The start to a very long nine months
After the initial shock of admitting out loud that I was done. It took some time for it to set in elsewhere. Since everything started around the holidays, it was like an added layer of unknown. This person, whom I had been with for eight years, I didn't even know them, I hardly knew myself anymore. Over the months I had become such a shell of who I used to be, I heard doctors warn me that they were concerned, suggest that I seek out help for eating disorders, or remove my self from what they suspected was a very unhealthy environment. I went through a myriad of migraine medications, with nothing seeming to ease the nonstop pain going through my head. All of my stomach problems that had resulted in surgery years prior seemed to be resurfacing, and my 5'8" figure had wilted from a somewhat sturdy 170 pounds and size 10-12 womens pants, to 111 and barely a size 4.
Having gone through post pardum depression, and my knowledge in the medical field, I knew the signs. I knew that I was spiraling, I knew that I couldn't sustain this lifestyle very long. After my breaking point, I was hoping for some sort of relief, but there was anything but. Every decision I made was questioned. Marriage counseling was tried, and I admittedly said that I wanted very little to do with it, since I had given up any chance of hope for the sham of a marriage that I had been hiding for so many years. This was only used against me.
There were two separate weeks where he "moved out"- if that is the term that should be used. The first time it was right after Christmas, at New Years, and every day and night he was still over, visiting or calling. But this was the time that he realized that over the years he wasn't there... emotionally, physically, period. Throughout my various educational milestones, my difficult pregnancy, our sons arrival, and then each night in the NICU. He wasn't there to bring us home, for his first doctor appointment, for his surgeries, therapies... I was a full time married single mother, who had to extra burden of dealing with a husband who couldn't see beyond his own work and needs.
After that first week was when the marriage counseling was scheduled, by him. Something I plead for for years. In my mind, it was all just so little way too late. Why now, when I was so broken, beaten down and destroyed would you think that you could get the chance to fix everything? After the second "week away," which was supposed to be two weeks, but was cut short because I was not following the rules set forth ( I went to see my mother for her birthday and I intended on playing soccer on a league that I was a part of, both were against the rules that he set forth as part of him leaving the house, I was to have zero contact with anyone that could influence my decision to stay with him. My time was to be spent reflecting), the cracks just expanded.
Despite my efforts to stay strong, I kept thinking that maybe things could change. I would try to give him another week, and then the old habits would show through. The control, the insecurity, the comments. My fragile state just couldn't handle anymore. If I tried to speak my mind, I would get questioned, my answers and feelings just never correct, so silence just became my common retreat yet again. Any efforts that were put forth by him just seemed fake and forced, like someone trying to trap game. If you bait a hook, a fish may eventually bite, then you have them, hook, line and sinker... and I just didn't want to be that fish anymore, he had reeled me back in so many times with empty promises.
In a very cruel twist of fate, nearly three months after making the decision to tell him I was done, I ended up in the hospital with stomach problems yet again. Since everything else organ and hormone wise wasn't functioning it didn't surprise me. My GI doctor was ready to do a few more tests to rule out some obvious problems that could have stemmed from my prior surgery with my diverticula removal, and then he was sending me off for another diagnostic lap surgery. ER told me I was three months pregnant... Happy Friday the 13th. I had my mom come and sit in the hospital with me... as if I could handle much more.
I told my soon to be ex husband the next day... he looked at me and said "is it mine?" This man, the man that had been telling me how changed he was, how all he wanted to do was make me happy, that I was his world, the same man that installed a security camera on our driveway and then checked it every night he wasn't home, that told me after having emergency surgery with our son that I needed to lose a few pounds, that I couldn't recall the last time had said a single nice thing to me... This man had the nerve to say that. Then was mad that all I could do was cry that he could ask that of me. After 8 years, leaving my college dorm to live with him, deserting every friend I had, giving up my family events, secluding myself to the house, never going out or speaking to anyone of the opposite sex for fear that it MAY trigger some flashback of his girlfriends past- this man had managed to crush me again.
He swore this was a sign, that we were meant to be, that things were good. That this time around- he would be there, he would go to appointments, he would actually want to see our child on a monitor. I told him that all those words did was slice me in half. Not only do I now have to deal with having another child with someone I don't want to be with, but I have to watch you do everything you should have done with first time around when I had to watch them take my son from me when he was 4 hours old; Sit with my mom and a woman from the fire department as they wheeled him back at two months old for major surgery after EEGs, reflux studies and countless testings. How can you sit there and say that? Life isn't like a test... if you fail the first time, you can't just go back and re-take it.
At one year old, I watched a little boy sit, unaffected by the fact that his dad was never home, or would just get up and leave because whoever was calling on the other end of that pager was more important than the milestones that were happening at home. I had to fight to get him to play and interact with his own child, and NOW, now that this happened, it was just amazing and he could do it right?
All of these feelings were also wrong of me, and I wasn't allowed to voice them, because I wasn't asking him how he felt. On my dads birthday, March 9, the daughter I will never know was gone. The weeks that followed were strenuous, and shortly after I completely quit attending any form of marriage counseling and refused to put any effort forth. After being told that I wasn't being sensitive enough to his feelings and how could I not be asking how he was handling everything.
After what felt like a lifetime, and an endless number of conversations of saying that I was done, that I needed out, that I had no intention of continuing the marriage and that every time I tried to say that all he did was spend three hours talking in circles until I was made out to be the bad guy and convinced that I just need to put "more effort in" and "try harder." So the hammer finally got through to the concrete and on August 7 he went to see a lawyer about dissolution after we were able to come to terms about how to divide everything.
It felt as if the end couldn't come soon enough, yet I didn't really feel much of a "relief"- it was like a piece of me had died. I hoped this new life, this new job, this new county, new house, new space would bring me the peace I longed for for so many years.
Having gone through post pardum depression, and my knowledge in the medical field, I knew the signs. I knew that I was spiraling, I knew that I couldn't sustain this lifestyle very long. After my breaking point, I was hoping for some sort of relief, but there was anything but. Every decision I made was questioned. Marriage counseling was tried, and I admittedly said that I wanted very little to do with it, since I had given up any chance of hope for the sham of a marriage that I had been hiding for so many years. This was only used against me.
There were two separate weeks where he "moved out"- if that is the term that should be used. The first time it was right after Christmas, at New Years, and every day and night he was still over, visiting or calling. But this was the time that he realized that over the years he wasn't there... emotionally, physically, period. Throughout my various educational milestones, my difficult pregnancy, our sons arrival, and then each night in the NICU. He wasn't there to bring us home, for his first doctor appointment, for his surgeries, therapies... I was a full time married single mother, who had to extra burden of dealing with a husband who couldn't see beyond his own work and needs.
After that first week was when the marriage counseling was scheduled, by him. Something I plead for for years. In my mind, it was all just so little way too late. Why now, when I was so broken, beaten down and destroyed would you think that you could get the chance to fix everything? After the second "week away," which was supposed to be two weeks, but was cut short because I was not following the rules set forth ( I went to see my mother for her birthday and I intended on playing soccer on a league that I was a part of, both were against the rules that he set forth as part of him leaving the house, I was to have zero contact with anyone that could influence my decision to stay with him. My time was to be spent reflecting), the cracks just expanded.
Despite my efforts to stay strong, I kept thinking that maybe things could change. I would try to give him another week, and then the old habits would show through. The control, the insecurity, the comments. My fragile state just couldn't handle anymore. If I tried to speak my mind, I would get questioned, my answers and feelings just never correct, so silence just became my common retreat yet again. Any efforts that were put forth by him just seemed fake and forced, like someone trying to trap game. If you bait a hook, a fish may eventually bite, then you have them, hook, line and sinker... and I just didn't want to be that fish anymore, he had reeled me back in so many times with empty promises.
In a very cruel twist of fate, nearly three months after making the decision to tell him I was done, I ended up in the hospital with stomach problems yet again. Since everything else organ and hormone wise wasn't functioning it didn't surprise me. My GI doctor was ready to do a few more tests to rule out some obvious problems that could have stemmed from my prior surgery with my diverticula removal, and then he was sending me off for another diagnostic lap surgery. ER told me I was three months pregnant... Happy Friday the 13th. I had my mom come and sit in the hospital with me... as if I could handle much more.
I told my soon to be ex husband the next day... he looked at me and said "is it mine?" This man, the man that had been telling me how changed he was, how all he wanted to do was make me happy, that I was his world, the same man that installed a security camera on our driveway and then checked it every night he wasn't home, that told me after having emergency surgery with our son that I needed to lose a few pounds, that I couldn't recall the last time had said a single nice thing to me... This man had the nerve to say that. Then was mad that all I could do was cry that he could ask that of me. After 8 years, leaving my college dorm to live with him, deserting every friend I had, giving up my family events, secluding myself to the house, never going out or speaking to anyone of the opposite sex for fear that it MAY trigger some flashback of his girlfriends past- this man had managed to crush me again.
He swore this was a sign, that we were meant to be, that things were good. That this time around- he would be there, he would go to appointments, he would actually want to see our child on a monitor. I told him that all those words did was slice me in half. Not only do I now have to deal with having another child with someone I don't want to be with, but I have to watch you do everything you should have done with first time around when I had to watch them take my son from me when he was 4 hours old; Sit with my mom and a woman from the fire department as they wheeled him back at two months old for major surgery after EEGs, reflux studies and countless testings. How can you sit there and say that? Life isn't like a test... if you fail the first time, you can't just go back and re-take it.
At one year old, I watched a little boy sit, unaffected by the fact that his dad was never home, or would just get up and leave because whoever was calling on the other end of that pager was more important than the milestones that were happening at home. I had to fight to get him to play and interact with his own child, and NOW, now that this happened, it was just amazing and he could do it right?
All of these feelings were also wrong of me, and I wasn't allowed to voice them, because I wasn't asking him how he felt. On my dads birthday, March 9, the daughter I will never know was gone. The weeks that followed were strenuous, and shortly after I completely quit attending any form of marriage counseling and refused to put any effort forth. After being told that I wasn't being sensitive enough to his feelings and how could I not be asking how he was handling everything.
After what felt like a lifetime, and an endless number of conversations of saying that I was done, that I needed out, that I had no intention of continuing the marriage and that every time I tried to say that all he did was spend three hours talking in circles until I was made out to be the bad guy and convinced that I just need to put "more effort in" and "try harder." So the hammer finally got through to the concrete and on August 7 he went to see a lawyer about dissolution after we were able to come to terms about how to divide everything.
It felt as if the end couldn't come soon enough, yet I didn't really feel much of a "relief"- it was like a piece of me had died. I hoped this new life, this new job, this new county, new house, new space would bring me the peace I longed for for so many years.
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