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Talking for good

This is the post excerpt.

Putting words down on digital paper to get them out of my head and record a difficult time in my life. Recording my feelings so that I can come back and read them when I need to. An online diary of sorts that may be of interest for others in a similar situation to read through, but is mainly for me.  The first step in helping myself to become who I need to be. I am a soon to be single parent of two wonderful children,  stepping into the unknown while battling with mental health. Here goes…

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I want to wake up from this nightmare

I want to wake up to a loving husband who takes me in his arms and holds me.  Who holds my hand as we walk through the park watching our children play. I want to be able to think of an upcoming occasion and not break down in uncontrollable tears. I think of my future and it’s black, it’s bare, I see only shadows and darkness and I wonder If I will even be there to see my children grow up. 

I don’t feel like ending things right now but I consider the issues I’m going to have to deal with in the near future and I genuinely wonder if I will be able to get through them without giving in to the darkness of deep depression, to the point where I see no light at all and really believe that everyone I love will be better off without me. 

The thing that has stopped me when I have sunk to those depths in the past is the pain that I know it would cause my children. But it I feel that I am causing them pain anyway, will that be enough anymore? 

I hope so, I really do.  

I don’t know who am I any more

I’m suffering from a crisis of identity. 

Before I met my husband, I was a different person to the one I have now become. I was strong and independent, I was confident and I was a little bit wild. 

I’ve changed significantly in that time, as to be expected in eleven years and when becoming a parent. Priorities change, dreams develop to include what becomes important. I’ve matured, I’ve mellowed but in some ways I feel I have become a shadow of my former self. 

When I first started dating my husband, people I knew were surprised at my choice of partner, they didn’t think that he would give me the thrill I needed.  But in all honesty I had come to realise that that thrill, that unpredictably came with risk, with lies and with heartbreak. I had realised that maybe I wanted something different. I wanted honesty, dependibility and love. 

And it seemed I was right. I found happiness and a relationship that became so much more that what I had experienced previously. I fell in love. 

Eleven years later I am being told that I’m not loved anymore. That life as I know it, as part of a couple, a family is coming to an end. Everything we’ve worked for and overcome together now means nothing. I am alone, an individual rather than one part of a bigger thing and I don’t know how to be that.

I don’t feel like I have an individual identity anymore. I exist only as a part of my family, as part of my marriage. I talk of ‘we’ rather than ‘I’, not just in plans but in likes and interests. Material possessions are ours, not mine. 

There’s nothing wrong with that when I am part of the relationship, when we share everything and make every decision together for eleven years, it’s natural for tastes and preferences to merge. But what happens when that collapses? When I am left alone? 

How do I distinguish between what ‘we’ liked to do and what ‘I’ enjoy? 

How do I discover who I am? 

Can we live together in a broken marriage? 

So after an emotional few days we’ve talked some more in a surprisingly civilised manner and we’ve decided to see if we can share a house as friends and stay in a family unit. I have to admit that it was me that pushed for this but I know it won’t be easy. Every day I’ll have to see the man I love and know he no longer feels the same.

It will be incredibly lonely, it will be heart breaking, but it will mean that our children can be happy, they will live with both parents and they will have the financial support of us both.

It may be selfish of me but it also means that if this works out, I won’t have to miss out on my children’s lives, on birthdays, occasions, Christmas. I feel like this is my last chance to keep my children in their bubble, to protect their innocence.

I’m not sure if it will work, or how long it can last but I feel I owe it to myself to try. If I don’t, what’s the alternative? I will feel like we are ripping apart the life our children know, their comfortable, safe existence to dump them in the unknown. A place where I don’t have any answers, only questions and they certainly aren’t happy ones.

We need to talk

We need to talk. We need to discuss how things are going to work. We need to be practical and put our children first. But what I really want to do is beg you to love me again, plead with you to give me one more chance. We’ve not tried hard enough to make this work, not just for us but for these incredible children we have together. For the future we were planning for us, for them, for us as a family unit. For our dreams and our hopes. The holidays we would save for, the adventures we would go on together, the achievements we would celebrate. In my mind I had all these things planned out and now with one fell swoop they have been cut down. Destroyed before they can even begin, almost like a death. 

We need to talk about the way things are going to work in practical terms. Where will we live? How will the children spend their time? What will we do financially? We currently have a ‘family pot’ all money goes together and we all spend what we need. How will that work going forward? I don’t even know if I can keep my job, the hours I work just wouldn’t fit in with being a single parent. Can we continue to live together as a family and not be in a relationship? I want this to work. To have the least impact on our children, but I honestly don’t know if it can. 

Am I always going to want you to love me? Is having you here going to be more lonely than not? But if you are here, then our children will be, all of the time. Neither of us will be apart from them. Missing them as if parts of our very being had been ripped out. Albeit temporarily, but regularly. Knowing that the time we have with them will be followed by time away. Constantly, never ending. Just thinking about it gives me heart palpitations. It is not a future I can see working for any of us. 
When I think about that then I do think that  we can do it, we can live together as a family without a relationship between you and I. It will be the hardest thing I have ever done, I will cry. My heart will ache with loneliness, with rejection, but I must be strong. I must think practically. 

You say you will try it, give it a month. That means that our future must go on hold. No plans, no thoughts or dreams outside of that time. I live my life in thoughts and dreams of the future, in planning, it’s how I get through the day to day. That will need to change, I must find another way of coping, of surviving. Because I have no choice. I can no longer look for my happiness in a future of you and I growing old together, travelling the world when our children are grown, holding hands while we proudly watch them graduate or say their wedding vows, playing with our grandchildren in a garden full of joy and giggles. 

We need to talk. 

I want to sit and cry all day 

I am sitting on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket and I’m crying. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here but I know it has been too long. I need to move. I need to get dressed and wash the tears from my face. But it seems too hard, I’ve thought about it. I’ve walked through it mentally but I still haven’t moved. I am still here. 

I am writing this down but I don’t know what I’m going to say, I’m hoping that these words will help me formulate a plan. A plan where I can leave the safety of the hole I am in and tackle the day. 

I’ve just sat up. Already I feel like I might be able to move because I wouldn’t have started to write this if I couldn’t. I can get dressed. I know what I can wear. I can have a shower, wash the muck from my hair and the tears from my face, the heat will help, it will feel good and make me think about something else. 

I will then need to eat. A sandwich will do, bread and cheese. We have that in. 

After that I need to do something productive. I can tackle the back room, so much needs throwing away, I’ve saved and hoarded things that are no use to use and I need to make space. 

I have a plan and will try to make it work. I want to sit and cry all day so that I don’t have to think about real life, so I can stay in denial about my situation, but I can’t. 

My marriage is over

My marriage is over. After months of fighting to be what he wanted me to be I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t love me anymore. I can’t change that. He feels he has exhausted the vows and commitments he made to me, both when we started a family together and when we joined ourselves together in marriage in front of others. He doesn’t love me anymore. I can’t fight that. I can’t change that. That is a decision that he has made that changes not only our lives but also the lives of our children, forever.
In the past I’ve begged, I’ve pleaded. I’ve blamed and I’ve used his love of the children to blackmail him in to staying, to trying some more.

There’s no point in that anymore.
Years ago, when seeing the tough situations friends have been left in after their marriages have broken up, I’ve said in jest, “don’t ever leave me as I couldn’t cope as a single parent”. But he has, and I am. And the truth of it is that that I have no choice other than to cope.
I have two children that need me to cope, and I can’t let them down.
We have come to this point in our lives, where our marriage vows have become too much for my husband to live up to, because of me.
Not because I have cheated or lied, but because I have mental health issues. I suffer from depression and anxiety. If I’m honest with myself I have suffered since childhood, but it’s always been managed, controlled, hidden, something to be ashamed of, so cleverly disguised. A certain Ice themed Disney film comes to mind now I write it down in black and white.
That’s been possible when life was working the way it should, but then it doesn’t always. I was a parent of two young children, working full time in a job I hated, a job that I couldn’t find a way out of no matter how hard I tried, each day was wearing me down and I could no longer suppress and hide the demons.
I thought dark thoughts, I hurt myself, only superficially, but I seriously considered a lot worse. And I said things, I blamed the person who I was closest to, whom I loved the most in the world, for the way I felt. I couldn’t sleep, I sometimes struggled to leave the house, I was too tired to carry out simple house work tasks and I became reliant on my husband for so much.
That soon became too much for him, he struggled to cope. But he didn’t tell me, maybe he thought it would tip me over the edge. Maybe he just didn’t feel he could talk to me anymore. But he didn’t tell me the impact that my illness was having on him, he let that resentment grow and he started to hate me.
All this time I was doing everything I could to battle the darkness and get out the other side, mostly while maintaining an outward facade, working, socialising, and making the children a priority.
I was finally at a point where I felt myself again, I could sleep normal hours, I was enjoying days out with the children without worrying about every aspect that could go wrong, I felt confident in work, I had regained my enjoyment of cooking and was ready to return to my hatred of other household tasks. As I returned to myself I realised I was alone. I’d lost my relationship. Now I was myself again there was nothing left.
I begged for a chance to try, to show him that I deserved his love. And I did, I spent six months trying so hard. Fighting every dark thought down, feeling more and more alone. Battling to keep my family together. To prevent the conversation that would destroy the world as our children knew it. That would change all our lives for ever.
That has now come, he has admitted that he stopped trying probably before I even started. The last six months had no real chance of achieving anything.