It’s been a tough week. I know, every week is tough at the moment, same old, same old. I do bore myself! But I have to believe in keeping this record it will become a benchmark of times I’ve long past.
Despite all the other obstacles I’ve faced and dealt with alone, today I had a trigger. A real, quantifiable trigger in the form of information I found out by accident relating to my history. I’ve made the decision not to share the details on here. But it was interesting, surprising, shocking, confusing. My now ex husband was there at the time of the discovery.
Now I would have ordinarily broken down, talked every possible scenario out. Cuddled into him. Felt his protection, his sympathy, his compassion and tenderness.
He was taking my daughter and her friend to the cinema, so clearly then was not the time to talk. But I know in the days of old, he would have checked in on me via phone or text. Known I was hurting.
While he was out, I mentally checked through all the possible people I could call and talk to. I have great friends, but finding the words, initiating that conversation – be it in text or call was too intimidating.
The only person I know is my husband. The person I trust. The person that would get it. That would go through the logical stuff with me.
I did text him while he was out to say I felt sick. Afraid, anxious and had been considering all possibilities. I told him I understood it wasn’t his problem anymore and appreciated id crossed a boundary by opening up to him. He said in a text it was ok to talk about.
I decided to give the evening a chance. Perhaps I would sit with him, open up. Share my pain.
We had a spa and it was immediately obvious that it’s not appropriate to discuss this with him. We are both focussed now on our separation. There’s no room for my stuff.
We chatted about inane things. Like friends. Certainly not as a married couple.
After, we watched some television. A tangible distraction from talking.
The sadness and grief and all the conflicting emotions I feel are mine to bare.
He’s giving out a clear signal – either conciously or subconsciously that this stuff is done for him. It’s not his problem.
I guess I wanted to know that a part of him still cares. That a part of him is there for me.
I need to accept he’s not there anymore.
I won’t talk to anyone about what I’m experiencing. I’m just not comfortable discussing this new information.
To have someone there physically but not emotionally is a terrible burden. An ongoing reminder, a confusing situation.
I’ve left for bed. I’ll no doubt cry myself to sleep as is my new pattern.
But these tears are for being back to a place of dealing with pain and trauma alone again. With no one caring. No one listening.
I need this weekend to hurry up. I need for the house to be empty – it better reflects its emotional state and doesn’t leave me confused. Doesn’t tease me with a family that isn’t real.
I need to get my independence. I need to get out. I’m falling apart in here, and no one knows it except me.