You win. You’ve been winning for years, but I thought I was a fighter. I thought I had Right on my side. Or Love. Or *something*. And it’s not that there wasn’t love, not by any means – it was there. Lots of it.
But you cheated. You fucking cheated.
You stacked the deck and sent onslaught after onslaught whilst I floundered, trying to keep my marriage from being sucked down into the abyss, yet slowly, irretrievably, it sank. And that love faltered and weakened because how could it not? We didn’t have a chance.
Or we woke up to a new chance every day, and flawed humans that we are, we chose to acknowledge our challenges, chose to be affected, chose to let the chemicals in our brains and the emotions in our hearts buffet us this way and that, and further and further apart until he told me that I wasn’t enough.
Which I already knew.
But still I tried. Even when it was me vs him vs you, and the teamwork just never seemed to happen – but this isn’t about blame. Because I am not blameless, and in the end I am just…
We are defeated.
Raising our tattered, white flags before one or both of us sends ourselves off the edge to just pleasepleasepleasemakeitstophurting. We can’t live like that. *I* can’t live like that.
In nearly five years we’ve had maybe *almost* six months where the challenges seemed just about manageable. We promised “for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health” but Life, we’ve had poorer, sickness, sickness, sickness, and SO MUCH WORSE! You just never came through on the other stuff, and Husby and I both agree, defiantly, that we would never, EVER have chosen to put ourselves (or each other) through this, had we but known.
Hindsight is 20/20, as they say.
And so to list your sins, because surely we didn’t deserve or earn these – they aren’t consequences of our choices and seem only redolent of the stink of a broken world:
- Lost PhD
- Near insolvency
- Endocrine breakdown
- First miscarriage
- Threat of infertility and chronic illness
- Second miscarriage
- Eating disorder/Anxiety
- Lost job
There were a few crumbs of High, and mostly Low, and some times of Absolute Desperation. There were precious moments of together and long hours of resentment and undertones and hurt. There were attempts at therapy and our situation proving too unusual for professionals to offer adequate support. There were ways we didn’t try at all, and ways we both tried our utmost, and kept trying to the extent of our limits.
And finally, the April Fool which was the saddest joke ever: calling it quits.
Because there’s no marriage left – we’ve barely survived it as individuals, and retrospectively, our couplehood seemed doomed from the start. Or just before, when it could have been nipped in the bud, but we were young and naïve and hopeful and determined to make it work in spite of the odds. And oh, that hope had jagged edges…
Fie on us.
Now what is there left? Certainly not hope.
There’s companionship…ish, when Husby’s not depressed and I’m not withdrawn and prickly and kicked into survival-mode from the hangover of a childhood spent around that filthy, vicious, destructive condition.
There are good things about each of us, which remain valid…but they’re not enough to build a marriage on. And certainly not enough to re-build a marriage on.
But this has been a long time in the offing. We’ve both said it. We just haven’t wanted to acknowledge it. But Life, you’ve worn me down. And I’m too tired to fight any more. Husby and I both agree it makes sense, and to try to remain friends, and that you’ve won.
And just because I’m not crying, doesn’t mean I’m not desperately sad. And just because I’m desperately sad doesn’t mean I think I can try any more or any harder. Which makes me sadder, but I won’t show it because somehow I have to keep going, at least until the weekend…
And my brain is crawling against the edges of my skull, screaming for some kind of release while I sit sullenly, unmoving, appearing apathetic.
And I wish I was drunk.
You may only sit in judgement or throw stones if you’re perfect. I owe you nothing – certainly not this explanation, or this jagged, agonising part of my life – yet writing it helps *me* and I need that. If I’m honest, I need you. Or certain of you (and you’re there…thank you, thank you so much), because life at the moment is awful, has been awful, and is going to continue to be awful.
Maybe it would be easier if we could settle to hate one another, and let the anger and vindictiveness carry us through, but we can’t and we won’t, and the whole situation is just terribly, terribly painful, and no, there’s not anything more that we can, or I’m willing to try. I am done.
And yes, perhaps the decision is on me, but the breakdown took two. And Life, that fucking miserable bastard, Life, which didn’t let us live.