Warning – don’t read this post.
My therapist tells me that I’m grieving the losses that are occurring in my life. My marriage. The one I love. My time with my children. My future vacations. My plans for my kids futures. My safety. My comfort. My best friend. My person.
And she’s right. I am. And that’s all pain that I am feeling. And that’s pain the I feel that I deserve. And it’s pain that I believe a lot of people feel I deserve.
But she told me that it’s okay for me to be angry. And I reminded her that I know that. The things that have happened before and after this separation are pretty shitty. I should be pissed about the decisions you made. I should be mad for the choices you made. That you weighed all the options and decided that I am no longer worth the life we built.
I’m not. I say I wasn’t, but let’s be real – no matter what I do, no matter the changes I make, no matter how much right I do to wrong the pasts, my worth has plummeted.
I can’t fix the past. I can’t fix any of this. I can’t even say the right fucking words to tell you how I’m feeling without saying the wrong god damn thing.
And you’re so angry at me. And you have every right to be. You needed this version of me. And I had the ability to give it to you. But I was so caught up in my own fucking bullshit excuses that I let the most important thing in my life slip through my fingers.
You’re right. You didn’t stop loving me all at once. It was a gradual process.
And I try to keep conversations calm and not escalate them because I am so fearful of losing the person I care for the most. I lost you as my wife, but I can’t lose you as a friend. And when I anger you it hurts me more to know that even when I’m doing so much better, it is still causing you pain. So I cower and back off and try to bring them back to a calm space. And you feel like I’m not allowing you to feel your emotions.
You have every right to be angry at me. For the life I didn’t give you. For the love I didn’t show you. For not seeing you when you wanted to be seen the most. and for me to do these things now after it’s all been pulled from me.
But I can’t be angry at you for the things you have done.
I am hurt. But I am not angry. I seem frustrated sometimes when I close my eyes and take a deep breath, but it’s so I don’t start crying from the emotions I am feeling.
I am angry. Not at you, but I am so pissed off that it’s one of the reasons I have trouble sleeping at night.
I’m sorry for telling you that you aren’t as mad at me as I am at myself. Because you’ve had a lot more time to be angry. You’ve had a lot more time to be hurt. You have had a lot more time to be neglected. You have had a lot more time to slowly, and painfully, lose your feelings for me.
I am angry at myself for destroying this family. There is no blame to be assigning in this situation we are in, because we are both at fault. We both made choices that brought us to this point.
I am angry because for 16 fucking years I could have been this person that was the love of your life and gave you absolutely everything you needed and more. I am angry because I could have been the person that made you never want to even think about talking to other people. I am angry that it came to numbing you to the point that you had no choice but to walk away and to stop even wanting to try. I am angry that I am hurting you for being better. I am angry that I can’t seem to shut the fuck up even though I so desperately want to. I am angry that I pushed you to a point that you have to keep hurting me because I’m asking you questions that I don’t want the answer to, thinking that things weren’t as bad as they are being made out to be.
But they were. And they are.
I am angry. Not at you. But at me, and the things that brought us to this point.
I hurt you. Deeply. And I didn’t give you an opportunity to heal from that. And then when you gave me another chance before, I put in slightly more effort and coasted thinking if I didn’t do as bad as I did before, then everything would be okay.
But I continued to hurt you. I know not every day was a bad day, and things didn’t really get bad until the last year or so when I let work overwhelm my life and let my mental health take control.
And I’m angry that I let you be my comfort when I was stressed and blaming depression, and making you feel like you weren’t enough for me to stick around for.
And I’m angry that I let you think my vulnerability in talking about my suicidal thoughts in the past meant that I was still in that place. And I know why you did. The self-deprecating jokes aren’t funny. You cared deeply, and it was as if I was smacking you in the face for all the support you were giving me.
I’m angry that I did not make you feel that you were worth it.
You are the first person in my life that provided me with a true sense of safety. And I took advantage of it and became attached to it. I used it as a shield.
You shouldn’t have been protecting me. I didn’t need to protect you.
I’m angry that I wasn’t by your fucking side our entire marriage.
I’m angry that all the good I am doing is hurting you more because it came too late.
I’m angry for too late.
I’m angry that I made you feel less than me, when you were the only one holding this damn family together.
I’m angry that I didn’t treat you like the amazing woman you are more than I did.
I’m angry that I hurt you so deeply that the kindness and love from my heart now feels superficial and fake.
I’m angry that thinking of being away from me is what brings you peace.
I’m angry that you feel I think this is easy on you.
I know this is hard on you. It’s not a decision that you made lightly. And I understand why you are not in a place to even want to think about entertaining the idea of making this work.
I’m angry that I don’t make you happy.
I’m angry that I hurt so fucking bad and can’t do anything about it.
I’m angry that I can’t do things right.
I’m angry that planning trips together is something that stresses you out or you don’t even want to do.
I’m angry that you feel like I waited to do this, and that I intentionally chose to hurt you.
I’m angry that I feel gifts from me don’t mean as much.
I’m angry that you think I don’t see that you are trying to make this friendship work.
I’m angry that you think I don’t see you trying to make this living situation work.
I’m angry that I don’t feel like I am being given time to process and grieve, because I’m hearing so many things right now that make me sad that I don’t know how to address them all.
I’m angry that you get exhausted when I ask if I can ask a question.
I’m angry that you don’t have anything left in you to fight anymore.
I’m angry that you don’t see me as worth it.
I’m angry that I made you feel so long the things I am feeling now.
I’m angry that you don’t see that you are worth it. That the changes I am making are genuine and not out of desperation.
I’m angry that I can’t hold your fucking hand or touch your knee when we are in the car.
I’m angry that this whole thing is a giant clusterfuck of complication and confusion.
I know this whole situation would have been easier if I would have just accepted what you told me and walked away without a fight.
I’m angry that you don’t see that by me fighting, and making the changes that not one person asked me to make to fix things, means that I have so much love for you. But I got lost along the way.
I’m angry that the past has so much more weight than the future.
I’m angry that we can’t heal together.
I’m angry that you are choosing not to heal together.
I’m angry that I lost the importance of our relationship.
I’m angry that even the current version of who I am now is not someone worth trying with.
I am angry. I’m not angry at you, but I am angry at some of the things we feel and say about and to one another.
But I am working on my anger. Every god damn day. I am letting my anger direct me in my life where I need to be. I’m doing the therapy, because I don’t have anyone else, but most importantly because I need to be better.
Fuck that bullshit of too late. The bullshit of not healing together. The bullshit of no longer trying.
It’s a lot of hard work, that you did by yourself for most of our marriage. You’re fucking exhausted. You’re drained. You have been depleted of feeling worthy of fighting for. You didn’t feel seen. You didn’t feel heard.
I’m here to work now. And be pissed off at me for taking so long to get here. I understand. I deserve it. I fucked up. Severely. Astronomically. But I’m fucking here. And I am doing what you need me to do. I am doing what I need to do.
And if you find something that is better for you, and something that is going to give you a better life, and something that is going to give our children a better life, and something that makes you happier, and something that is worth fighting for, then go for it. You do what you think you have to do. These are your choices, not mine. I’ve made my decisions and I am now working my ass off on what I need to do.
I am hurt that I can’t talk to you without preconceived notions that the conversation is going to take a turn. I’m hurt that you don’t have a desire to talk to me throughout the day. I’m hurt that you don’t see that I am doing what I’m doing out of love. I’m hurt that you get annoyed by my attempts to make you feel good about yourself. I’m hurt that you don’t believe me. I’m hurt that you aren’t always honest with me.
There’s a whole lot of hurt and anger going through this house right now.
But I am trying. I am trying to be respectful. I am trying to honor every single one of your boundaries. I am trying to shut the fuck up. I am trying to make things normal. I am trying to be your friend.
To be your friend. If that’s all I am allowed to be from now on, then I can’t lose that, too,
Im sorry for everything. I’ve only scratched the surface of what you’ve gone through and my heart is absolutely broken for knowing that pain.
I hope I never bring you pain again.
I hope you know just how much I truly care about all of this.
I hope you know how worth it you actually are.