I'm sitting here, at nearly midnight, in front of my computer with a pain so deep in my chest that I am unsure if it is coming from within me or being done to me.
I'm sitting here, writing this because for the first time ever, the thoughts I have of leaving him are not out of frustration, an argument or even anger... They are out of pure sadness and defeat.
Slowly, over the course of three years I have watched my marriage strain, then twist, then bend against pressure. I have watched all I hold dear crumble, I have watched the man I love dissolve into someone I don't know. I have watched the life I fought so hard for chip away slowly at the hands of an invisible wound that I don't fully understand.
I have spent three years screaming silently for anyone to know me well enough to know that we are not ok. That I am not ok. I have spent three years clawing at things that are not there in hopes of finding a foothold to grasp onto. I have scoured the internet for information about what is happening to our life. I have prayed that this would not be all we ever know. I have feared a man that I never thought could hurt me, I have cried when I thought I had no energy left to produce tears, and I have buckled under the burden of carrying all of this.
Last week, I was doing laundry when I realized that all of MY clothes were clean. I could just pack up and leave. It was not spiteful, it was not furious, it just simply was. There will be no long, drawn out argument. There will be no lists of what I would like to take with me. There will be no terms. There will be no empty dog crates meeting him when he gets home from work. It will be as simple as if I had stepped out to buy milk. I will simply not be there, and the only lasting impression that will be left behind on the trail of my heels will be the empty space in the closet where my clothing was once hung.
I'm writing this, at nearly midnight, alone in my living room because tonight, while lying in bed, the thought of simply leaving and never looking back came flittering back into my mind as I stared blankly at the television, not truly absorbing what was on. It occurred to me that, were it not midnight right now, I actually would have gotten out of bed, packed my clothes and left.
An act so simply that it would take no time at all to complete, but so meaningful, that it would be impossible for him to ignore it.
The problem is that I had the thought at all. And that when I did have the thought, it was neither angering, nor painful... It just was.
The problem is that I can see myself doing it. Daydreaming in bed, waiting to grow tired from three years of pain and isolation, of waking up in the morning, going to a doctors appointment and then just never coming back.
The problem is that I don't know how much longer those thoughts will stay locked away from action before I simply wake up, as if I'm still dreaming, and pack a bag and leave.
I'm sitting here, writing this because for the first time ever, the thoughts I have of leaving him are not out of frustration, an argument or even anger... They are out of pure sadness and defeat.
Slowly, over the course of three years I have watched my marriage strain, then twist, then bend against pressure. I have watched all I hold dear crumble, I have watched the man I love dissolve into someone I don't know. I have watched the life I fought so hard for chip away slowly at the hands of an invisible wound that I don't fully understand.
I have spent three years screaming silently for anyone to know me well enough to know that we are not ok. That I am not ok. I have spent three years clawing at things that are not there in hopes of finding a foothold to grasp onto. I have scoured the internet for information about what is happening to our life. I have prayed that this would not be all we ever know. I have feared a man that I never thought could hurt me, I have cried when I thought I had no energy left to produce tears, and I have buckled under the burden of carrying all of this.
Last week, I was doing laundry when I realized that all of MY clothes were clean. I could just pack up and leave. It was not spiteful, it was not furious, it just simply was. There will be no long, drawn out argument. There will be no lists of what I would like to take with me. There will be no terms. There will be no empty dog crates meeting him when he gets home from work. It will be as simple as if I had stepped out to buy milk. I will simply not be there, and the only lasting impression that will be left behind on the trail of my heels will be the empty space in the closet where my clothing was once hung.
I'm writing this, at nearly midnight, alone in my living room because tonight, while lying in bed, the thought of simply leaving and never looking back came flittering back into my mind as I stared blankly at the television, not truly absorbing what was on. It occurred to me that, were it not midnight right now, I actually would have gotten out of bed, packed my clothes and left.
An act so simply that it would take no time at all to complete, but so meaningful, that it would be impossible for him to ignore it.
The problem is that I had the thought at all. And that when I did have the thought, it was neither angering, nor painful... It just was.
The problem is that I can see myself doing it. Daydreaming in bed, waiting to grow tired from three years of pain and isolation, of waking up in the morning, going to a doctors appointment and then just never coming back.
The problem is that I don't know how much longer those thoughts will stay locked away from action before I simply wake up, as if I'm still dreaming, and pack a bag and leave.
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