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.
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.
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