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Living in the end of things
September 16th, 2014 05:28 pmIt's hard, living in the end of something. I am referring, of course, to my marriage.
I am seeing a therapist to get my head sorted about everything. I am still struggling with keeping that crush thing from over the summer out of this thought process, even though I know I have to. I can take encouragement, comfort (to a degree) in the support he (or anyone) offers, but I have to be careful. I can NOT do this FOR anyone but myself. Easier said than done when there's someone really appealing (even if it's unlikely I'll ever see him again), but that's why I'm taking things slowly. To be fair, though, this has been a long time coming; it's not like I was blissfully happy with nary a notion that I'd ever leave until he came along. Still, it's harder to give myself permission to make this change with anyone else in my thoughts, even a little. Then again (how many 'then agains' is that now), I think it's normal to sort of latch onto the notion that 'hey, look, there is hope after this travesty that is your life!' And that's normal, even healthy, right? Right?
My plan, after a lot of thought, is that I am not going to have a discussion with my husband until after the holidays. I need time to get my head around this, I need time to save a little money, to get a better handle on how I am going to live, practically, financially. And I don't want to tear our family apart just in time for Christmas - for his sake, for my kid's sake, for the extended family's sake, maybe even for mine. I will admit that it feels increasingly false to be here, to be going on as if everything is OK. I think, had my husband not engaged in a series of affairs, that I might feel more guilty for that. As it is, I see this very much as covering my a$$, and doing what *I* need to to make this transition with my sanity intact. He certainly did what he felt he had to; can I do less for myself? Is there a bit of bitterness, even a dash of retribution in that? Maybe. But I have a kid and a life, too, and I need to do this right, for both of those reasons.
It's funny; I find myself moving though my house affixing mental labels to things: keep this, ditch that, maybe store this, give him that. In my mind I have already begun to take apart my life. I suppose that's healthy, though it doesn't feel like it. It feels like I'm living in a tomb; like I'm a scavenger, living off the body of a creature that doesn't yet know it's dead. But I know.
That's the thing, though. I do know.
I am seeing a therapist to get my head sorted about everything. I am still struggling with keeping that crush thing from over the summer out of this thought process, even though I know I have to. I can take encouragement, comfort (to a degree) in the support he (or anyone) offers, but I have to be careful. I can NOT do this FOR anyone but myself. Easier said than done when there's someone really appealing (even if it's unlikely I'll ever see him again), but that's why I'm taking things slowly. To be fair, though, this has been a long time coming; it's not like I was blissfully happy with nary a notion that I'd ever leave until he came along. Still, it's harder to give myself permission to make this change with anyone else in my thoughts, even a little. Then again (how many 'then agains' is that now), I think it's normal to sort of latch onto the notion that 'hey, look, there is hope after this travesty that is your life!' And that's normal, even healthy, right? Right?
My plan, after a lot of thought, is that I am not going to have a discussion with my husband until after the holidays. I need time to get my head around this, I need time to save a little money, to get a better handle on how I am going to live, practically, financially. And I don't want to tear our family apart just in time for Christmas - for his sake, for my kid's sake, for the extended family's sake, maybe even for mine. I will admit that it feels increasingly false to be here, to be going on as if everything is OK. I think, had my husband not engaged in a series of affairs, that I might feel more guilty for that. As it is, I see this very much as covering my a$$, and doing what *I* need to to make this transition with my sanity intact. He certainly did what he felt he had to; can I do less for myself? Is there a bit of bitterness, even a dash of retribution in that? Maybe. But I have a kid and a life, too, and I need to do this right, for both of those reasons.
It's funny; I find myself moving though my house affixing mental labels to things: keep this, ditch that, maybe store this, give him that. In my mind I have already begun to take apart my life. I suppose that's healthy, though it doesn't feel like it. It feels like I'm living in a tomb; like I'm a scavenger, living off the body of a creature that doesn't yet know it's dead. But I know.
That's the thing, though. I do know.
