Slow day and low day. Stayed over with my friends last night and hung out this morning. When I left their house this afternoon I felt a pit in my stomach, like that hollow feeling I would get on Sunday afternoons as a child before my my parents dropped us three kids at the bus that would take us back to boarding school.
My friends have become my support team and my everything. They got engaged in May, I have known my friend since I was nine and her now fiancé since I was 19. Little did we know back then that when we were in our twenties we would be in their house together picking up the pieces of my broken heart and my divorce. The two of them are salt of the earth, the type of people that show no judgement, never, not even to my husband. When I am with them and my best friends and my family then it just is what it is. I’m getting divorced and it is what it is. It isn’t good or bad, it just is and we are just going to deal with it together and move forward.
For the last 7 months or so I have been in limbo. Not a child anymore as I separated from my family, not a girl in a group of friends, and not a wife because my husband made it quite clear that marrying me was a mistake and said I was not ready to be a wife. I was hanging out in limbo, neither here nor there. Little did I know that there was no need for limbo, we are complex beings and we are many things, wives, sisters, friends, daughters. My husband’s splitting into black and white thinking however meant that I was a wife and a wife only, and I quite clearly failed at that so he labeled me a child – though I failed at that too as I quite adequately separated myself from my family. But I was a sponge, for everyones feelings and emotions and I just took in and internalised all the things he said, I loved him so, I of course believed him and he believed he was always doing what was best for me.
Now I belong. I am starting to feel that I belong again. When I visit my friends I lie on their floors in the TV room and I paint my nails and do yoga poses whilst waiting for them to dry and I unpack their dishwasher and fold their laundry. When I am at my bosses house, I celebrate Shabas with them on a friday night and even though I am not Jewish, I somehow belong and her dad tells people I am his daughter as well. I am staying in a cottage behind my uncles house and I walk his dog Chester and I snuggled under blankets with his fiancé on their couch, who has now become an aunt to me and sometimes a mother figure as she hugs me every time she see’s me, even if its 4 times a day. My brother phones me and we laugh about being perfectly lonely and single and about being each others wingmen. My sister is coming to visit this weekend and I cannot wait to see her and my brother in law and the little kids, I haven’t seen them all since March.
For the past 8 months, I panicked when the coffee was finished in our house because I was afraid of irritating my husband. I tried to keep the kitchen spotless according to his standards in fear of him telling me I was living in a pig sty (which he told me anyway so not sure I was so scared). At our house, when a flower died in the garden it was because I didn’t care for it properly, it wasn’t because that particular flower only bloomed for six weeks a year. And eventually in our house, it was not my house, it was my husbands house, as long as he was paying for it, it was his house, never ours. I eventually didn’t even water the garden because I lost interest in the garden as I was going to kill everything anyway, I somehow managed to keep the kitchen clean but on some days burst into tears when the dishes piled up because it seemed like a mountain I had to climb. I wasn’t bothered about what I wore anymore despite working in fashion, so I wore jeans and really long tops that covered my thighs because I started to despise my body and myself so much. When I saw myself in the mirrors at the gym I would run out because I couldn’t handle the sight of myself.
Last year this time I was planning my wedding, my husband and I were training for a marathon together and I was so in love with cooking that I cooked a brand new dish almost every night. We spent weekends lying on the couch watching movies and drinking wine and laughing. I paraded in lingerie because I was so confident in myself and he often carried me to bed in his arms. We already named our children and we wanted to get another dog and on weekends I hid in the spare room making my wedding dress and always kept the door locked so he wouldn’t even get a glimpse at the fabric or even find a pattern piece lying somewhere because I wanted my dress to be a surprise and I wanted him to cry when he saw me at the alter.
Now I’m just baffled and I sometimes think that I must clearly be suffering from some sort of mental illness way beyond my belief to not even notice any signs in the 3 years and 3 months before we got married. Of course if I look back now then yes, the signs were there. Literally two days before we got engaged the two of us had a huge fight and he said we needed to take a break from each other and be alone for a while, and then two days later he asked me to marry him and I said yes! And no, I didn’t say yes because of the magnificent ring (despite the fact that I have been labeled a gold digger -he doesn’t even have money so thats quite a wild accusation), it was because I genuinely loved this man and wanted to spend every second of my life with him forever. We got engaged and two months later we had a massive fight at a restaurant, me in tears, of course, and when I asked why he even asked me to marry him if this is the way he was feeling, he said ‘because I had already bought the ring’. How bizarre, what a creative answer. Of course there was the time that he got so drunk and kissed a lesbian – somehow I found it in me to forgive him because I loved him so and he was really drunk and whilst I was so horrified at what had happened, he promised he would never do such a thing again and he cried, that is how sorry he was, and I forgave him. When we met I had an eating disorder and bright orange hair (I was 19, it was a strange phase, I did look awesome with orange hair though just like Haley Williams) he thought I was attention seeking, he just didn’t tell me, I only found out about this recently.
So were there signs? Yes. Did I see the signs? Yes probably, i just didn’t read them as signs, all the signs were blocked out completely by the sound of his voice, his charm, his dry sense of humour, his incredible mind and intelligence and his soft touch. And sometimes there are moments when I wonder if he did actually love me or if he loved what I gave him. Many times he would comment how he feels sorry for friends because they all have kids and boring old wives and he has a hot young wife that is 8 years younger than him, how everyone was jealous of him. He told me he would miss my body when we decided we would get divorced, which was nice I suppose. I do however now feel like a little dumb trophy wife. I know that is not what I was to him, but I cant help feeling that way. Which is absolutely ridiculous, if I was 6ft tall with legs up to heaven and luscious blonde hair, then yes I would maybe understand. However I am 5ft tall with a brown bob and a really crooked nose (which strangely I have learned to love).
I’m just so baffled. I know he loved me, just in a way that wasn’t right for him or for me? I don’t know, I often find myself feeling incredibly confused. Because I know he loved me, I felt his love and I know I love him.