It seems I've been preparing myself a little too long for what's about to come out. Until a few months ago, writing used to be a cathartic habit where thoughts would flow from my mixed-up head, arrange themselves inexplicably into something surprisingly coherent and end up on the screen of my laptop, where they'd be lovingly titivated and finally posted for all to see. But then I allowed myself to do something so terrible, that I could barely even live with myself for doing it, let alone writing about it. I left the man I married, the man I promised to spend the rest of my life with; who has supported me through thick and thin, who has without complaint, suffered every one of my emotional crises and who despite everything - loved me for who I am and never tried to change me.
I, on the other hand, tried to change him. With him I had love, security, companionship, everything in common, a place I knew I could always call home - no matter what I did wrong. And perhaps that was the problem. When someone is so passive, you end up trying, in vain, to provoke a reaction that shows passion and fire - because somehow (and this I still don't understand), unconditional love is simply not enough. There's something unsatisfying about being shrouded in complete and forgiving acceptance, that doesn't allow for unpredictability or excitement and makes for an uninspiring relationship, no matter how happy and content you ought to be on paper. After a while, you chip away relentlessly; trying to cajole them in any way possible into becoming the person you want them to be. But as any married person will tell you - people don't change.
Having just written all that, I now realise how ridiculous it sounds. Is the human condition so agonisingly ridiculous, that when we gain everything we aspire to have and find someone who loves us regardless of anything; who we love back, albeit a calm, peculiar kind of love that makes us feel comfortable and safe; we long to throw it away and opt for something risky and exciting with someone we hardly know?
In defence of what seems like my fickle and uncommitting nature, it took someone pretty incredible to prise me from this nine year relationship; despite the fact that it had reached the point of inevitable crumble, thanks to the detrimental and completely unforgivable things I was doing to my husband. Through no fault of his, I was searching for a way to inject the passion into my life that I so desperately needed, naively thinking this would sit comfortably alongside my marriage. When the cracks started to gape and even his accommodating nature started to falter, we were merely co-existing. Living miserably in the same house together, trying to force pleasantries and pretend it would at some point resolve itself, when all it did was get worse. His resentment for my double life, my guilt at the hurt I was causing him and my own resentment for the fact that I couldn't be completely free to do as I wanted without feeling responsible, was forcing us further and further apart - life together was becoming sad and draining and I couldn't see a way to mend what was essentially, never right in the first place. Every time I looked at him, my heart physically ached with sorrow and I was already loathing myself for what I knew I had to do when I met someone else who gave me the passion I needed.
What can you do to make it better?
Before you think I was married to some kind of celestial being whose name might have been Gabriel, he had his flaws. And if I sit and think carefully enough without being distracted by self torment, I can list them all and remember how much they pissed me off and ultimately, contributed to our eventual ruin. But when I'm in destruction mode and everything is my fault, nothing else is apparent but his sparkling halo and sweet nature. I break down often. I haven't yet come to terms with my decision to leave him and in between periods of blissful happiness and contentment in my new relationship, these dark spells of regret and anxiety that constantly loom over us, swoop in and cloak everything in negativity. My new man was patient to begin with, but it's wearing thin and my non-acceptance of a situation that I've created, threatens to ruin yet another relationship.
I try so hard and week by week it gets easier, but in true female style it takes just one, potent, pre-menstrual crisis to wipe out three weeks of plain sailing; and my new man has yet to learn what to do with me when this happens. And then there are the memories - not just the half fabricated ones that live in my head, where fairies danced down the garden path and then I (evil monster) came and took a big, metaphorical shit on a lovely pink rose that was opening up to the sunshine. Not those ones, but the real memories that come with hard evidence. Cards with sweet and silly poems that were written just for me; notes he left me when I was feeling low, because he always knew just what to say; photographs - reminding me of times that regardless of how things came to be, we were happy. What am I meant to do with those? Every time I find one in a boxed up pile of my former life, I go to pieces. I want to stop torturing myself with these things, so do I throw them away? Somehow that seems wrong - like I'm trying to pretend the happiness with him never existed. But as long as they exist and I can look at them, I can't move on.
Memories: here
There seems no other option for moving forward, than to cut myself off from everything that reminds me of my husband. But that in itself saddens me. A friend has told me to box everything up and hide it away in a dark cupboard somewhere, out of my sight and daily contact. Perhaps that's the answer - maybe I can accept and cherish those sentiments and memories once I am over the pain of this and we've both reached full acceptance of the situation.
But is it ever right to cherish a sentiment from another man, when you're meant to have moved on?
But is it ever right to cherish a sentiment from another man, when you're meant to have moved on?
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