Love & Lies, Lies & Love

I realized a few months ago that I created my own monster. I didn’t mean to do it, didn’t try to do it, but it happened.  My monster was created over many decades.  It was a slow evolution.  One I did not see coming until it was too late.  

My monster is my husband.  Please, I do not mean in a scary, vicious, or physical way.  Not at all.  Years of caving in, years of doing what needed to be done, years of making all the decisions; that is how I created my monster.  All the things I did in our marriage to keep the peace are the exact things that are now driving me crazy and driving us apart.  

He was never a big talker.  As young teenagers in love and in lust, we talked about being together forever.  What did that look like?  A house, kids, cars.  The vacations we wanted to take, places we wanted to see.  Even now I am sitting trying to remember what we talked about on all the Sunday afternoon car rides we took.  Did we talk?  Or did I talk, and he listened?  Wow.  That just hit me hard.  Did we ever communicate?  Jesus, I honestly can’t remember.  We wrote each other notes.  I still have many of them.  He wrote about his love for me, how he feels about me.  At times he wrote about family issues.  He wrote about our future and how he saw it and what he wanted.  Did my personality overrun him to the point he just gave up and gave in?  I fucking hope not.  That makes me question everything we created or did together or said to each other.  FUCK ME.  I never expected to go down this road when I started typing this.  

His is very much like his dad was.  Quiet, introvert, shy.  That appealed to me.  He was cute.  He had a crush on me before I even knew he existed.  That spoke to my self-doubt and self-worth issues.  I wasn’t his first real kiss.  I was his first boob;vagina and I took his virginity.  He did not take mine.  I gave that away to a boy who I never even knew what his name (yes, I have my own special issues and I will never deny that).  

His parents were together from their early twenties, I believe.  My mom was going through divorce number three.  His mom controlled his family and his dad allowed it.  It was simply easier for his dad (as well as the kids in the house) to do what she said and what she wanted to make life easier.  She drank, a lot.  One day she loved you and the next day she hated you.  But you never knew why she decided to hate you.  Neither of us had June and Ward Cleaver as examples to follow and learn from.  But, then again, no one does, right?

I always vowed that if I ever had kids, I would never put my kids through the shit I went through.  I promised myself if I ever got married and had kids, I would NEVER say or think “I need to stay married for the kids”.  That is pure bullshit.  Kids know what is happening.  They feel it, they can sense it.  I did. Sorry for the rant.   Moving on.

Anyway, he proposed, I said yes.  We got married. I did all the planning, made all the decisions.  We bought our first home.  When I look back at that, I feel like we were happy.  I had lots of outside stress from a very invasive mother.  It caused fights in our marriage.  I should have never let that happen.  But much like the life he grew up in, it was just easier to give into my mother than to fight her.  If only I could go back and change all that.  I can’t. 

We had our first baby.  Again, I think we were doing pretty well for a young married couple with their first baby.  But again, my invasive mother felt she needed to see her grandchild every single day; sometimes it was twice a day.  Again, it caused fights and disagreements.  I would always try and be the peacekeeper.   Trying to find a way to make her happy and him happy.  I went out of my way to be the best wife and mother possible.  I did the cleaning, cooking, laundry, ironing, and worked a full-time job.  Baby number two came along three years later.  I’m still doing all my stuff, and doing the daycare drop off and pick up of two kiddos.  He worked very early in the morning until 4 or 5 in the evening.  He had a very physical and strenuous job.  He was exhausted by the time he came home.  I never held that against him.  But it did mean I had the bulk of kiddo duty.   Baby number three happened (SURPRISE) four years after baby number 2.  

At that point we were in a routine.  I did what I needed to do to make our lives work.  I did the bills, I did the cooking, cleaning, laundry, most kiddo stuff.  We did the soccer practice and games and all that together.  

I made financial decisions, I made medical decisions, I made all the decisions. Why?  Because I couldn’t wait weeks for an answer, because I don’t know doesn’t help me decide what bill to pay or not pay.  I don’t know doesn’t help me when our second kiddo has been diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that there is no cure for and there are medical decisions that had to be made.  I don’t know didn’t help me when I had to commit our third kiddo THREE times because of mental health issues.  I don’t know was the worst thing to hear when I asked what we should do when our third kiddo was diagnosed with a horrible mental health disorder.  Or when our third kiddo became a cutter, was getting beat up and thrown downstairs by a suitor.  

So, do you see it?  Do you see how I made my monster?  I made it acceptable for him not to help me make decisions.  I made it acceptable for all the “I don’t know” answers or even a blank stare to be an acceptable answer.  I made it this way.  I created my monster.  I allowed my monster to grow and fester and become what it is today.  I tried many times over the last 30+ years to explain to him what I needed from him.  I think heheard me, but nothing ever changed.  I just accepted the monster I made.  I put my head down and trudged forward. Its all I could do to survive.  

And now, all I want is out.  I need to have conversations.  I need to take deep dives into meaningless topics.  I need a true-lifepartner.  I want a true-life partner.  I deserve a true-life partner.  And he deserves the same.  

I found who I want, what I want. It was not intentional. It was and is……….beautiful. He knows every part of me. The good and the bad. He accepts me for what I am. I have told him things no one else knows. I bared my soul to him, and he did the same. I want to be with him, every fucking day I have left. I want to share my life with him. But what do I do with my monster?

Today is a day of what ifs.  My mind is full of them.  They are the things that keep me up at night, the things that send me into panic attacks, the things that make me question every part of my world.  Everyone has the what ifs, right?  

I realize that I am the only one that can make decisions for my life.  I have always allowed others to influence me and the decisions I make.  Why?  Why do I do that? Why do I allow others to impact my thoughts and feelings in such a huge way? 

What if, I had no conscious? I would already be gone.  What if, I was more logical minded? I would already be gone.  What if, I considered only my feelings? I would already be gone.

What if I leave?  What does that look like?  What does that feel like?  What would that be like?

What if I don’t leave?  What does that look like?  What does that feel like?  What would that be like?

I can’t answer the what if I leave questions.  

I can answer the what if I don’t leave questions. Nothing changes. There is no talking, no conversations, no communication. Surface talk is not what a relationship is built on or what a relationship can last on. I remain unhappy but pretend I am “fine”. He remains unhappy but will never admit it. We continue our routine. We go to our normal places, do our normal stuff and nothing changes. I continue to spend money to be happy, eat to be happy, drink to be happy, take the occasional pill to forget how fucking happy I am. He will continue to go along with anything and everything because it is just easier. Is that living? No. Neither one of us is living. We are merely existing. I’m tired of just existing. I want more. I have tried over and over and over again to tell him that. I have said the words, I sent the words in a text, I wrote the words in an email – nothing changes. The definition of stupidity is doing the same thing over and over expecting different results. I am the livingdefinition of stupidity.