My face has been wet with tears for months. I constantly try to understand how people can be so mean without remorse. It doesn’t matter what someone said or did – is it really justifiable to make them cry? When did we become so ruthless? Instead of empathy, we retreat to our feelings of anger and hate. We find refuge here. Why? Is it easier to be mad than to take a magnifying glass to ourselves? When did independence become a right to defend and protect rather than a right to grow and prosper?
These reflections are what prevented me from filing my own divorce papers. I refused to be another statistic, another failed marriage. I have also been clinging to the hope that it will all change. One day I will wake up and be loved the way I deserve. That while he may not always like me, he would never come to hate me. Naive or hopeful? Perhaps both. The fact of the matter is, these tears stinging my face are real. The hurt and the pain are real. If I stopped focusing on how I actually feel and not on how other people expect me to feel, maybe I would grieve better.
Whether he is an alcoholic or not, I have been lied to and betrayed. These realizations have devastated me – whether he can control it or not. My trust is shattered all over the floor. It will take years to trust again, if ever. Regardless of past history, I was covered in bruises twice. One time was because I defended myself from forced sex when I have a history of sexual assault. The physical violations I felt as a result of those encounters will never be forgotten. The rawness is re-surfaced each time he mentions alcohol. The disgusting part about it all is that I am blamed. It is my fault he drinks because I don’t otherwise let him. It is my fault he lies and conceals because I would get mad if he told me (rightly so). It is even my fault he put his hands on me since I made him that mad. I entertained these accusations for quite some time. I will not entertain them any longer. The lying and concealment along with his anger about drinking are not my fault. They are a result of his addiction and attempts to hide it. It is not my fault he put his hands on me. He chose to do that. I am smaller and weaker than he is and he chose to dominate me. Those were his choices, not mine. I may have fought back, but he chose the behavior.
I have spent nearly two years begging for love and attention from a man who is not capable of providing them and is resentful when he is. It has left me chronically sick to my stomach and intensely hateful. This marriage has been all about him and I’m told to be happy for the little scraps I’m thrown. This has never been a marriage. It is a dictatorship. I’m provided a small section that is not to interfere with any other section, while they all interfere with mine. I am tired of this being twisted around to me ruining good times. I am seeking support when I am hurting the most and am treated like a leper. I attributed this to alcohol and am now very aware that this perception is hard-wired into his reality. My hurt and pain will continue until this is rewired, if not forever. The thought of this continuing makes me sick. I feel I have hurt enough.
I can no longer be in a marriage filled with so much pain and hate. Hate over me asking for things I deserve in a marriage. I can no longer believe it will change and get better when it never has consistently. How many times will I sit here crying and hurt before I say enough? When will I say this is the last time I will be crushed? Words could never begin to express the magnitude of the destruction he has and continues to bring to my life. Total and complete devastation followed by a few days of effort. The cycle repeats and repeats. Never to be broken. My wings have been clipped, shredded, and discarded. My soul and my spirit went with them. This marriage has drained me entirely: mentally, emotionally, and physically. My tank has been empty for months. I cling to promises of change and deposits, only to be let down days later when the hate resurfaces. I am a void. Nothing. I exist but I do not experience.
I can move forward with a focus on improving my communication and emotion management. The next person in my life will reap the benefits of my pain and broken wings. Maybe he will love selflessly and will be just as invested in my personal growth as I am in his. Until then, I am left finding and gluing my wings back together, piece by piece. Almost two years of my life are gone. A mistake I promise to myself, never to be made again.
Photo: Flickr – H_Elise