Kate... uncensored

I'm sorry

I'm sorry, husband, that I couldn't figure out a way to continue to try and hold it all together.  That I couldn't let being your caretaker be sufficient.  That I married you when maybe we didn't love each other enough.  That I was too young and stubborn to recognize problems sooner.  That I blamed sex, infertility, finances, cancer, job woes and other interference for all the things that were actually wrong with us.  That you carried the weight of thinking you were a failure as a man.  That I wasn't the wife you needed. 

I'm sorry, Dad, that I can't explain it better.  That you're disappointed I ended up in some situation where I felt dependent and trapped.  That I've let you down so, so many times.  That you're the one listening to me cry on some random afternoon.  That I can't be all the things you wanted and hoped  for.  That the Katie you know and remember and love has gotten bitter and angry.  That I am not the beaming example of a perfect daughter. 

I'm sorry, Mom, for keeping everything so private when you first saw the signs I was in pain.  That I didn't reach out to you, even though you were there.  That I kept so much of myself from you because I thought there was no way you'd understand.  That I'm not as strong and resilient as you are.  That I can't live up to the example you set.

I'm sorry, N, that you think I'm cruel and heartless.  That you think I've abandoned this man, this friend that you've known since I was in diapers.

I'm sorry, D, that I lean on you.  That I can give you all the advice, but not take any of my own. 

I'm sorry, brother, that you have to lose your connection to him;  That you feel you have to choose.

I'm sorry, J, that you haven't gotten to see what I'm like when I'm not in the middle of this chaos.

I'm sorry, Kate, that you aren't stronger to withstand this exit with grace.  That you still weep silently.  That all the little things you have to do to leave are so much harder than you expected.   That you feel like a fool when your father tells you he doesn't think you and your husband ever loved each other the way people should when they walk down the aisle.   That you've had to question everything.  That you've not gotten more than a handful of hours of sleep over the last week.   That you feel like a failure.

That I didn't love you enough then to realize that he didn't love you enough. 

I'm sorry.

4:27

The hollow ache that carved out my insides, one that can never fill up all the way. 

It's not something I talk about much, but it's been haunting me.  More specifically, the last several nights.  Late, past three, when the sleepers of the world are soundly resting.  When the night is dark, and still, and empty. 

I woke about a week ago in a panicked state.  Flushed and sweating and frozen in place.  There was a baby girl.  I could see her as clearly as I see my own reflection in the window opposite my desk.  Every sense was engaged in this dream.  That precious child had a smell, a sound, a name, a feel that seemed to move through my dream into my conscious state.  I woke, and I would have sworn that baby left my arms just a moment before. 

A defensive line had nothing on me as I held back the attack of emotions that was waiting ahead of me.  I had to get up, it was time to take my husband to work.  I stayed busy all day, promising not to remember this dream.  Do anything to keep my mind occupied.  Anything to prevent the barrage of tears. 

The concept of Pandora's box probably applies.  Occasionally, something forces the lid loose; some memory of what I thought I'd have.  Some glimpse of what I wanted.  Over the years, I tried harder to stuff it all in and keep that box closed. 

Often, I had to remind myself in a fit of sadness that one child for someone else did not mean one less child that could have been mine.  That children are not handed down as a reward and that I'm not being punished.  I learned to attend baby showers, to be the happy gracious godmother, the free and willing babysitter.

But, now, I've duct taped the damn box.  I've arranged and rearranged to make it all fit, to close that lid tight.  I'm ready to sit on it just so it can't open and take me inside.  I could suffocate there if I'm not careful. 

I used to look at those who chose child-free living, childlessness,  as unwilling to take action.  As unable to follow through.  I think I thought it was what you settled on when you never wanted children that badly to begin with. But, some I knew, just gave up, because hope, she is one cruel bitch. 

I've ended up childless.  I didn't choose it, it chose me, and I feel cheated.  Cheated not only out of a child, and motherhood but a husband.  Because in all the places he shut down, he started that progression here. 

I want to ask everyone I know why they had children.  Perhaps the more time I have to think about them, and having them, has made me hard.  I don't think I could be a parent anymore.  I doubt that I would be a capable mother.  And after what I went through to have one?! And the disdain from those who disapproved when I was diagnosed with cancer, because it had to have been the infertility treatment that brought it on.  I was messing with nature. It wasn't meant to be.  Some people just aren't supposed to have children.  It's god's plan for you. 

I was a mother figure, maternal and nurturing.  I was a natural.  I have a knack, and anyone within distance of me and a child knew it.  The children themselves knew it.  Now I'm impatient and bitter.  I think I outrun it sometimes.  Weeks, months will go by where it's not an everyday throb, maybe just an ache.  It works down to this faint twinge, and when you get comfortable that perhaps, just maybe, it's almost gone?

The pain gets sharp and twisted.  So crippling you wish you could somehow cut it out of yourself, for you can't breathe, or see through your tears.  You can curl up in a ball, but no one will know, since you sleep in a separate bedroom.  You fail to settle yourself, and you surrender to it.

You learn to sob silently, because the night is too quiet to disturb with the sounds of your grief.

Restless tears

There are so many nights where I'm up at this ungodly hour.

I've never been a good sleeper. I'll sometimes even try to go to bed at a decent hour, only to be tossing and turning a little bit later. Sometimes I can't fall asleep, other times I can't stay asleep. Only when I'm desperate do I resort to drugs, because they don't seem to help. Or when they finally kick in, do they work too well.

Like many people, I just can't shut my brain off.

I used to be productive when I was up late. I'd bake or cook for the days ahead. I'd clean, do laundry, scrapbook, go for a run or a walk, pay bills, organize things, anything to keep me busy or make me tired.

Side note: I read somewhere that the light from TV and computer screens can act as a stimulant, and can be as harmful to your sleep pattern as caffeine. Something to think about.

I just got out of bed again. I can lay there and pretend to sleep some of the time. But there are two things I just can't do for fear of waking my husband. Both start "discussions".  One involves a little imagination, the other is stifling a sob. Both cause just enough movement to jostle the bed.

I can't cry like I used to.

I've always been a crier. My family jokes that I cry at Hallmark commercials, and truth be told, I have. But I don't let myself cry anymore. Probably for feat that once those tears start, they may never stop.

Throughout the entire phase of my diagnosis and chemo treatment, I didn't dwell in much self pity. I knew that there were people in much worse situations than the one I was in. I don't know why now I'm more plagued with "why me's" now than I was then. Why now am I so able to feel sorry for myself?

But here I am, at 4:30, with tears in my eyes. In fact the only reason I'm typing is that I have to focus on something to stop them from falling.

I feel trapped here at night. Where we used to live, I would go for a walk at this hour, to the bridge and sit and watch the water. Or I'd take the dog and we'd run until our feet gave out. Other times, I'd drive around to clear my head. I don't do any of that here.

The Other often told me I could cry and offered to hold me while I got it out of my system. I really never took him up on that offer, merely because I can't let myself cry in front of people. It's fine to cry for someone else, or over something trivial, but to reveal the tears that plague me and the pain behind them? Almost impossible for me to do.

I could use that tonight. Someone letting you cry, without questions. Someone to hold you or brush your hair back from your face while you let it all out. Get the sobs really going, you know the kind where your lips swell and your whole face seems wet with tears (and yeah, maybe a little snot)

But when you're done, and you can finally take a deep breath again, you feel better. You've worked out your demons, you've had your cathartic moment and can see things a little clearer.

I need that.

I've tried crying a little tiny bit here and there, to see if it helps. A choked back sob in the shower, where the water hides your sniffles. Other times it sneaks up on me, and I'm walking through Target with my hand to my mouth.

Maybe when I'm home, I can hand my husband off to someone else and go off to cry for a while.

If I don't, I fear I may drown in all these tears.

Random remarks, bordering on whining

Dad called tonight. Someone I graduated with gave the commencement speech tonight at my former high school's graduation ceremony. That was all I got from my father's message - I didn't feel like calling him back. Was peeved that no one asked me. Then I remembered - the business I recently sold wasn't like Google or something, and I'm much more important in my own mind. Blushing then, I decided to stop.

Looking for jobs and apartments in both areas sucks. I would like to be independently wealthy. I would totally put my money to good use, helping those I care about and those I don't know.  I'd want to do it quietly too. Hard to believe, thanks to the above statement, but I'm not all about self-promotion.

I don't understand my husband's ability to move from conversation to casual talking. I can have a touch of the dramatic in me. Shocking, I know. But, I feel going from "Leaving is up to you" to "Do we have fluff?" is just awkward.

Now I'm hungry - and there's nothing in the house. I desperately need to grocery shop. I miss going out to breakfast at home this late at the 24 hour diners; or hitting the bar/restaurant around the corner from my old place. There's not a lot of that near me, that I'm aware of. Plus, you didn't feel bad hitting the one place for food at 12 or 1 because you knew they were still open another 4 hours or so. Ah, Buffalo bar hours...

I laid in bed at 7 this evening, shortly after he got home because I thought that might help me avoid more talking. I've been talking in circles, and avoiding the one thing that's hardest to say. Instead I killed 3+ hours of my night. Aargh. I actually fell asleep too, which further fucks my already fucked up sleeping schedule.

Speaking of fuck, why did I give in last weekend? Yeah, I know why. Regardless, now I'm back to clawing the walls. Not helping the situation.

Trying to block those thoughts... will instead think about the dog's grooming appt. in the morning. Will think of maybe going to dinner by myself tomorrow while my husband attends some blind people night out thing. Yes, I know, I am a horrible person. What you don't know is that upon marrying someone blind, you have the right to snicker at these activities. It's in the "spouse of a blind person" handbook.

Which totally reminds me that my book will be titled "Love is blind... and so is my husband"

Answers & confessions

My time in NY has given me a lot of time to think. I got the chance to run things by some friends. The one couple who even has an inkling of our marriage troubles. I also got the chance to spend some time with the Other. I know, I know. perhaps not the best use of my time. But, he listens to my rambling and doesn't feel the need to offer anything unless I ask him for another perspective. When I have broached the topic with those who know us, I often spend too much time defending my husband. That bothers me. I have come to the realization that I will be seen as wrong, as the bad guy. But, those people don't live my life, and I can't care about what people think.

It's different to be plotting and planning. I know I will break his heart, but if I don't leave my husband, I feel I may disappear completely. My heart and my self-respect are at stake if I continue on the road we're on.

I'll confess...I'm flawed. I've cheated. I've lied. I've tried to deal with an increasingly affection-less and sexless marriage and I didn't deal with it well, obviously. I've let myself become embroiled and entangled with a man who has only complicated things. I've made poor decisions out of guilt, obligation, and sympathy. I've let the fact that I don't like to rock the boat dictate what I do, ignoring my gut, my heart, my head.

I'm unsure and unsteady. No one close to me has gone through a divorce. I wonder if everyone worries the things I do. Will anyone ever love me again? Will I spend the rest of my life alone? Can I be single again?

When so many are out there, alone and lonely, wishing for a man who would love them, I feel selfish. He's a good guy. Loyal, kind, hardworking. He would spend forever by my side if I let him. He's not perfect, but who is? Even still, he says he loves me, unconditionally. It's strange to know I am giving that up and may never find it again.

Ok, onto questions, because I've already said the things I want to say and written down what I want to tell my husband. If I think about this anymore tonight, I certainly won't sleep.

What was your biggest dream as a little girl? (Flutter)
Wow. Tough. I wanted to be the first female president. I wanted to be a neurosurgeon. I wanted to be a Broadway star. Really, most of all, I wanted to have everything, like we all do as kids. But as a little girl, a big part of me wanted to be a good mother and wife, just like my own mom.

If you could do one thing over in your life, what would it be? (Kristen)
I try not to have regrets. Yes, hindsight is 20/20 and it's easy to think of what things you'd do different. We all fall victim to the "what-if's" from time to time. I think I would have to say medical school. I was enrolled but I came home to take care of my dad instead.

Why are you a whore? (Random person who emailed me)
While whore may be a term of endearment in the bedroom (for me) I choose who gets to use it. So let's leave it at "fuck you"

Besides, I have to say, I prefer the term "selectively slutty"

If things had been different

Today, I would have been celebrating a little girl's 4th birthday. I think of the baby we named Mari Elizabeth all the time, think about how May 24th was my due date. My heart is not as broken as it once was, but it still hurts. I'm pretty sure it always will.

I can't go to the tree we planted in the park around the corner in her honor/name. But, I'll say a prayer and try not to cry.
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Side note: Ugh, enough with sadness and anger. I am getting aggravated with myself.

Day after tomorrow

I'm told they'll be here Sunday morning, my mother, father, sister and her husband.

I still have no couch. I just unpacked the last of the boxes from the move. I didn't go get a haircut.

I wanted to convince them that we're wonderful okay. That the move was successful and that we're thriving in Nashville. To give them the impression that we're on top of things, loving our lives, relishing the new digs.

It all seemed too insincere.

Yeah, I am not perfect. There are dirty dishes in my sink, probably a towel on the floor in the bathroom. I still have paper reproducing itself all over my office. I don't have much in the terms of decor, I didn't go furniture shopping. It does look like we recently moved in. I'm the only one who sees it, and honestly, I probably don't care as much as I should.

It's easy when you talk every ten days or so, to make things sound good. We know, I'm good at that. Them spending the next week with us, well, that makes it harder to pretend.

Part of me wants to crawl into my parents arms and cry; to let go all the tumultuous emotions and collapse. I can't. They are here to visit, but they can't be burdened by my drama. My predicament is of my own making.

I sometimes think back, wondering how I got here. I never thought I'd be married, much less contemplating divorce. When I did get married, I thought by now we'd be a busy growing family. Much of what I hoped and envisioned my life to be hasn't turned out. I'm sure everybody thinks that, but I feel lost. I wanted to be a good wife and mother. When I couldn't be a mother, my aspirations towards perfect wife seemed to fade. I began to wonder if I was meant to be a wife, since I wasn't meant to be a mother.

I haven't replaced those hopes. I have no hope.

I was a perfectionist. Growing up, I was the perfect daughter, the genius student, the best friend. I did everything as I was told, until I chose a college 2000 miles away at 15. I still didn't change. Up until I got married, I had to be good at everything. Since then, I struggle to be good at anything.

I don't want them to see that I'm crumbling. I don't want them to know that my marriage has soured. I still want them to see me as their perfect daughter, even if I can't.

Hmph

The feeling of dread regarding the upcoming company is palpable.

I've forgotten just how difficult pretending can be. We have to be on our game for at least most of the visit.

Still have a bunch of things to do, and get. But tomorrow and Wednesday will be wasted by this little jaunt to Johnson City.

I still need to cry. I'm going to have to induce it somehow if it doesn't happen. Otherwise, given Murphy's law, it will happen at an extremely inappropriate time.

Just another Sunday

Officially, it's mother's day.

Most of what I wrote here still rings true.

It's a little different. Maybe here, with no mother's to take to brunch, I can just pretend it's any other day.

Not likely.

Counting down

One day to Iron Fork

Three days until A&B arrive

Two weeks to Orlando

Four weeks until Mom & Dad's/Sister & Husband's joint road trip

Trying to look forward to something instead of living each day miserable. Depression is not easy, insomnia only exacerbates things.