My husband called me a liar last night. In and of itself, that is not surprising, he has called me a liar a thousand times over the last 9 months. I don’t know what made this time different, but it stuck with me, and the more I think about it, the more I think he may be right. Maybe I am a liar. The particular thing he accused me of lying about wasn’t true, I really wasn’t lying about it, but maybe I have been lying to myself. So here, in my safe little corner of the universe, I am going to be truthful. With myself, for myself.
Part of me always has and always will love my husband. There are times that I miss him desperately. I miss my best friend, my partner. There was a time when he was my rock, my anchor. I would look to him to gauge what my reaction should be to a situation. I miss that. I miss being a “we”, one half of a whole. I haven’t had that in quite a while, long before I left, and I am only now beginning the process of mourning the loss.
I absolutely and unequivocally hate that I hurt him, and even more that I hurt my children. I can not find the words to convey how much I regret that, somehow “sorry” seems the most inappropriate word in the English language right about now. I handled a bad situation in the worst possible way, and I know it. How can I ever explain my thoughts, my feelings during that time, when I’m not even sure I understand myself? How do I explain that for all the taboo, all the wrong-ness, there really wasn’t any other choice for me. That if it hadn’t been her, it would have been someone else, because once I allowed myself to acknowledge my true feelings, there was no turning back. Can I make them understand the burning need awakened by examining those feelings? I don’t think so. If anyone does understand, I really would love for them to explain it to me, because I sure as hell don’t.
Although I know that leaving was something that I had to do, something I should have done a long time before I did, at least once a day I worry that I have made the biggest mistake of my entire life. I wake up in a cold sweat, fear clutching at my throat, doubt whispering in my ear. I don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life. I don’t want to watch the people I love more than life itself walk away from me forever because of what I have done. Sometimes I think that it took incredible bravery to walk away from everything I know and love, and sometimes I think it took an absolute idiot. I’m not sure which is right.
I don’t like the person I am today. I have no emotions, no feelings. I can feel a wall around my heart, and it gets bigger and stronger daily. A person I genuinely care about has told me things lately that ordinarily would have killed me. This time, as I read the words in text messages, I waited for the knife in my heart. I braced myself for the tightening in my chest, making breathing difficult and painful. It didn’t come. I spent a sleepless night last night, willing those feelings, and the shock that they didn’t, that they won’t, still hasn’t worn off. This disturbs me. I don’t want to be a cold unfeeling bitch. In the name of un edited honesty though, is that what I have become?