This day has been hard.  So draining.  I am so ill.  I am going to take nyquil tonight, which means it is very severe.  Just so achy and spinny and sick feeling.

I devoured some dinner and some doritos though, so, all will be looking up in the world.

I do not know where to even start.  The TIDAL WAVE hit today harder than it ever has.  It knocked me down, all the way down, and washed over me, but not in a calming beautiful way, in a shit destroying my body and couldn’t breathe way.

I called him to come over.  I needed something.  I was not surviving the moment.

They say: One foot in front of the other.  Keep on keeping on.  Seek your own fulfillment.  Find joy in the little things.  Fondly recall the good memories.  Breathe.  Just get through one minute at a time.  Sit with the pain, wait and it will go away.

Not so much.  None of it.

After he left, I talked to my online friend turned phone friend.  I texted with others.  I talked to my BFF, who I have loved for only 4 years of my life but feel like multiple lifetimes.  They all tried to be “supportive” but nudge me towards the reality, that we need time apart.

My brain knows that but my heart hasn’t given up.

My bff reminded me of how horrified and terrible I felt the first time I shared with her what my life was like.  She was in disbelief, because on the surface, we are the perfect little family.  I remember telling her that I couldn’t go the rest of my life being faithful to him, because I simply needed, craved, NEEDED to be seen.  Needed to be wanted, desired, noticed.  That I loved the gym so much because that was the only place people would notice me and look at me like I’m attractive.  That maybe an affair wouldn’t be “that bad” if it helped me get through life living in my loveless marriage with the man I love.  I said these things to her 3.5 years ago.  Tea in hand, babies sound asleep beside us.  It was a night that quite possibly, my husband had sex with another woman.  A night he was gone doing his “thing” that he often preceded with a prostitute, I now know.

I remember telling her how wrong I knew it was to say those things, but that I loved my husband so much, it was just that he didn’t see me, but I wanted to be with him, but he didn’t fulfill me even 10% of the way.  Didn’t want me, couldn’t hug me.  Wouldn’t kiss me.  Didn’t want sex with me.  His body language always faced out.  He wore clothes and looked a way that he could have easily changed but chose not to, ever, despite knowing what appealed more to me.  The kisses felt like something I’d do with an aunt.  The hugs were impossible.  The hand holding was pleasant, like I do with my kids.  He did every single thing in how power to be unattractive to me, but it didn’t matter, I loved him anyways and wanted only him.  Everything was a complaint.

I had told her back then how I prodded him to compliment me sometimes.  She was in disbelief that someone as warm, loving, beautiful, and sexual as me was experiencing real life like this.  Without being seen, noticed, felt, touched, wanted.  When I told her in 2009 what my sales had reached that year, she was astounded, she was so proud of me.  She filled me up with joy and amazement when my husband did NOTHING.  Nothing.  He did nothing.  Ever.  Was never proud of my accomplishments.  I *asked him* to celebrate my accomplishments and he made me a craft star, which was cute and sweet, but not exactly in proportion to the accomplishment.  When he got a raise, I’d cook his favorite dinner or nudge to go out somewhere and try to follow it with sex.  But those nights he was too tired.  And now I know that when we did rarely have sex, he fantasized that I was someone else.

She told me that she knows I want to get to the finish line, and that I so badly want to get to the finish line WITH HIM, but that shortcuts there won’t be a real win that I would feel good about forever.

She reminded me of how much I regretted having him “move out” for only a few DAYS when he cheated in 2003.  How he moved out for 2.5 weeks when I couldn’t take the deprivation any more and filed for a divorce in 2006.  She is right.  Always, I have said that I have two regrets in life.  Circumcision of my perfect babies and not taking more time during those break ups.

Why did it matter, why did I always wish I’d taken more time?  Because I wondered if that would have changed things.  I wondered if my life and my relationship would be different if I’d given it the time to breathe, to settle, to come to real realizations that we do need time apart, time to heal.

Those times were not ever going to be effective because he hadn’t confronted his demons yet, not even close.  He possibly was cheating on me during the break ups even.  It doesn’t matter now.

What matters is that I HAVE this opportunity.  This is the time to take back what I wished I’d taken so long ago, multiple times.  It is fucking hard.  There are no words to describe the hardness.  But maybe whats hard is worth it.  Maybe it’s not.  Maybe we could heal just fine living together but him sleeping elsewhere in the home.  Maybe not.  I don’t know.

Oh, one other wonderful thing she told me: I’m in a war right now.  Not with him, just with the whole world, the whole universe on my shoulders, waiting for me to be weak and break down.  And while sometimes I WILL be weak and break down, I must be prepared.  That means that when I am not weak, I must take good care of myself.  I must eat healthy foods, not starve myself, exercise, shower, wear makeup, exit the house, smile with friends.  That way, when battle time comes back around, unexpected and in the darkness, I will be READY for it with all my might.

I love this girl.

Today when he was here and I was weaker than I ever have been, he did the honorable thing.  I’m so happy that I can say that.

He told me that as much as he wanted to be with me, he didn’t think we should make that decision based on emotions.  Thank god.  Still, I know not what the answer is.  I know nothing at all, actually – as in, NOTHING.  But I know that we will talk more about it on Saturday.  We have a call with Weiss on Wed morning and I see my therapist on Saturday.  We will see where we’re at after that.

#1 asked to sleep with me, just me and him.  That can only mean he is either feeling the need for closeness or wants to talk.  I am so grateful for him and for him finding a way to ask for that closeness.  He asks so rarely for this.  And when he does, deep conversations occur.  I love the shit out of that kid.

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