All free for you to draw

Welp, I guess this is going to be my captain’s log for a while. Might even be fitting, if one wished to consider it a while. I had originally intended to use a physical journal. There’s something so magical about putting pen to paper. That’s where problems are solved, you know. Not the only place, mind, but one rarely puts a pen to paper without the explicit desire to solve a problem. I would love if you could prove me wrong.

The only real problem with that is leaving behind a record in your own hand. Not really the releasing of the cat from the bag I have in mind. Far more likely to happen if one leaves her thoughts lying about all willy-nilly. So a grateful, virtual hat tip to the one who reminded me this was here for the using. It’s highly doubtful he’ll see this, but maybe he’ll get an extra bump of happy today, which is enough for me. No one I know reads this anymore, so it should suit the purpose just fine. Buckle up, buttercup, it’s likely to be a long one today because I’m hiiiye and my heart and mind are full.

Sunday, Squish and I spent the better part of the day cleaning the house from top to bottom while he was at work. It was incredibly, though unsurprisingly, therapeutic. Opened up Spotify on the TV, and we tore into it. Then ended the day with showers and a fire.  For the first time in a long time, I was elated. I guess it was maybe about a year ago now that I started singing and dancing in the shower again.

That was also about the same time I had decided I needed to have a serious conversation with the husband (again) to let him know exactly how bad our situation was, and also decided I would give him until Squish graduates to…I don’t know, maybe show some interest in saving us? So I told him. I told him exactly how I felt. I refrained from pointing blame. This is how I feel. This is why I feel this way. He said he felt blindsided, even though EVERYTHING I covered we have discussed before, only this time I basically told him I was considering divorce. He started talking about his anxiety issues and that he knows it’s hard and he appreciates everything I did/do to support him (which I’m not going to bother laying out) but I told him this had nothing to do with his anxiety issues.

Then he said he felt like all the discussions we’ve had about the future were all lies. He didn’t even realize I had stopped contributing to those conversations because I realized I don’t fucking matter. I’m just someone he talks at. I’m convenient, just a traveling companion so he doesn’t have to be alone. He asked if there was someone else. I answered him honestly: no, there’s no one else, but if I’m going to feel alone, I would rather just be alone because it’s no where near as lonely. He offered to leave, and just the mention of him leaving made my heart clench, so I said I wanted to work on it…because fucking abandonment issues. Then he asked me how long I’ve been on my current anti-depressants.

Bitch, this is not about my depression. What the actual fuck?! My depression is personal and internal. This is about how we relate to each other. I am your wife. You are my husband. It’s supposed to be you and me against the world, man, savoring and surviving everything it has to throw at us, and even when you feel like your world is falling apart, you still feel safe and held because you know I’ve got you. I’m standing here as your partner, your chosen companion in this life, telling you I feel alone, depleted, invisible, and unappreciated…how?  How does that not fucking rip your heart out? Mine would be shattered to find out you were feeling this way. Where are you? Because you sure aren’t here. Then you have the nerve to blame me and my medication?

Not even two days later, it was like I had never said anything. A month later he was surprised to learn that it was still on my mind.
“I didn’t realize we were still having problems.”
“Has anything changed?”
”Is that a shot?”
”No. It’s a question.”
Yet no answer was received. It hasn’t been brought up since.

I was livid. The walls went up. I stopped caring, and I got downright mean. He actually said, “You don’t have to be so mean to me.” One of the reasons I stopped taking birth control was because I don’t want him inside me anymore: neither of us want a baby and he hates condoms. After many conversations with the bestie and a lot of probing questions “What are you waiting for? Why aren’t you choosing your own happiness right now? I just don’t understand,” it finally occurred to me that I was scared. I’ve never been on my own. I went from family home, to roommates, to fiancée. I know I can do it, and it seems a silly thing to be afraid of, but I’ve never done it before. Then bestie told me what helped her was to switch her thinking from “What’s going to happen?” to “Anything can happen.” As soon as she said that, everything clicked. Anything can happen. Everything I don’t like about my life right now, I have the power to change. That is overwhelmingly empowering and so incredibly simple that I feel kind of dumb for not stumbling upon it myself. Sometimes you can’t see the forest through the trees, or however it goes. The very next day I decided I can’t wait until Squish graduates, even though it would make everything so much easier. I won’t like who I will have become by then. It’s already happening. Resentment will have turned me into an ugly version of myself that I never want to be. The end of this school year I’m telling him I’m done. That gives me time to get some things in order before telling him. It won’t fuck with Squish’s anxiety while she’s in school, though I still hate to fuck around with her senior year.

That was a over a month ago, and now here we are. Since then the dancing and singing has bled into other mundane chores. If you were to get a quick glimpse, you would almost think I’m happy. Though I guess in a way I am. I’m coming back into me because I’m choosing myself over both of their comforts. Do I feel horribly about it? Absolutely, all my plans for the future are moot. The face of the person next to me in that future has vanished. I’m devastated. However, I’m choosing to delight in the “anything can happen” while mourning the loss of “what could have been but never will be,” because such is fucking life.