That’s how much time has passed since my husband said he wants to “take a break”. Really? A BREAK?! I’ll never forget those 36 hours leading up to that statement.
I knew-KNEW-something wasn’t right in my marriage. But I ignored my intuition, because I didn’t want to seem like the needy, jealous, crazy bitch wife that I knew I was. I tried to give him space, and let him be…whatever he was. I compromised myself and my feelings and my beliefs because I thought that was what you did in your marriage. Won’t make that mistake again. I woke up early that morning…I knew something wasn’t right. It was too early for him to be getting ready for work…he was too quiet getting dressed. Why is he going to his truck? It’s 4:45 am?? WTH?? He’s missing some of his nice clothes?! Oh HELL NO. I confronted his ass. And he stood there and justified it all. “I was going to wear my wedding band.” You mean the wedding band you NEVER wear?? “It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just breakfast.” You NEVER eat breakfast. Three hours I fight and yell and steam and seethed. I give up and go to the bedroom, because “I have to go to work,” he says. It’s always work first with him. Then he comes in and wants to be the concerning husband and rub my back and says, “Please don’t do anything rash today.” Are you kidding me?! I throw my phone and it lands somewhere on the other side of the room, and I look at him like he’s grown three heads! He brings me my phone and says it again, “Please. Think of the kids. They need you.” He gives me a kiss, tells me he loves me, and walks out the door. I get the kids ready, get myself ready and my day just keeps going.
By noon, I’m a basket-case. I go to the only place that brings me solace, and even there at my grandparents grave, I feel the utter abyss at my feet trying to suck me into her clutches. I try everything to reach out and let someone-ANYONE know how bad off I am. No one really gets it unless they’ve been there, sitting on a headstone with 17 .5 mgs Xanax pills in their hand just wanting it to stop. I call Philly, and I literally fall apart to him. He’s helpless, I’m helpless, it’s a damn disaster. Somehow, someway he gets me to laugh, and from there, I change. I am angry-I am RAGING mad. I could spit fire and nails, and I could completely see myself running over my husband with my car. How’s that for rational, jack wagon?? I gather myself and go back to work. That’s what you do for your kids-you pick your self up, tape all the broken pieces together, and continue on. I want to beat something-anything, I am so freaking mad. But I can’t-I have to work, and put on that “I’m fine” face. God I can’t wait til 6.
6 o’clock comes, and I am out the door like a bat outta hell. I have to get home. I have to deal with this situation. I am calm, cool, and collected. And I am ignored. Nothing new there. It’s like the events of the day never happened. That’s bullshit. Nothing is said that night. We both go to bed-and it would have been warmer in the damn freezer than sleeping in that bed. Thursday, the next day…oh my god it is awful. Hardly any texts or conversation. When I get home, we “have it out”. He thinks we need a break-like we are in high school or something. Then it’s all my fault for the feelings he has. Really?! No one made your ass stay if you were so miserable. No one made you marry me. No one MADE YOU SLEEP WITH ANOTHER WOMAN last year. Yep..it’s always been MY fault. He has no accountability for those actions. They are all justified in his eyes. Ok, fine, you want a break. Whatever you want. Then YOU need to leave. I’m not going to uproot MY kids because you can’t keep your dick in your pants. “It’s my house. My name is on it. I don’t have anywhere to go.” Fine. I’ll uproot MY kids to appease you. So that’s what I had to do.
Friday morning he wants to be the concerned husband and text me and see how I’m doing. No, you don’t get to do that. You wanted a break. You wanted to walk away. You don’t get to be concerned to make yourself feel better. So after work, I get the kids and some bags, start packing some clothes and out the door I go. Then I’m the one that’s moving too fast because I want to get my shit outta that house. The house I tried to make a home. It hurts to be there-makes me physically hurt. Its’ too painful to see and feel the memories I made in that house-because WE surely did not do that.
I came to my parents with my kids, like a dog between her legs, beaten and broken. Not anymore. Those first few weeks were the hardest. The worst is that he still tries to keep my under his thumb. No, you don’t get to do that asshole. YOU walked away from this marriage. YOU walked away from your family. YOU walked away from your obligations because chasing tail, work, your truck and bike were-and always will be-more important than spending time with your kids and wife-those obligations that I pushed on to you. It takes two to tango asshole. And this partner is no longer following your lead. I’m making my journey, now. And there’s someone out there that wants me for me-flaws and perfection all rolled into one. He loves my edges, and he loves my imperfections. And the best part is-he doesn’t even know it yet.