Maybe because I take medication I can’t feel that.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a stepford wife. I’m not a robot. I feel bouts of misery. Bouts of anger, shocking loneliness, desperation?
This morning I asked my husband for some cash before he left, he left some on the nightstand. I wanted to say, ‘for services not rendered’ and laugh.
A conversation turned into a row last night. We were both gunning for one. I mentioned the kids would like Dinasour World, he asked what it was. A said a world with a Dinasour theme. I was being obtuse of course. A little later on he used the same old argument about how English people refer to things by their brand names as opposed to the object (ie, Hoover (vacuum) tipex (white out), etc) and I got into lack of supply in post war England, whereas NZ has so much trade with Asia there are so many brands available. It was a dance of frustration. Really I was angry that he had declared the weekend he was away ’emotional’ and had fallen asleep while I talked about my case on his return. I was hurt. Angry that he got home so late on Sunday. That he had his bubble of friends that he’s grown up with that he has no desire to talk to me about. Another example of lives very different.
Of course I communicated these things eventually and his responses were of course equally fair and reasonable. As ever, I end up feeling the unreasonable one. The bitch. The demanding one.
He’s always been the nice one of the two of us.
I didn’t like his friends when I first met them. They were untraveled. Small minded, small town. Boring. Beer drinking, partying – born together, bred together, die together.
They didn’t like me either. I wasn’t from their area. I was probably too ‘up myself.’ Disinterested.
Over the years my husband has maintained contact with them, with I have always encouraged. They are, after all, his childhood friends. And there’s something endearing about the group, like an 80s movie. The ragtag bunch of boys. Not really amounting to much, but managed to avoid jail and make good with their lives. Although we live in different cities and I’ve still remained out of the circle, I’m happy my husband has friends that would no doubt lie down in traffic for him.
I’m reading about Cambodia. Research.
Nothing more from my lawyer and my passport is still being processed.
My house is tidy. Managed. The kids are cared for. Clean clothes, fed, loved, don’t know a day without electricty, heat, iPads, and the room to play in a large, tidy house.
Life looks good.
But it isnt.
Hence the picture of the astronaut. That’s what I feel like.
Everything is the same but different.
And I’m floating into an abyss.
I’m making plans to travel, but it’s not a break, I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if I’m returning to a husband.
My husband looks the same. He sounds the same. He and the kids have the same rapport.
But he doesn’t hold me anymore. Last night when I heard a noise, i went and checked.
When I’m scared, he doesn’t reassure me. Not because he doesn’t want to. But because he doesn’t know anymore.
I feel unsure if I need to call him. The boundaries are different now.
He has meetings, appointments, problems. Sometimes he mentions things, sometimes he’ll think he mentioned something. Most of the time, I have no idea.
It’s not conscious. It’s drifting. It’s the pressures, it’s the clash of differences, it’s harboured resentments, it’s old arguments rehashed.
Can everything be moving so fast and be stagnant at the same time?
Can you know someone for years and suddenly realise you have no idea who they are anymore? Or what if they thought they loved you and realised you were this unworthy, too damaged person after all?
I’m just floating. I can’t control my court case. I can’t control the overall outcome of my marriage. Although I can obviously input.
Control is my biggest issue. I need to control everything. I can’t stand the feeling of losing control. In any way shape or form. Whether it be waiting, receiving treatment, anything to do with my body, things going on around me, having to relinquish control for any reason. I get this terrible suffocating feeling. I feel angry, upset, scared. I need to fight, I need to make my power known, I need to get my power back. It’s instinctive. At times, primal.
Now, I’m losing control of everything. I’m in limbo.
And in some mad, macabre twist. I can most often be found, sat quietly drinking coffee and reading.