Months ago I stopped sleeping in my own room, it was “our” room. Yes, I am in dire need of a new mattress – with that and the mix of being in my 40’s, I often woke up sore. I also stopped sleeping in there because it had an emptiness to it. All his things were packed up and dropped off to him last year, his presence was gone. Every once in a while I’d run across a rouge sock or t-shirt. I couldn’t fill the subtle yet constant void. No matter what nifty grounding technique I’d try or how I’d wrack my brain to re-frame it in my mind, it was still the bed that I fell asleep on his chest, in his arms on October 18th.
The person he is to me today, what he did to me that day, whatever label bestowed onto him has not one iota of relevance to change the fact I not only lost my husband that day, I lost him in a traumatic way.
That bed. That room. Was the very last space we shared, when I loved him forever and believed he loved me. I shared that last night, blissfully unaware that my world would change.
It’s been a very long time since I slept in that room. Sleep is now down stairs on the pull out, the lingering emptiness began to fade. I stopped waking up to that split second feeling of believing him there. The scent of him dissipated to nothing while the void filled with healing in its place.
Oh the good old days. Those were feelings of months ago, long before I accepted that the things he’s done to me, the emotional abuse was real. Well before I saw the manipulation – before I truly accepted that I was a victim to his fucked up shit. It was when I still loved him.
For months that room was empty and used for storage. Today, it’s just another room in my house. We did a room swap and now my 12yo has my old bed filled with fluffy blankets, funky pillows and too many stuffed ‘things’ to count. There is nothing of me in there. Nothing of him but another rouge sock that went right in the trash. No emotion or sadness. No battling feelings.
Healing is slow but it happens. I had to hold that nebulous idea during some very dark and hard days. Reclaiming my own life little by little. I can see how far I’ve come – standing there in a space that haunted me for so long. It was just a room now. No longer our room.
It took a long and hellish battle to get to the place where I see my life free of the horrible things he’s done. Every.single.time that a good memory or a fleeting flash of my life with him in the future sneaks in, I replace it with a hard and true fact of something cruel he has done.
Finding my free airfare tickets, I still defaulted to a flash of him and me going someplace. Then I remember that I was a level 2 trauma patient, in the hospital. While I was there, he didn’t give a shit because he was going on vacation with some chick he picked up in a locked ward. At the time, my “husband” – committing adultery, sharing a hotel room and bed with her was what mattered most. While his “wife” was in the hospital.
A good man, a good husband would have moved the world to be there for his wife. Not planning a Disney trip. I still wanted my marriage back at that point. It hurt me but the further out I go the more I see how fucked up that was. Who does that? Not a normal person, not a good person. Not a person I want to be married to.
That’s how he roles.
My surgery day in nearing, the pre-admit stuff is in order. They went through their questions… “are you married”. Fuck no – thank god, was my first thought.
I said separated. We updated my emergency contact and I won’t walk in for surgery on Monday feeling that shame of the unwanted and thrown away wife who is married with a husband who cares less his wife is having surgery to rule out cancer.
He’s busy anyway picking up 19yo on his mail order bride dating site. A profile filled with lies. I’m not the least bit surprised, seems the only consistent thing about him is you know something is going to be a lie.
It’s so nice not dealing with him anymore. No contact is the way to go. I am so ready to be the “ex-wife”. I’m so ready for our move and to know that he will not know where I live. One good thing that will come out of all the legal stuff is he will finally have a reason to hate me. I don’t think justice is a valid reason to get your hate on, but he can have that. With that comes no reason to ever talk or see each other. That is what I want to stay true.
I don’t want to have “no contact”. I want him not to exist in any realm of my life.
I will have surgery on Monday and my adult daughter will be there when I wake up loopy asking for donuts in the recovery room. This time instead of being crushed he isn’t there, I will be happy he is not.
Life goes on and this is good thing. The snow day off of school has turned to a lazy night, no more packing for our move. The house is still and quiet, house is clean, coffee set for tomorrow morning – the only waiting is for the pizza guy.
I have my family, everyone loved and valued – I have a home with love given and received. No emotional abuse, just bored games and pizza.
How fucking normal is that.