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.