penny drop

I’m so sick of crying. I seem to spend most of my time either worrying or crying or snapping at the children because I’m exhausted after spending the majority of the day worrying or crying.

I was laying in bed masturbating and listening to this song and fantasising about laying naked on a hot sandy beach with only the sea for company and not a single person for hundreds of miles around me.  Once I had finished and my hand fell away and my leg slid back down onto the bed, I found myself staring at my husbands cd collection. I started to think about that beach. How one day I would finally be successful and rich and I would simply say to my children (who will be grown by then, I’m sure) “I’m off on holiday! Here is the number of the hotel I will be staying at.” And I will give my husband many dollars/pounds/euros whatever and tell him to go on holiday wherever he’d like because I was going on holiday by myself. Also, I am always skinny in these fantasies.

This was such a lovely, perfect thought. Until I sadly realized that I am the only one who would like this. I would hop on a plane, fly to Jamaica and spend two weeks lying  on a beach, drinking cocktails and being pampered. He would drive to some campground and spend a week in a tent, probably being miserable. Additionally, he would be deeply hurt that I would not want to be with him, because he would only want to go on holiday with me.

This made me cry. For a new reason. Not for anger at what he’d done, not out of fear of the future, not out of frustration or pain. I cried because I’ve lost that. The person I loved, the person who I wanted to always be with, who I would never have wanted to go anywhere without, he is gone to me now. I cried because I no longer have love. It seems so silly and stupid given everything else, but in that moment, it was such a cold, empty feeling. He may love me, he may always love me, but I have no love left for him. That is heartbreaking to me. I loved him so much, people.  He was quirky and difficult but he was funny and creative and put me on a pedestal and nothing made me happier, more comforted, more safe than enveloping myself into his arms, into his self and being part of him.  Now, that is the last place I ever want to be. And I grieve for it, I suppose.

Hate & Loathing, and me without any drugs.

I used to love him. He is much older than me, but that never bothered me. He went grey long before I met him, early, in his twenties. That never bothered me, either. I loved his hair, I thought it suited him. I’ve never talked about his attractiveness with anyone else, but I always thought he was very handsome. I still do. His blue eyes are like icicles and their coolness melts me.  He has the most wonderful cheekbones, and I have always loved his arms, of all things.

I didn’t know how I felt about him anymore, only that out of necessity I was not divorcing him, not out of love. Did that mean I no longer loved him? As he spends more time with us, gearing up toward coming home permanently, I find that more and more I think “I hate him”.  I hate his dishevelled hair that he never brushes, and only cuts when I insist and do it for him. I hate how trying to correct a simple misunderstanding, or ask a simple question becomes a task on par with climbing everest with no guide and no oxygen.  I hate how he kept secrets from me, that I only ever knew about because I had stumbled upon them at first and later went looking for. I hate how when all I want is simple sex, love making if you will, he needs me to cater for some stupid fetish that disgusts me. I hate how he crawls into the bed that has been mine alone for over a year and takes over the majority of it, unintentionally confining me to a small pocket with half my ass hanging over the side. I hate how he sweats profusely at night, soaking the pillows and making the whole room smell of it. I hate how he will bitch if the dishes don’t get washed for three days in a row- yet for three days in a row he will sit on his ass watching tv after dinner, not washing dishes. I hate how I do a million things every day, and still don’t get through everything and feel guilty, yet he can hardly manage a 5 item to do list and even then it’s only with me hassling him about it.  All I can think is “I hate, I hate”, when previously these things were barely on my radar, with the worst being a slight annoyance. I loved him before and perhaps that made up for his flaws? Or did it simply mean I couldn’t see his them?

He is still the same devoted husband, but now he is less my loyal prince and more a desperate, needy puppy dog. One that I want to kick. (And I’d never kick a puppy.) I find myself snapping at him constantly, hardly able to keep the annoyance from creeping into my voice. I wonder how long I will be able to keep this act up? How many times will I be able to say “I love you, don’t worry”, when he is feeling sad and miserable for himself? If he had not lost his job, and were still able to support the family financially, would I feel the same way as I do, now?

 

resentment

We are out of money again. I am expecting some money to come in soon, well, desperately hoping is probably better than “expecting”. But, until then, every day I log into online banking and my stomach sinks as I see the balance has dropped further into the red. Whats worse is that our bank was recently swallowed up by a big greed mega bank, and gone are the days of simply being charged 5 a day for being overdrawn. We are now charged 25 for anything that’s paid while overdrawn and 25 for any unpaid, as well as 5 per day. I’m facing something around 200 in bank charges next month.

Whats actually bothering me though, besides the fairly usual and mundane money crisis, is that I’m struggling not to blame my husband for this. I seem to have fallen into this trap of unconsciously blaming him for everything that goes wrong. It’s his fault the house is a mess. His fault we have no money. His fault I’m stressed and worried all the time. His fault I’m on the verge of failing out of my degree program. HIS FAULT.

I guess for awhile, a lot of it was his fault. But, whats done is done. It’s been a year since my discovery, our separation. The police have finished their investigation and elected not to file formal charges and social services have decreed that he may come home once again.

Maybe that is the problem. Instead of being the bad guy in all this, he seems to be coming home like a bloody conquering hero. The kids greet him with open arms every time he comes through the door, and the baby cries when daddy isn’t here and I suppose I’m bitter about this. He moved back in with his parents for a year! I was forced to become a single mother, endure the humiliation of the schools knowing exactly what was happening and still having to do the school run and chat to teachers and principles like normal, as well as having social services in my home twice a month. And I didn’t do anything wrong!

I know I’m possibly being unfair. Being away from me and the kids was hell for him. His parents didn’t want him there, and now he’s on the register and lost his job. So, the whole vicious cycle starts again, I feel bad for blaming him for everything, then I think- “wait a minute!”….

What to do? What to do.

I am home all the time, so really- it’s my fault the house is a mess. I manage the money (not happily and under protest), and I’m historically bad with money, so it’s probably my fault we have no money. I am in control of my own feelings, so if I’m anxious or worried, that’s my fault as well. And of course, it’s my degree and nobody’s fault but my own if I’m failing.

All of that makes sense, right? But, when I take all that on and acknowledge it, it leaves me feeling more alone and bitter than ever. HE did this awful thing and it just about destroyed me. Yet, I’m paying the price for it. Still. I didn’t even get  a proper separation because he couldn’t be alone with the kids. I wasn’t going to refuse to let him see the kids (even social services said they wouldn’t like that), so even when we were supposed to be separated, it never even felt like we were. Not to mention he used my address, the same joint account and wore his ring the entire time.

I guess I know that not every stupid crappy thing that happens is his fault. But, just knowing that isn’t enough. I am angry and bitter and  even though it seems like the right time to just forgive and move on.. I’m not sure I can. I want to hate him. I want to cry and hit him and rip that engraved wedding ring off his finger and throw him out in the street and never see him again.

But I can’t do any of those things. So, instead I just harbour the resentment and blame inside me. For how long? I don’t know, forever perhaps. How long can a marriage like that last? And, what is it doing to me? Will having money fix it?

loss

They came at midnight. There were two of them, a man and a woman. I don’t think they were very far along in their careers, novices still. They acted very courteous and professional, as they rooted through my belongings. They even kindly acted like they couldn’t hear me when I finally broke down and sobbed over the phone to my mother, 5272 miles away. I asked her to come, she said she couldn’t.

They took the computer, with various discs and other items. I had known they’d be coming and had made some effort to transfer various important documents and pictures to email accounts, but there are thousands of pictures, and  simply not enough time. I signed a waiver and just like that- it was gone. They told me I’d get it back. After. That was a year ago.

Now they tell me I may not get it back. They said they would *try*, but that was months ago. I’ve heard nothing and now… I fear they are gone. My youngest childs baby pictures, 5 years of family snapshots and vacation and holiday pictures.  Gone.

There have been many many hard points during the last 12 months, and that, I think is the hardest. I can cope with so much adversity. I can keep fighting to keep living forever if I need to. But, knowing I might not ever see those pictures again, fills me with such grief and sadness. Even resentment, anger, and hate. This was not my fault. I did nothing to deserve this. He did this to me. And, oh, how I despise him for it.