This week is probably going to get worse before it gets better. I keep trying to push it to the back of my head…but on the 23rd (3 days) I will have been married ten years.
It’s hard to believe that I have spent ten years trying so hard to make my marriage work. But some wise person pointed out if there was only one person working on it that it was unlikely to work. It’s strange to think I gave up who I was. That I twisted and contorted myself in an attempt to be the person he wanted, only for him to regularly tell me how I was no longer the person he married. No shit sherlock…I kept trying to change because you didn’t like a particular aspect of me.
I was such an idealist when I was young. After watching my mum go from my womanising father (who slept with my mums sister at his bachelor party and then her best friend when he got bored with how long labour – with me – was taking) to a psychotic emotional abusive dick to an alcoholic physically abusive moron…I was determined I would not put up with shit. I was going to find someone who loved me just as I was and who would support me and really share his life with me. I wanted love, affection and companionship. It didn’t sound like much and I always wondered why my mum put up with anything less.
And here I am – ten years of marriage later (and a relationship that spanned 12 years) and I am bitter. I gave him the best years of my life. I had his babies. I supported him through meeting his biological family and him not wanting to work and I even tried to make it work when he decided to go back to study full time…6 months before the twins went to school and I was juggling a new studio and a charity. I kept thinking why couldn’t he just wait 6 months…but I supported him (until I physically broke down and got violently ill from lack of sleep). I put up with him hanging out with 17 year olds when he was married and almost 30. I put up with him ditching work to play lego with his lesbian friend (yeah he got fired). I put up with him being fired and not telling me and “going off to work” each day until I found him at the library one day and he had to fess up. I put up with feeling stupid and small when he constantly corrected everything I did and said (do you know how frustrating it can be to hear “no, actually….” every time you say anything?). I put up with his flirting. With him getting drunk and making a fool of himself (and me). I waited twelve years for him to grow up and realise he had a wife and kids to support.
Urg. I hate myself just writing all that. I feel like such a fool. I feel like even more of an idiot when he is STILL sleeping on my lounge.
So this week I am going to rock up to Home Education Weeks park day – on my anniversary – and try to not be super bitter. I will have to answer questions yet again on why he is still living here (from the few people that know we are separated). I will put up with the looks of pity at the “poor pathetic fat mentally ill woman who now doesn’t have a husband”. I will try to smile and play with my kids. I will try to be informative and helpful to those new to home education. Then I will go home, eat a family size tub of baileys flavoured ice cream from Cold Rock, watch some crappy chick flick and think about getting a bottle of tequila before passing out from a sugar coma.
Hopefully I will avoid putting on my wedding dress, screaming at him “what’s so wrong with me???” and setting fire to myself.