which everything will be fine if only I can hold on. We’re broken.
He knows we’re broken. He knows, I’m serious. He’s still in denial though. Like the child grounded, he’s scrambling to make nice until he’s out of the dog house. Whether or not the better behavior will continue is anyone’s guess. I’m too tired to bite.
We’ve done this too many times. I want to believe; I do. And I’m afraid. I’m afraid of getting sucked in, yet again, only to find myself in this position six months from now. I’ve been riding this roller coaster for nine years. It is rather embarrassing to admit I’ve held on in futility for so long. The excuses, rationalizations, and all of the assorted other crapiage floating in the river of denial are gone. It’s just me and the facts.
It’s a weird, numbing place. There is still a sense of emergency in my husband. He’s scrambling. Me? I’m just waiting for counseling to start so I can assess whether or not I’m wasting my time. This from the woman who didn’t allow the ‘D’ word in her vocabulary, nor has he. We promised each other at the start not to brandish divorce as a weapon or threat, and we haven’t.
A year ago I had an epiphany. He was doing what he does, and I thought, ‘How many times are you going to do this with him?’ Since then I’ve been wrestling with the situation. We’ve spoken a numerous occasions about what needed to happen to make this better, and he couldn’t bring himself to believe it was happening.
So, he’s where I was a year ago (or so we can hope). Still holding on to strangulated hope, fingers in his ears singing, Lalalalalala…..
Enter the weirdness. There were years and years when we were on the same page. Once and a while one lagged behind, but as a rule we were a team. Our kids didn’t stand a chance with divide or conquer with us. Ha! We rocked!
Maybe we’ve run our course. When we got married we were both all about having a family. We did that. They’re both grown, and maybe we’ve done together what we were meant to do. It’s a possibility, I’ve just come to grips with. It hasn’t entered his darkest dreams yet.
What a journey.