It is strange when you feel ready to start moving on. Not in terms of dating, but in general terms of life. I suddenly want to decorate the apartment I've been living in for two months. I'm picking out color schemes and wondering "Why not pale pink and grey? Why not live in a place that girly and absent of mounted animal heads? Why not make my apartment somewhere comfortable, safe, and a reflection of me?"
So much of our old house was not mine. He owned it before we got married; he never failed to remind me that it was his house (even when he lost his job and I made the payments). He reluctantly agreed to let me paint. He begrudgingly agreed to move my new bedroom set into our bedroom (thus moving his 20 plus year old set into the spare bedroom). Even then he complained about it the entire four years we were married. He kept insisting on filling the small living room walls with mounted deer skulls. He almost always refused to get rid of anything to make room for me and the few things I owned.
Now my apartment is smaller, but it's being filled with the things I love. There are no arguments; there is peace. I have not had peace in my home in such a long time. I honestly forgot what it was like to be happy at home.
So, I'm decorating my living room in pink and grey, and my bedroom in blue and tan. I'm hanging pretty pictures on the walls, and using floral prints wherever I want. I'm only bringing things into my home that make me feel happy. I think this would be a wise rule for everyone to live by.
Like I said, it is a strange feeling to want to start fresh, to want to purge your life of everything that was unhealthy, that evokes bad memories. Don't get me wrong, there were some good memories in those four years, and I try to remember them.It's hard though when there's so much hurt. I still have regrets and remorse. But I also have hope, and this strange feeling is a good kind of strange.
Saturday, January 23, 2016
Monday, January 18, 2016
The End
I can remember knowing that there was trouble was brewing for quite a while. I can remember the fights, the tears, the feeling of being utterly alone. I can remember his words; I can remember my words. I can remember it all.
I can remember the night I found out. I did not sleep that night. I read every message in his phone. I read about his affair. I read about how he regretted marrying me. I read about how his mother knew and said nothing "so as not to make him angry."
And suddenly it all made sense. What I had suspected for months was right there in black and white, staring at me, mocking me. I was sick, physically sick. I left, told him I wanted a divorce, and had moved out within a week.
We didn't speak for nearly two months. When we finally did, it was our wedding anniversary. He called. I cried, we talked about possibly working things out. I tried. I saw him once a week for about a month. But then I again found more evidence that he hadn't really changed, and more importantly, I had changed. I was no longer willing to put his happiness and feelings before my own. I was done for good; I had reached the end.
This is were I am starting over. Yes I had moved out, but many of my belongings were being stored. It was as though unpacking in my apartment would make things final. Then I realized that things have been final for some time. My heart didn't break the night I found out about the affair (affairs if you include emotional affairs as cheating, which I do). My heart started breaking probably 2 1/2-3 years ago. I can't pinpoint the beginning of the end, as it wasn't one singular event. My ex had spent the past few years criticizing me constantly, telling me I wasn't good enough. I walked on eggshells not to make him angry. Meanwhile, the anger inside of me began to grow until I was like a volcano constantly on the edge of eruption. And yes, I did erupt often near the end of our marriage. I said my fair share of cruel words to him, also; I told him I hated him more than once. I wasn't proud of that. I'm still not. Our relationship had not been healthy for a long time.
This blog is my attempt to channel this pain into something productive; to learn to love myself again; to heal the scars. This is not an attempt to bash my ex (even though this post may seem that way). I have forgiven him, and pray that he finds peace and forgiveness within himself. This is my journey.
I can remember the night I found out. I did not sleep that night. I read every message in his phone. I read about his affair. I read about how he regretted marrying me. I read about how his mother knew and said nothing "so as not to make him angry."
And suddenly it all made sense. What I had suspected for months was right there in black and white, staring at me, mocking me. I was sick, physically sick. I left, told him I wanted a divorce, and had moved out within a week.
We didn't speak for nearly two months. When we finally did, it was our wedding anniversary. He called. I cried, we talked about possibly working things out. I tried. I saw him once a week for about a month. But then I again found more evidence that he hadn't really changed, and more importantly, I had changed. I was no longer willing to put his happiness and feelings before my own. I was done for good; I had reached the end.
This is were I am starting over. Yes I had moved out, but many of my belongings were being stored. It was as though unpacking in my apartment would make things final. Then I realized that things have been final for some time. My heart didn't break the night I found out about the affair (affairs if you include emotional affairs as cheating, which I do). My heart started breaking probably 2 1/2-3 years ago. I can't pinpoint the beginning of the end, as it wasn't one singular event. My ex had spent the past few years criticizing me constantly, telling me I wasn't good enough. I walked on eggshells not to make him angry. Meanwhile, the anger inside of me began to grow until I was like a volcano constantly on the edge of eruption. And yes, I did erupt often near the end of our marriage. I said my fair share of cruel words to him, also; I told him I hated him more than once. I wasn't proud of that. I'm still not. Our relationship had not been healthy for a long time.
This blog is my attempt to channel this pain into something productive; to learn to love myself again; to heal the scars. This is not an attempt to bash my ex (even though this post may seem that way). I have forgiven him, and pray that he finds peace and forgiveness within himself. This is my journey.
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