Coronation

I’m in a bad place right now. I’ve been able to hold it together, make do with everything that’s happening, push through some serious crap to make sure everything in my life is–if not organized and managed–at least holding together.

I tried talking to her tonight. Light text, nice, talking about simple things like day-to-day. She instantly cut deep, talking about our relationship as if it were a three year long nightmare she’s only now waking up from, as if I was some kind of abductor that locked her in some basement, giving her scraps, removing her humanity one day at a time. The words came out unnatural, as if she’d been brainwashed and returned to society with some 1984-esque invention. And to cap the whole thing, she said she was only trying to be honest, and not mean.

I raged a little, sitting alone in a piece of nothing we had worked so hard to build. She said something about how my poverty dragged her down for three years, as if her poverty–no money to her name and a dedicated single-mindedness to work as little, and for as little, as possible despite a degree–had no impact on anything. While I’m staring at car payments for a vehicle she wanted to take, which is still, entirely, wholly in my name, and knowing she’s sitting on money to pay said vehicle off, I wonder why I’m being such a nice fucking guy.

She seems to have decided she wants to turn me into a villain, as if doing all this to me wasn’t enough for the both of us, she now wants to make herself into some shining saint so she can continue forward, purity intact. She’s always approached purity as something the world owes her. She still hasn’t figured it out.

I flexed when the focus was "us." I flexed a lot. I’m sure she did too. But again, as is becoming more and more consistent, she’s turning into some Jekyll/Hyde thing where she’s soft and needy one moment, hard and, well, violent toward the idea that I was any kind of good in her life whatsoever. At all. Ever.

You can’t retroactively pervert a thing simply because it suits your reality at the moment. So you can talk to the next person that comes along and say, "Yeah. He was a terrible, cruel, mean person. I lived my life impoverished and scared for my well-being to a detached loser like nobody you’ll ever meet. I can’t believe I lasted so long in such a hostile environment."

I mean, you can. But yes. That makes you severely screwed up in the head. That makes you severely unstable. Dare I say mentally damaged. If you want to go down that road, you do it alone. And don’t you dare talk to me about poverty. Not having money is nothing compared to not having happiness.

We never fought. We had disagreements, we made sacrifices, we did what was needed to make a relationship work. And, I let her make more than half of the decisions. "Compromise" decisions aren’t, "Chris wanted this despite me" decisions. We were happy. We were.

I don’t know what the fuck this strangeness is. I don’t know what this corrosive thing is that’s bubbling out of her. It isn’t the person I knew for five years.

My only regret, these past five years, is I didn’t prepare myself for this. My only. Only. Only regret is that I didn’t spend more time on myself. I won’t make that same mistake twice.

I’m so happy we didn’t have a kid together. A blessing. A miracle. A gift from God. This would have destroyed whatever thought either of us had of creating something beautiful.

This was the last thing I wanted to write about, except I felt so impassioned and, again, confused, I had to let it out or else it’d fester like a rotting onion. You don’t say those things, after five years of happiness. You don’t say those things when we were married a year ago, and because she wanted it SO BADLY (not that I didn’t. But it sure as hell wasn’t all on my side of the table).

Or, as she always is, this is part of her grand plan to make the breakup go easier; say mean things to separate the sadness from the anger. Push me away so far I don’t want to talk anymore. Really, beneath all this, I feel as if she’s simply lashing out with regret at her decision. As if, in the past few days, she’s realized what she’s let go, and she regrets the decision. Maybe. I’m just speculating.

She’s far, far too intelligent to simply go nuts. I think. I don’t really know anymore.

…I wish I could write her as a character.

And there I go. Finding the silver lining.