My husband is signing a lease today.  A $600 a month lease.  On top of our house payment.  On top of our $2000 a month, every month, on the credit card.  On top of our bills/heat/electric/phone.  On top of car maintenance, any medical things that come up, on top of my going out to eat with friends weekly, school supplies/clothes.  On top of the $600 a month we are dropping “therapy.”  How can this go on?  Our insurance is outrageously not helpful financially.

My husband is signing a LEASE TODAY.  We are living seperately.  I am literally and seriously seperated.  I am in this big house with no husband here.

How has it come to this?

My hands are bruised on the knuckles.  They never got bruised when I was boxing but they are bruised now, from my temper tantrum and blinding rage on Saturday.  My eyes have lost their sparkle.  All that’s there is emptiness and dread. My lips are swollen and have bloody scabs on them because I tore the dry pieces off of them, I look like I have been in a bar fight.  I’m down to 112 lbs because food does not sound appealing.  I secretly like this.  I know it is bad and is going to swing the other way all the worse eventually.

Last night I was paralyzed in the pain of a 103+ degree fever, picturing that as my symptoms felt worse and worse as the hours got later, that I might end up having a febrile seizure.  And who would be there to help me?  In my fevered state, I worried about the damage it would do to the children to find me having a seizure and not knowing what to do.  And no daddy in the house.  One responsible person, just one.  One parent here.

The kids got out to the bus and I wilted down the wall to the floor and just sat in disbelief.  I did not cry.  I cried yesterday when we hugged, when I told him.  When he left.  I have cried a lot but I did not cry this morning, not yet.  It just aches.  Every cell of my body, every bit of my soul.  It just hurts.  Aches and pains and screaming for help.  Help that I’m not in charge of.

I’ve given myself up to the universe, the god or gods, the whatever.  I feel dead inside.  Shocked.  Numb.  Dead.  And yet, I feel hope, I pray for his recovery, to overcome these demons, to come back to me when he is a whole person.  Dead yet hopeful.  Hopeless yet praying for a chance.

I’m here, going through the motions, loving and supporting my children, loving and supporting my husband from a distance.

How bad will it be if the only thing that keeps me going is to hold on to hope?  Hope for him recovering, overcoming his demons and coming back to me?  Is that going to be the demise of me?  How damaging is it to depend on hope to keep me keeping on?

The door knocked after bus pick up.  I knew it would.  I turned on the radio so #3 wouldn’t hear.  I didn’t want to talk.  I didn’t want to look strong and I can’t look weak to some people.

I’m meeting with the lawyer tomorrow and am writing down my lawyerish questions.

I just don’t understand.