Change

My husband doesn’t love me.

He loves me, but he’s not in love with me.

I missed the signs. But they were there. In my constant battle with my past, with issues we faced with moving, various things that life throws at you. I guess we got caught up. He was there and I assumed he would always be there.

Our recent turmoil/patch, has been blamed on his work, his pending issues, my court case, my mental health. We drifted. Both tired. Both fed up. Arguing, can’t find each other. Can’t find a way through.

The reality is, he didn’t miss my nightmares, my sobbing, my struggling, because of some malice intent to watch me struggle. He didn’t stop listening. He became a different person. No longer my person. The affection missing wasn’t because he didn’t want to risk rejection anymore, it’s because I didn’t feel right in his arms. 

He looked at me differently. But I didn’t understand the look. He seemed more agitated when I tried to talk to him. Quicker to blame. Quicker to shut me down.

The rehashed arguments and old resentments – just cycles. Cycles of a flailing marriage. 

But I know now. 

I know there’s no hope. No peace to be made after an argument. He won’t reassure me. He won’t give me that smile. There’s no going back. 

There’s no hiding.

The truth is, at some point everything changed. But I missed the cues.

I tried talking to him. But the arguments begin. I’m the one at fault. He’s the one who is flawless, understanding. Calm and rational. I feel stupid compared to his intelligence. My tone rises and he calmly tells me not to shout. I feel like I’m back with my father. His arguments are considered, I’m just a petulant child, I sound crazy even to myself. The demanding wife, unreasonable, disrespectful, erratic.

His eyes narrow, he’s fed up. I feel like I’m encroaching on his time. I keep losing track of my thoughts, he picks up where I repeated myself, where I made mistakes, I feel like I’m on trial. My previous feelings and concerns now seem minimal and flawed.

There was a time he would have knelt down next to me, held my hands, told me it was going to be ok. To forget the nonsense. That he loved me. It would be ok. Instead he’s standing, looking down at me as I sit on the bed dressed in yesterday’s clothes that I slept in. I feel like a slob. I feel like a child. Eyes watering. 

I’m not strong anymore. Where’s the warrior in me gone?

My husband asks if we can just get on for now. I agree. It’s what I want. I don’t want the children affected.

I wonder if Cambodia is just a dream. 

I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what I’m doing. I wonder if I will ever find my way.

Sometimes I think I’m moving forwards, sometimes backwards, sometimes being shaken, sometimes still. But I know at the moment my mind and body aren’t connected. And I know I feel terrified.

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