January 12

January 12th was supposed to be my wedding anniversary. 
Today should have been 3 years. 

My first anniversary I was fresh out of cancer treatment, and actively being abused. 
My second I was in the middle of the divorce process.
Now I'm here.
I'm not quite sure where "here" is to be honest. 
Today it's sad. It's numb. It's hollow.

I don't know how to feel about something that was supposed to be the rest of our lives collapsing after a year. I never saw myself as being divorced before my 30th birthday. I swore up and down that I wouldn't be one of those statistics. I wouldn't give up.

I guess that's part of it. I didn't just give up. I tried so hard. I sacrificed so much to be with him. I gave up relationships. I gave up my support system. 

I thought I'd just always bear the brunt of being the strong one, the stable one. He expected that of me. That I be his support system, his impulse control, his "fixer".

He was upset that I was broken... No. Not upset. Angry. 
I was his toy, his accessory, his manager, and in his eyes he'd been sold a lemon. I couldn't manage him when I could barely stay awake.  I couldn't focus to advise him through every workplace complaint. Fighting for my life took every ounce of energy I had.

Honestly I still fight with feeling broken. For so long my worth was tied to my ability to play these roles. 
A toy he could use for his enjoyment then stick on a shelf to be forgotten until he wanted to show it off. 
An accessory that served to make him look accomplished in public, only to be discarded in private.
A manager that kept his life running smoothly even if it was at the cost of their own well-being.
When I couldn't provide him with those I  became useless, and I was treated as such.

I'm no longer angry. I don't have the energy for it. It no longer stings like it did in the beginning. It's a bit like the dead nerves in my arm from the surgery. I can watch myself touch it, but no matter how my brain screams for the feedback it should be getting; there's just nothing there. 

It's a bit lonely. Not in missing him specifically, but in having someone to talk to while you fold the laundry. Someone to sit down to supper with. Not that I ever really HAD these things so much as a chance at them. 

My dreams weren't based in grandeur. I wanted to be loved as I loved him. Deeply and honestly. In spite of, and because of his flaws. I was told repeatedly that dream was unreasonable, unrealistic and a complete fantasy.

That's the thing about fantasy though. It doesn't abide by the same rules as reality. I was listening to a podcast on Disney World and remember them saying how Tomorrowland was a miss because in reality the "tomorrow" of the 1970s has come and gone. Where as if it had been built with a more sci-fi aesthetic it would never become outdated because it would be based in the fantasy of a future that would never exist.

I understand that's what I'm mourning. Broken promises. A fastastical future that was never going to exist. 
I know I'm better off. I understand it logically.
There are days I mourn it all the same.




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