There is no easy way for me to make sense of this. I can neither quantify nor justify the way that I feel, only that somehow I still do.
I should be fine. I should be happy. I got my life partner back. Kids are happy. Finances are coming together. Job sucks, but nothing is perfect. And yet, the depression and the anger and resentment continue to burrow even deeper beneath my skin, tattooed to the fabric of my soul.
You see, what you put me through — it broke me. You allowed alcohol to take over your life; nearly claim it, and it took months just to figure out even what to do. You cried suicide, more for attention than anything, and eventually agreed to rehab, but it was like pulling teeth just to get that far. All the lying and the yelling and accusing just wore me down to a stub, but eventually, while laying in a hospital bed, you finally agreed to go.
Win for us, right? Were it so easy…. You fought, you cried, you threw a tantrum, over and over again. You made it clear you didn’t want to be there, away from your family. How many times did you threaten or demand to leave throughout the months? You left me alone, to make some fucking hard and uncomfortable decisions to best care of our family so you can get sober, and your entitled ass didn’t want to put in the work to become somebody we wanted to come back. Yet, somehow, you managed to stay put while I struggled with the day to day life of single parenting, thanks in large part to my mom, who is the only reason I’m still here.
But you see, it got so much worse for me. For months, I struggled so heavily with everything: our relationship, my own worth and value, how to take care of the kids so they don’t feel the strain I was feeling. I did everything I could for you out of love. Wrote letters frequently, took every phone call you were allowed. Came to see you with the kids at every opportunity to hopefully give you the motivation you needed to see this thing through, and yet the fighting and the pushback continued. For months, you continued to fight where you were and resent me for what I was trying to do without you.
I never told you this, and likely never will, but I was heavily suicidal the entire time this ordeal was going on. Every. Single. Day I had to find something just to keep me here because of how low you have brought me. All the lying, manipulation, accusing, etc. was just more than I could mentally and emotionally take, considering that none of this shit was even my fault. I had a lot of talks with my mom. I had a lot of talks with a couple mentors and friends just trying to figure out how to get through it all. As the months dragged on, I needed to physically distance myself from you just so I could hear myself think, because my thoughts were drowned out by your condescending voice.
Although it was a slow process, I began to find peace of a sort as I weighed exactly what moving forward needed to look like. Clearly, we were incompatible still. You continued to rebel against the system, convinced you were “cured” and there was no point in remaining in the program, despite all the red flags and guidance from your counselor. As broken as I was without you, I realized I had to start looking at what life might be apart from you, permanently. I had to process multiple scenarios that involved our separation and be willing to take care of myself and our kids in the wake of your inevitable failure to remain sober or, at the very least, sober but divorced. It practically took the very last ounce of my mental strength to accept this as the correct course of action, and even then it still took a while to come to terms with that decision. Yet when I did, I finally began to find peace. I reconciled my inner self with the thought of leaving you and, if you happened to maintain your sobriety, remain amicable for the sake of the kids, and if not, prepared to fight for them, for their sake. It was the first time since this nightmare began that I actually found peace in all of this, and the more I thought and planned for that eventually, the more peaceful my spirit became. You had begun to prove to me that we were incompatible. I had every reason from the beginning to leave, but still chose to stay for your sake and the kids, holding on to a feeble hope that you would have a change of heart, but it never came. I grew so tired and weak from fighting with you, that I finally realized it was time to let go and move on, however that would look like.
But you see, life has a tendency to fuck me over. I never got an opportunity to act on this new-found peace and begin that process of letting go. Because, as though you knew exactly what I was thinking and about to do, that “change of heart” came. It had been 7 months of fighting, but finally you submitted just as I found my peace with letting you go. You agreed that your time there was necessary, and you’d stay as long as needed. You found your own peace in God, displayed remorse, and wanted to finally work towards fixing things.
Wonderful news, right? Wrong, I was shattered…. I had no idea how to react or what to feel, other than my whole world crumbling around me. See, I had a plan. I knew what I had to do, and now you took that from me. I just couldn’t. I was obligated to give you a chance and see how long this “change of heart” would last, as I was sure it was just another manipulative ploy, but it held up.
Before I knew it, you graduated and were allowed to come home while simultaneously given a paying job at the rehab center, forcing me to pull out my fake smile and façade once again for the benefit of all. And although there were obvious changes and improvements in your mental well-being and outlook on life, I still continued to feel left out and unimportant. My depression sank its teeth even deeper into my soul and has yet to let go, nearly one year later.
You found your sobriety: great. You found Jesus: wonderful. We saved the house, despite accumulating immense debt in the absence of your paycheck: awesome. But while you were basically given a months-long vacation to work on yourself, most of which you whined and bitched through, I was entirely broken and shattered by everything that took place and the burdens forced upon my back. You’re the one that fucked up and caused the whole mess, but I’m the one that had to bear all the consequences. And then you get to come home happily and move on with life as though it never happened?
While you may have discovered a deep and meaningful relationship with God in the last couple months of your recovery, I completely lost what little that I had. I have lost all purpose and motivation for my future, and I just feel trapped, perpetually drowning in my own hopelessness. If only you knew exactly how close to the point of no return I truly was, maybe you’d think twice about forcing me to suppress my own demons in order to help you handle yours almost every, fucking, day. I don’t get to have bad days or show how much I am struggling, because they cause you to have bad days and so I have to suck it up to take care of you.
We may be married, but I have never felt so alone and unappreciated. I’ve fallen back into the depths of suicidal thinking and I really see no way out. It would be far easier than trying to face any sort of confrontation or conflict. I missed my window and I have yet to forgive myself for it. I have no friends here. No support. I am as isolated as ever in my endeavor to continue sacrificing myself for the well-being of others.
But it’s okay. I love you. You’re my favorite.
