Is is "For Real" Yet?

Today my husband came over and we discussed down and dirty, nitty gritty logistics of our separation. We are talking money, household contents, you name it, it was brought up in the name of division.

I'm not totally sure what it means that I cried for about half of the time we were together. I don't know what it means that he told me I "looked nice", that we ordered some pizza together or that he wanted a hug when he left. But I'm pretty sure it doesn't mean what I'd like it to mean. I think it just means he's a nice guy. Which is more painful you know, can't he just be a royal dick so that I can at least convince myself that I'm better off without him? I see him and it's like...my whole life flashes in front of my eyes - kids, household renos, weekends away, long chats on the couch...and then he leaves (and I shamefully watch him drive off from in between the curtains, sucker for punishment, I know) and I see the life I have planned instead. Which is well thought out and fabulous, I guess I'm still just accepting the fact that it doesn't involve him.

I told him tonight that I believe in my heart that, someday, he'll regret what he's done. And his response? "I hope not." I hope not?! You better know not, mister. This isn't like something that you change you mind on and can go back on. We are listing our house for sale. I have secured another place to live. My family has already written you off. You had better know not.

Self-Defense

It's happened; I've turned into psycho bitch. I am choosing to cope with my husband's ability to simply toss me aside with hurtful gestures such as money laundering (not the illegal kind), demands for half this and half that...basically trying to show him how ANGRY I am because it's too hurtful to realize that I'm in more pain than him. I don't want to be mad and I don't want to fight, it's a little thing I like to call self-preservation. I guess in some ways I don't want to be more hurt than him because...how pathetic is that? How sad is it that I'm sitting home at night waiting for an "I'm sorry" text, or for him to show up at my door with flowers saying he's made a terrible mistake. Although, he never was one for flowers. So...I'm not sure what I expect. I'd take waking up in the morning to his stupid toast crumbs on the counter and his unwashed frying pan with remnants of egg in it over any of that anyway.

I just want my life back.

At Some Point...

At some point, you have to accept that you can't navigate someone else's heart. At some point, you have to accept that you can't make someone love you. (You know, like that really cheesy Bonney Rait song?) But it is true. I emphasize at some point because I cannot articulate at what point that will happen for me. All I know is that my heart is regretfully beginning to marginally, minimally, hesitantly accept that he is not coming home.

I have decided to take off my wedding rings. Not only have I removed my wedding rings, I have posted them on kijiji for sale. Would I actually sell them? Um, not likely. But I felt the need today to do something proactive - something monumentally definitive of a person who is moving on. Mind you, I've opened and closed the silver bell-shaped box for a sneak peak a million times and I keep examining my ring finger to see if the slight indentation left by my comittment is resurfacing yet...but I still would like to think it's progress of some sort.

Jilted.

I'm sorry, it may not be appropriate to blog about the impending dooms day of my marriage, but I have an indescribable yearning to spew this tangled mess that is my insides, and that has been my insides for the past 6 days. To any future lawyer, accountant, or advocate for the ending of our marriage, you won't find slams and underhanded comments regarding my husband here.

I want to make it clear to all who read that I love my husband very much. I loved him enough to beg him to stay. I loved him enough to sleep on a half size loveseat next to him on his oversized couch just to be close to him that one last night. I loved him enough that when I was picking up a perscription for anxiety medication because of this situation that I asked the pharamsist to ring in some sweedish berries (his favorite) along with my ativan. I loved him enough to believe that on the night he said he was leaving that he'd still be sitting in the living room when I got home and I'd have to tell my sisters and friends that their company really wasn't necessary because, you see, I had company for life.

That's what I had signed up for, and that's what I expected. Most importantly though, that's what I wanted. Not from anyone, from him. Is this too much information for other people to know...I don't know. And right now, I don't really care. I need to spill. I need to write, it's in my blood. Not going to lie, the last couple days have been survivable - it's the nights that are hard. But it's amazing what friendship and sisterhood can do for the soul; not to mention a couple ativan washed down with some white wine in the evenings to ensure a good night's sleep. Don't worry, not a bottle of wine, just a couple splashes for good measure. As I'm still processing what is happening, how we go from the above picture to me, alone with my little Henry cat (ok big Henry cat), living independently amongst many of his belongings, I plan to continue to spew, if for no one else but myself. In hopes that someday I'll have a literary roadmap that will lead me to happiness once again.