Death of a marriage 

Just before my lessons began I received a message from my husband that my daughter was in hospital, she had sprained her ankle previously but now the pain was unbearable and the school phoned him to take her to get examined.

The communication was made slow going, probably heightened by the fact I was due to teach and overwhelmingly anxious, feeling useless and miles away. My husband also informed me that his parents would come and look after her while he was at work.

I’ve decided I’m not even going to battle on that one. I’m fed up of being spoken to like shit, I’m fed up as being seen as the bad one. There is no consideration for my need for information and no sense of us being united. Perhaps I have naively anticipated that something like this would spark our connection, or at the very least he would consider the impact on me.

He doesn’t care. He’s right, he’s long done caring.

It’s not a phase, it’s not something that will change. I’m an inconvenience.

I felt like I was nagging for information. About my own daughter. 

When I spoke to her via the Internet and saw her brave smiling face, I was relieved. She’s in less pain than I had anticipated and the other kids are happy.

My husband – he couldn’t care less.

I rode my motorbike through horrendous monsoon conditions, soaked to the bone, pelted by rain, desperate to speak to my family. Desperate to hear their voices and see their faces.

I’m not just physically removed, I can feel things are changing. And with the introduction of his family, they will all move further out of my reach.

I cried buckets of pain when my husband told me he didn’t love me, that he hadn’t been happy for years. That if I returned home earlier he would move out. I thought that pain was insurmountable. I didn’t think I’d ever recover. My heart felt smashed, everything felt unreal. I wanted to go back and fight for him, for us. 

How could my wonderful, warm, tender, gentle protective husband no longer be there for me? How could I go on? How would I survive?

But my continued attempts to talk are rebuffed. And conversation is kept within strict boundaries – he has initiated that. Hurtful. Painful. A tender love that was home for me, gone.

But I guess I’m beginning to see now that he too has changed. He no longer cares, he offers no tenderness, no warmth. The man I once knew has gone and is too far out of reach.

I am nothing to him. And I feel I have worth. I feel I deserve more than to be spoken to like an arsehole.

I feel I deserve the modicum of respect and regard because I’m the mother of his children. Because we once shared a life together, our fears, our dreams. But if someone can turn so cold and withheld – what is the point? Why should I undignify myself even more?

I have been clawing my way through these last few months. Trying to deal with the court stuff, trying to manage my marriage, trying to maintain a routine that bored me, but giving my love and adoration to my children. Trying to offer my love and support to my husband. 

And now, here I am, living and being on my own and realising I’m not as weak as I thought I was. Not as incompetent.

I wish my husband was the same as he used to be, as I’m sure he wishes I was the same.

But at least now I accept, I will never have worth to him. 

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