I finally did it, I finally tackled the spare room. I started going through all the boxes, still not knowing what I’m going to do with their contents I dove in. There was a pile of clothes and there was a pile of some things that I had on our night table that was on ‘my side’ of our bed.
Then the tears started to well up. Oh my God! These seem to come from out of no where; I went in, dove in completely innocent of ANY possibility of an emotional outbreak (especially at this point). It wasn’t nearly to the degree of the outbreaks I had experienced before, but still.
So, I sorted through the things that I had brought over, all as they were when they were on my nightstand, and recalled memories of the last days of our marriage and how deeply depressed I had become at that time. Even so, I never imagined that I would be here, in this situation, facing divorce. I always held the belief that our marriage would withstand any and all of the trials that life gave us. Unfortunately the trials became far too heavy for this woman’s back to carry.
As wonderful as my ex-husband was (he truly was/is a kind man), he was not very accessible as a partner. He lived on one side of the house, primarily watching television. While I lived in the other side. The only time we shared was while we were sleeping (no sex, just sleep). And even then it was with him on his side of our king size bed and I on the other (you could put a wall about 3′ deep between us); all the more reason I find it still so shocking that I’m as emotional as I am over some nondescript items.
This is all part of the process I suppose. I mean, we are told to love, honor, cherish, til death us do part, and we believe (well I did), that this is the way it’s to be. But the fact remains that I did everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, to make this work. All relationships have their ups and downs when there are times of togetherness and times when you feel a world apart. But it’s at those times where you feel a ‘world apart’ when you must work together to bring the relationship back to center. Only, I was usually the one who brought the relationship back.
I was the one who brought the ‘romance’ into the relationship. Lighting the candles, making the dinner reservations, leaving notes around the house for him. All in the hopes of keeping the romance alive. I kept telling myself that it was the right thing to do and that it was ‘normal’ for the wife to be the one. Only, I got worn down and got exhausted.
There came a point when, between living with his addiction and his unhappiness I soon checked out. So to cope I became ‘busy’. I did so by joining a variety of organizations, I went back to school to get my degree and I worked insane hours. Anything but have to face an emotionally bankrupt home-life. Which leads me back to my original question; why the tears?
This is more than the death of a dream, it’s the acceptance that I had a part to play in it’s failure. And I did. Somewhere along the way I gave up (Uncle!). And that is something nobody wants to admit to. No matter how impossible the mission. To admit to defeat is never easy and I’m afraid that I’m going to have to put on my ‘big girl panties’ and admit my defeat. Admit to my part in the failure of our marriage.
My therapist would say that I mustn’t be so hard on myself; perhaps she’s right. I’m not, I know that I did give it all that I could and THAT is what is so frustrating for me. I realize it, but he never will (or will never admit to it). To him, he was misunderstood. To hear him say it, I just had a hankering one day and decided, out of the blue, to move out and end our 20 plus year marriage; just like that. Boy, must be nice to be so clueless.
I guess the emotions will keep on, for a while anyway. And I’ll just keep on crying until I’m cried all out. Should keep the water company happy, eh?