It’s been 6 months since my world fell apart. 6 months since everything changed. Who I am. Who I thought he was. Who we are.

It both feels like it was so far away and like it was yesterday. It’s such a strange space to be in. There is a part of me that feels like I should be over it. I should be moving on. I should just forget it all happened. But there is another part of me that just can’t.

The Nightmare

I had a nightmare last night. The first dream I can remember in months. The first dream I remember in months was enough to wake up crying.

I dreamt that I took him back. That he and I were going to make a go of it all again. We had talked and come to terms with everything. I remember being so happy. We were together again. He was choosing me. He wanted me. Then, it happened again. It was happening all the time I thought he was choosing me. He had not stopped. I caught him. Again. And it hurt just as much as the last time.

The dream, or nightmare rather, I think serves as a reminder of what I can look forward to if I ever take him back.

The Stranger

I still remember the look in his eyes as he told me he had a girlfriend. I still remember the lack of caring when I told him I wanted a divorce. I still remember every time he defended her (she never wanted us to divorce. She wasn’t a bad person. Blah, blah, blah). I remember each time he blamed me for his choices (I had tattoos, he hated them. I was fat. I wasn’t attractive. Blah, blah, blah). I remember each time he added a condition to his love for me (I needed to be in a fitness class for him to find me attractive. I had to be initiating all sex. I had to be wearing make up and pretty dresses. Blah, blah, blah).

I have considered the idea of dating. Of getting back out there. To finding that someone who may love me for who I am and what I look like…

But I don’t know if I believe that exists out there for me anymore. Rationally, I know it does. It has to, right?

But then I remember. I remember the man I committed my life to, the man I just spent the last 20ish years with, the man I thought would love me no matter what, didn’t. He just didn’t. He didn’t love me for me. He didn’t accept me for who I was. He didn’t.

And if he couldn’t, then who would? (obviously, I know he is not everyone. It is just one of those doubts).

The Anger

There are so many times I am so angry at him. The reasons change. Obviously, anger for what he did. But then I’m angry he wasted my time. I’m angry he didn’t bother to tell me any of this. I’m angry he allowed me to believe we were happy. I’m angry he decided I wasn’t good enough. I’m angry he was too much of a coward not to just divorce me. I’m angry for the damage to my mental health. I’m angry he didn’t care of my physical health. I’m angry he exposed me to those things you are exposed to when you don’t practice safe sex. I’m angry he changed the terms of our relationship without telling me.

And in 6 months time, you would think that anger would go away. No. In fact, I didn’t feel anger until 3 months in. Before that, all I felt was hurt and desperation. I was so desperate to keep him.

After the first 3 months though, I finally got angry. I wanted him to feel what I felt. That desperation and that pain. I wanted him to fully understand what he had done.

Well….

The Realization

He doesn’t. I don’t think he ever will. And I think that is just the way it is. He wasn’t in love with me the way I was with him. He made his choices. Those were the choices he believed were best for him, and what was best for him was to destroy our lives together. For him, the benefits outweighed the risks. They outweighed the consequences.

As much as it hurts, as much as I can’t understand, it’s really not for me to understand anymore. These are his values. They don’t match mine. All I can do is detach and move on.

I know deep inside me I can’t trust him. I don’t look at him in the same way. I don’t love him as fully and completely as I did. I will never give him my heart again.