A strong man will apologize when he is wrong, humble himself for the sake of the ones he loves, and face his wrong doings head on. I wish I married a strong man. His jaw will tell all.
Everyday I live on the edge…giving my heart, my love, my self just to be kept on the ledge, in the gray, near the edge. This edge keeps me from going back to my love, back to the beginning, before the betrayal, before the hurt, before the edge. This edge will stop me from going forward, with my love, for my self. He feeds the edge, fosters the edge and even creates the edge. I feel forever like I am living on the edge.
I am resilient, I am loyal, and I am faithful representing unconditional love day in and day out but one day I will stop. Not stop being loyal, not stop being faithful, not stop being strong but one say I will stop asking you to stay.
Fight after fight, I beg for your forgiveness and plead for you to stay. Not out of weakness but out of strength. It is harder to stay, harder to accept, harder to forgive but one day I will stop asking you to stay. So go ahead and pack your bags, send your goodbye text and leave the marriage because this time I will not ask you to stay.
They say trust is when ones’s words match one’s actions.
Is it too much to ask for what you say to match what you do…for me it’s not hard. “Do as you say and say as you do” is the old saying.
Then why are there discrepancies in what you say and what you do? If you are a women hater, why do you give so many women your time and attention? Why if you say you only want me, do you then find others? Why if you claim to be a private person, are you letting so many women in?
These discrepancies keep my trust at bay. These discrepancies are what making me question who you are…why you do what you do. These discrepancies strip me of what I think I know about you to only leave me with more doubt.
When will your actions match your words? When will there be no gap of discrepancies in what you do and say? That day will bring trust…that day will bring healing…that day will bring forgiveness. I long for that day.
Are some people born cheaters or possibly circumstance developed cheaters while others don’t have it in their DNA? I cannot fathom what it would be like to cheat on your spouse, on your loved one and then simply walk in the door, greet them with a kiss and lay with them in your arms at night. How can you just come home after such a huge betrayal and have dinner. And do I want that person who can do that in my life anymore???
I no longer see the face of the man I married…no longer see the eyes that captured me from the start or the soft features that showed me love. Alcohol has turned my husband’s face into another one all together. It was not age that changed my husband, not years of life effecting his good looks but rather the face of alcohol. This is one that, I believe, many others have seen take over their loved ones. Eyes darken becoming more direct and accusing…mouth becomes stern, free flowing of insults and negativity…cheeks tightened with tension. This is the face of alcohol that I see…when my husband has left, checked out with the bottle in hand.
When my marriage is on the verge of divorce every day…I asked my husband, is it us? Or is it the depression? Us, we can fix…work harder…talk sweeter…be kinder. With depression, it doesn’t seem to matter how kind I am, how positive I can be, how hard I try…the depression rears its ugly head at every turn. Good days turn to bad in the blink of an eye over a simple word, the wrong gesture or the absence of thought. How do you save a marriage when depression is your biggest opponent? Can I? Will he? Does it? Can I fix it? Will he get help? Does it matter? Too many unknown variables to decide. But I am here, day in and day out, still fighting my battle with depression…my battle with my marriage to depression…my battle having a husband with depression.
How many times do I need to be called a f**king selfish b*tch before it doesn’t matter? To be honest the first several times hurt like hell…then the next many times, you become numb to the cruel words. Name calling is done when an individual doesn’t have the tools to provide a better argument. Does that make it hurt less? No. Does that make it mean so little? No. Abuse is abuse in any form. How many times does it take before it hurts again. Hurt, numbness, hurt…that’s the pattern. I can let it go and numb myself to the words, knowing it is his own insecurity that allows him to be mean, but once an awhile it cuts to my core. When things have been good, it hurts more…it matters more. So how many times do I have to hear it before I don’t care anymore? I wish I knew…time will tell!
Leave it at the door…
This is something my dance teacher always told us…then later my boss…leave it at the door. Pretty straight forward to me. Whatever it was that happened in our day, we were to leave it at the door when we entered the dance studio. If we had a tough day emotionally, it was to be eliminated from our thoughts, our mood, our behavior, and our performance for the few hours we had to dance. It was to be left at the door…not to affect our well being while we danced. Then if we decided to pick it back up on our way out then that was our choice. We could take it back with us or leave the emotional baggage of the day at the door at the studio. Most chose to leave it behind. Smartly so…
This is the current state of my marriage.
After nine hours of surgery, six blood transfusions and alot of hope lost, hope gained…they took the uterus out. I am told it was the only way ti save me…And I get that. Trading my uterus for my life is not a difficult decision in the least. But it does not change the fact that it is an adjustments, it is a transition mentally from having childbearing come easy to not even being an option on the table. What was I to do now in order to have children? Take a long hard road to surrogacy, adoption, etc? Evem though they left my eggs, doesn’t mean I can get them out to do anyhing with in my life. Yes I have 5 kids…but only one of those is with my new husband. We wanted more biologically together. I have been told I was greedy for wanting more and being upset that the uterus was gone. But why can’t I mourn over the loss of my childbearing abilities? Why can’t I feel upset when the most womanly part of me is gone? I can…thats why. Women who have had a hysterectomy are allowed to feel sonething about losing that part of their life, no matter how old they are, no matter how many children they have, they are allowed. It’s even necessary to come to terms with the new you. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.