what matters and why

moving on

11/6/94
8:00am

A long night with little sleep. This child inside me couldn’t seem to stay still. He had told me the baby feels stress just like myself and I wonder if that was the case last night. The small hotel room and the financial situation we are in is getting to me. I realize that pregnancy causes one to appear more emotional than usual, but it is not normal for me to cry at least once a day, and lately, I can’t seem to stop. Each day, I keep moving on and hope that feelings will change. I was under the assumption that a new environment and entirely new living situation would evoke some sort of passion in myself and cause the growth that I need to fully develop as I never have done. Instead, I’m afraid, it’s causing the opposite. Resentment and anger. Not for being here, as I know it was my choice. But for the memories of last year each day. The voices in my head. Hers, and others, the things they said. Simply knowing that this person who was willing to wreck this family so guiltlessly is in such close proximity at all times causes hurt every day. I think I will always regret that I didn’t make different decisions. I made a promise to myself that no one would treat me the way he did, and that I would move on and become a stronger person because of what happened. Instead, I’m haunted. And I’m still here, with him, and I don’t feel whatever it is I was supposed to when we made this change in our life. So it’s my fault and I will again feel guilty for pulling him away from his family and a job that he loved with the promise that I will love him one day in the way he loves me. I spent the first six years of our marriage in a whirlwind of guilt, because I didn’t love him enough. We both knew something was missing. I don’t know how to make myself do that. Now, not only is there the absence of love, but intense resentment for his actions last year. And when I get frustrated about the little things like the finances, I can’t help but wonder if behind that frustration there is more. If the anger is coming from somewhere else. I wish that I could look at him and feel what he feels when he looks at me.

What happened to that person, the one who last March, wrote me a letter, intending to end our marriage? “This is not healthy and is not going to last,” he began and continued on to inform me how we could separate amicably. I don’t remember being angry then, only sad. I knew he would regret writing that letter, and he did. As soon as it was clear to him that I was moving on, he made the decision to come back into my life. And not so subtly, either. There was something there. Maybe because we had been apart for so long. Something was exciting about being with him then. I hate him for not following through with that letter he wrote. Most of the time, I wish he would have simply left. I hate him for making my life miserable when I was so prepared to be on my own. He played on my guilt, knowing that I would cave in to accusations of my inept mothering skills. He decided he wasn’t leaving, and he didn’t. And against my better judgment, I let him stay.

And we are supposed to move on. Everything is supposed to be okay. I knew it would be a challenge. But I didn’t expect to hate him so much. I wanted this move, this change, and he did it for me. Not that everything went as planned, but we are here, now, to start over, and I can’t stop hating him for what he did. Some women can do it. Some can forgive and move on and even fix their own mistakes. I’m afraid, that with myself, I will live with this forever. I will carry it to my grave and he will suffer because of that. I will never feel the passion that a wife should feel for a husband, especially not now. Once again he will feel neglected and could I blame him for seeking attention elsewhere? Last spring and early summer, we had something. I don’t know what it was. But I felt something for him. Then, we moved back in together and began to share a life again and that feeling disappeared. There is satisfaction in knowing that he will be an adequate father and provider, and that are ample opportunities for us to build an amazing family together. But the closeness that two should share when joined as one is missing, still. Sometimes I’m overwhelmed sometimes with loneliness and jealousy that I can’t share the passion that he has. Love for children is a different kind of love. My love for him is a safe and comfortable kind, and nothing more. It’s suffocating. I feel as if I show any kind of passion toward any other group of people or activities, he will see that and be jealous. So I don’t. There is nothing in my life that will ever excite me, for fear it’s not fair when there is nothing there for him.