It’s the middle of the night. I just awoke from a horrible nightmare. My husband and I lived together somewhere in a big dark city. He was taking shelves off the wall and the books came falling down. I went to help him. He was so, so cold.
I cried and tried to hold him and he pushed me away. I found a phone of his and saw photos of myself and I wasn’t fat. I had let myself go. I forgot I had the phone and I was sitting with my daughter when it rang. I answered it but said nothing. Her voice was young and chipper and happy, she said a sentence or two thinking she was speaking to my husband. Then I said, “I want you to know what it feels like to have your husband stolen right out from underneath you.”
She said, “I’m so sorry, _____ (my name).”
I said, “Shut up!”
I said, “You have no idea what it’s like to be in the middle of terrible financial troubles and emotional problems to have your husband suddenly become cold to you and treat you like a monster.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Shut the fuck up and die you stupid cunt.”
And then I awoke.
Went to the bathroom. Came back and took an ativan.
God help me.
It’s all because he was nice to me that one day and he seemed curious for the first time in forever about what I was doing.
Sometimes I think I should have lied to him about what I was doing last Friday when he asked. I should have said, “Driving to the coast.” And he’d say, “Oh? Who with?” And I’d say, “I’d rather not go into it.” And then you know what he’d say? He’d say, “Good for you. I knew you’d find someone fast. Is he good?”
So that’s why I told the truth instead. I had volunteer training.
I am so wiped out from that vivid dream. I was filled with the same desperation and despair I was filled with a few months ago in real life.
And I can’t even fathom getting to know another man’s body and letting him explore mine.
And since he was kind to me and laughed with me I have been thinking about him more. I am so mad at myself. Shit.
I think the moral of this story is to remember that he cannot be trusted. That he’ll continue to hurt me if I allow it. It turns out I can almost hate him.
I felt I had to write some of this down. I’m going to try to go back to sleep. Pleae, God. Help me.
I finally got some sleep and this morning went to take care of my 2012 taxes. It’s the last year I have to do to be all caught up and legal with the world again. I owe a little to state and federal. The feds will have to take payments from me.
I feel like such a fraud. As though I’m trying to be something I’m not. Yet I don’t want to be the loser person I fear I am. I am so glad I have an appointment with my therapist today because I feel utterly lost. I love my husband and I want to be with him and that will never be. So how long does that take to get over? At the same time he’s not right for me and I know I should move on.
If I look at my situation, bankrupt, living with my parents at 56, no job, I am so humiliated I can hardly cope. I was so smug when I had a home, a savings account, a 401k, a high credit score. Now I am not smug. I am mortified.
Here I am wanting to look the best I can and be healthy, wanting to work near “normal” people and do good in the world. Wanting to meet a respectable man who inspires and stimulates me. Am I deserving of that? I hardly think so.
It’s hard not to feel that if a nut like my estranged husband doesn’t want me, no one will. I will never, until the day I die, understand how and how he could flip a switch and no longer desire me or have any compassion for me. I will never get over that. It goes against everything I felt I knew in the world. At the very least, in our dysfunctional, codependent relationship, we always took one another back. Until now.
So I logically conclude that it must be because she is something special. And therefore that I am not special. I need help desperately.
I sent him an email in the middle of the night demanding the letter he’s been promising me for months that if he gets a settlement, he’ll give me half. He called me this morning angry with me for “threatening” him and not believing him as I “always did.” In the end I realized he was right. I was taking my nightmare out on him because I convinced myself he was only helping me with the website in order to lull me into a false sense of security. He says there’s nothing he can say to convince me otherwise and he’s right.
He also made sure to add that I was “driving him crazy” with all my worry about money and that he still has no money, but he doesn’t have the stress of it from me. He never comments on how hard it was to know we could not pay rent or utilities, but he had his hand out to me for money to go to the bar every night. But no. It’s all my fault.
And, the saddest news, but par for the course, is that I am now overwhelmed by my website. There’s so much to do and only me to do it. I can’t see how I thought it would ever be a money making venture. This is what I do to myself over and over throughout my whole life. Something sounds too good to be true, and I get started on it and then realize it’s too much for me. I am so sick of feeling that way.
I have to convince myself that the site will be what it will be and all I can do is my best. I owe it to myself to see if I can take it to the next level and that’s what I have set out to do this time. I just get so fucking pessimistic. No wonder no one wants to be near me.
I am sorry.
I honestly do not know if there is any hope for me. What I fear may end up coming true. Visits to the psych ward where my heroin addicted roommate might have lice. Living in a government subsidized apartment leaving me not enough gasoline to even go visit my daughter. Becoming obese again. That is my future if I do not fight with all my might.
Someone else in my shoes might go score some meth, buy some vodka, go have sex with a stranger. I would just go eat a tub of marshmallow cream.
I have to go on. I have to try. I have to do my best to be an example, no matter how late, to my daughter. I have to find the strength somewhere to go on and have a life that is filled with joy and not tears.
Readers, do not be too hard on me. My brain doesn’t work as it should. I apologize if what you see can (for you) be easily fixed. It’s not easy for me.
I had some avocado on toast and after it digests a bit I’ll go to swim. Later I’ll see my counselor. I pray that this evening I am back to being on track and feeling level again.
I must keep moving forward at all costs.