I hurt too much to write.
I have always been able to write through pain; through tumultuous teen years, an abusive relationship, my son’s illnesses, surgeries and social struggles, and through too many deaths to count. I have always been able to write.
But, six months ago my husband told me he wanted a divorce and now we are separated, and I still can’t find the words or where to even start.
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I guess I could write about the searing pain – of wailing and sobbing in my shower, screaming in my car, and crying every single day for months. I could tell you how I felt like my insides were torn from my body and my soul was ripped to shreds.
I could write about the anger I have felt, which has left me reacting about as inhuman as a person could. I have said the meanest things that have ever come out of my mouth.
I could write about the betrayal I feel and the deep sense of loss of the one person I thought would always be by my side. I could tell you how it feels worse than a death, because how can you mourn someone who is still there?
I could admit that I made mistakes, but I was always faithful and was willing to do anything to save my marriage. I would have found a way to make things better, to fight for my family, rebuild and honor the vows I made. I could tell you that he wasn’t willing to do the same.
I could tell you that my job and friends have saved my life, that I actually can’t bear to think about not being part of his family anymore, and that despite seeing the devastation that one person can cause, most people are actually good.
I could tell you how much I miss my dogs, the love of my life, and the world we built together.
I could say that moving on is a struggle of monumental proportions, but I am finding peace at times. I could tell you that retail therapy is a real thing, that it’s okay to have occasional panic attacks, and that you can still believe in fairy tales. Of course, you hope that the Beast becomes a prince and doesn’t stay a Beast, but everyone will appear to be Gaston; arrogant and back-stabbing
I could tell you that I will be okay. Someday. I don’t know if I will ever heal or if I will always feel this ache, or if this loss will always be the first thing I think about every morning and the last thing I think about every night, but I will be okay.
I could tell you all of those things. Maybe one of these days, I’ll find the words.