“I need to be honest with you about something,” she said.
Here we go, I thought. She’s about to blame me for her stress, for not having enough time to read for her exam. Or will it be about how I don’t help out enough with parenting stuff, even though I’m gone at work all day and I’m not really allowed to make any parenting decisions as it is.
“Ok,” I answered.
“For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been thinking about moving out. Let’s face it. We’re both miserable and we have been for years. I just don’t see this working out,” she sighed.
I was stunned. I felt the blood rushing to my head as I tried to form some sort of answer.
“Can you really say you’re happy?” she asked me. “Do you really see us ever being happy?”
“Honestly,” I croaked, “I don’t know anymore.”
“It just isn’t fair to either of us. We both deserve to be happy. I won’t make you happy, and you know it. I know you’ve convinced yourself that I can, but you’re wrong. You don’t do any of the things you used to do before you met me. You never go out with friends. You deserve to live and find someone who can give you all the things I just can’t. You deserve better.”
She started to cry after saying that. I was crying before she had even started her speech. I think that was the first time I had seen her cry about our relationship in years.
“Do you think we’re past the point of being able to fix things with some help?” I asked. I was grasping at straws. Part of me wanted to desperately hold on. The other part was screaming at me that it would be for the best in the long run.
“I don’t think anything can help at this point. Better that we do this now while we’re both still young and can find other people eventually,” she said.
I had a sudden case of deja vu. This sounded a lot like what I told my husband when I finally came out and asked for a divorce. Karma really is a bitch.
“I can’t move right away because I need to save up some money,” she explained. “I could always sell some stuff if I have to.”
“No! I won’t let you do that again. You did that once already in your life and I won’t allow it. I will not have you destitute and selling your possessions. We’ll work something out. Just stay here until your in a better financial position,” I said.
“I can’t do that. It isn’t fair to you. I could ask my parents if we can move back in with them for awhile.”
“Or you can just not worry about it right now,” I sighed.
“This really sucks,” she cried. “I’m sorry. You have no idea how much I wanted this to work. But it just isn’t. You know this.”
I started crying even more. I couldn’t breathe. I felt sick. This was really it. We had done this so many times before, then gotten back together. But this time was different. This time the decision hadn’t been made in anger.
My defense mechanisms started to kick in. I could watch the shows and movies I liked. I could cook food I liked. I didn’t have to cater to the picky tastes of two kids that didn’t like anything I cooked because they just wanted to be contrary. I wouldn’t have anyone criticizing me about stupid shit.
I wouldn’t have anyone to talk to when I walked in the door. I wouldn’t have anyone to share my day with. I wouldn’t have anyone tell me they love me before I went to bed. There wouldn’t be anyone home to hug me or kiss me.
I would be completely, totally, soul-shatteringly alone.
“Are you going to be okay?” she asked.
“Eventually. Just don’t expect me to be okay right away. I’m not built like that. I can’t turn my emotions on and off the way you can. This will take me some time.”
It was the truth. I will be okay…eventually. I will rebuild. I will rediscover parts of my self that have gone into hiding.
I will write. And the writing will heal me.