Mourning

I did not sleep well. It was an unfitful sleep, and I know why.  Yesterday, he took the last of his things from what was once our marital home, now mine alone.  His items have been in the garage, his tools, Uncle C's stuffed fish that we used to laugh over as a family.  Now gone at my request, finally.  And I find myself mourning again.

People may not understand how I can feel this, given what I have said about his behavior these last few years, neck grabbing, poking and pinning behavior, his cursing at me profane words.  Scaring and intimidating me. PTSD. And now that he is out and I will not talk to him directly, his behavior now including his refusal to pay for childcare so I can work- a small monthly sum compared to what he makes (preferring instead to spend it lavishly on himself, his girlfriend, and on being Disneyland daddy.  Not "complying" to our stipulation agreement, as the lawyer says.

I am mourning because he was a good man, my "family" from the time I met him at 21 to 47 up until he first grabbed me.  My person who was there through thick and thin, and I for him.  At least in the way he was able to be accessible, undiagnosed disorder notwithstanding all these years.  Lending itself to countless misunderstandings, countless arguments, until he was finally, properly diagnosed.  Yet the misunderstandings continue; that beast has grown.

It was a unique situation and I own some of the brunt of why our relationship struggled,  My low self esteem, my need for financial stability resulting in my taking the primary  control in what I thought was the best interest of us and the children.  I was better at it, and he was not interested in the details even as I begged him for us to sit down and go over the bills and investments together on a regular basis like "real" couples do.  I didn't want to take the responsibility all on my own. I was controlling, because someone had to do things, I felt.

But we did laugh.  And love.  Our children were happy and secure because mom and dad were a unit.  He worked ALOT, which precluded me from doing so. No family to help, refusing to do the nanny thing when the little ones were so young.  But it was okay, I accepted the role because our kids needed that stability and I thought (no, KNEW) that we, as a couple, wanted the family unit.  And notwithstanding, I tried to keep my skills fresh and marketable for the "someday" when the kids were older and I could return to work for us.  Until then, we lived a good life.  Monthly poker games with our couple friends. A comfortable life. I cleaned, shopped, structured family and kid activities, took care of our bills and investments, and met with friends and exercised to keep sane. He had to be gone for work from 6am (up at 4:30 to get ready) and home by 6:30, five days a week.  Spent by the time he got home, we would eat dinner and then he would crash. He worked hard, and was a good provider in this way.  and I did the rest.  Over the years, it became lonely, so lonely.

I could not understand why my partner did not want to talk when he got home, he was fried but I was so lonely for his company.  I had friends, but he was my husband, my person, I thought.  I have known him since he was 24 and we knew each other to the bone, or so I thought.  And I did not know he held such secrets close to his heart, but the truth is, neither did he.  I loved him and yes, I still do.  No caveats (ie, as the father of my children crap).  I love him, my once husband, friend, and (irregular, because I pushed him away; I was hurting and he shut himself off long ago emotionally) lover. 

I did not want to make love to someone who I felt was acting like another kid, no responsibilities at home nor in our personal lives.  I was so, so lonely. But I did not know what to do. Counseling wasn't helping.

Two years now, he has been gone and we do not talk except via email and texts.  He is angry, how could I be this way- I truly think he believes.  He will make me pay, the person who caused him so much pain and embarrassment for making public his closely guarded secret.  He will show me, or perhaps, in true death knoll fashion, not give a shit about me (or hence what effect that means on the kids). 

Because he knows that I "betrayed" him by writing on an anonymous forum about his disorder and his abuse.  Violating a confidence, he felt, though I had not spoken to anybody at home, and we were separated at the time.   My husband wasn't living at home, I missed him, my family.  I was falling apart. so so lonely and desperate. Desperate to talk to someone.  But it was out now, this deep secret to which he accused me of thinking him "broken".  And it was between us, he knew that I knew about his struggle and thought I now saw him as "less than". I never did. 

I never would.  All I felt was renewed hope that our relationship could be truly connected again as we were when we were younger and with less obligations (ones that I ultimately had to take over).  Our sex life now flourished because I now understood these years of what I thought was extreme disconnect, or so I thought.  I was rejoicing because I might see my partner again. He enjoyed at that resurgence, yet interpreted it as validation that his angry and abusive behavior effected the change in my behavior. Frightening thought, it makes me grieve more that he could possibly think that.

But he never believed that I wanted his help, his input.  His growth and happiness in who he was as a man.  I would have given everything for him.  Ironically, he is so proud that he can do these things himself now, in fact demands it.  Its all I wanted, but with me in the decision-making process, like a team or a married couple.

But he is still doing it: the all or nothing. Crazy making. Him vs me.  Him vs the world.  With a partner (aka my replacement, his girlfriend) to buffer and pad his life and joy.  Its all sparkly again, without big bad me.

And now his things are gone.  The void is there, the grief is there.  The fact that he was not strong enough to face his vulnerability without blaming or hurting me, his pain overriding all else.  Triggering his survival instinct to claw like the animal he now acts like towards me.  

A small act, but I saw it.  He used to place our newspaper on the stoop for me when he left for work in the morning.  Yesterday, I saw the paper thrown down farther on the driveway almost to the street.  And I knew he did it, probably kicked it down, as he would kick me if he could.  I am the one that is so mean to him.  The evil one, he believes.  

And the truth is, I still love this man, for whom I grieve our loss.  I must, because what our live had been was real.  It was important and filled with love.