Kate... uncensored

Stuff

When I left, there were so many questions unanswered.

I knew where I was going and where I wanted to be.  But was it going to work?
I had spent nearly a month trying to figure out how best to move.  How best to exit, to extricate myself from my marriage, my life in Tennessee.

Eventually, I went with the easier method.  Pack up and store my things, figuring I could come back later.  It was cheaper to leave without, and easier, since I didn't know if where I was going would be a temporary stop or a new home.  At the time, I thought I made the best choice.  It was hard to leave, hard to make that drive alone.  To have done so while carting my stuff and having to worry about undoing / unloading a truck or something into a local storage space was not how I could picture my first couple days out.

So I packed my trunk. Only the essentials. Some clothes, necessary paperwork, things I didn't want to leave in storage, or couldn't.  And then I drove away.

In all reality, I didn't leave that much behind.  A bed, and everything that went with it;  a dresser belonging to my grandmother, the match of which stayed behind.  The rest is a mix of clothes, books, shoes & household odds and ends.

I apparently have a collection of things behind at the apartment as well.   Things I mistakenly left behind, things sorted out after I left, mail that belongs to me and so on.  As the apartment is about to be vacated, ahead of the leased schedule, my stuff begins to be an issue.  Am I coming to get it?  Should it be sent to me?  Is there a way to put it with the rest of my things in storage?

I'm frustrated.  Mostly at myself for not planning better, slightly at this new deadline for cropping up.  I should have, and expected, to get my stuff before the end of the year.  Now we're nearing February, and there's things I want, and need.  But I've discovered getting stuff is more complicated and more expensive than I could have anticipated.

I'm tired of being nagged about it too. 

Then and now

On December 14th, 2001, I got engaged.

Over the summer, my former therapist asked me why I got married.  My first answer - because he asked.  It's both the truth and it's the way it looks now, after time and perspective have altered my memories.

My father recently confessed he thought I didn't seem as excited as other brides.  My mother, that perhaps she should have urged me to wait and be sure. 

Who'd have thought that by the same date seven years later, I'd be getting divorced?  Certainly not me, and it's doubtful anyone could have actually predicted it. 

I wonder where I'll be seven years from now...

Alive and well?

I am alive.  I'd say alive and well, but well, that's just sketchy in the quiet moments.

I find moments of peace, here and there, but there are just as many moments of conflict.

His calls and emails are unsettling.  I'm glad to hear from him.  To know he's ok, soothes a little part of me.  And yet, hearing from him breaks my heart.  The gulp he holds back when he talks.  The pain he conveys in a voicemail message, or via an email.  I wasn't sure I could live with myself if I stayed.  I'm not sure I can live with myself now that I've gone.

One week

Next Sunday, I'll be leaving.

I'm overwhelmed at the thought of walking out the door, knowing that no matter what has happened, I'm breaking his heart.

I do believe it's better in the long run.  I believe it's best for both of us.  I believe I'm doing what I have to do.

Still, I know, even with all the conversations; even with everything we've gone through, there's so much he doesn't understand.  I know when I close that door behind me, he'll be behind it, he'll be devastated and so very hurt.

But, I still have to go; and he'll never know that it hurts me too.

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.

Update

I've debated for over a week - on how to give out all the information I've been holding back and I keep coming to similar conclusions.   A little at a time may be a better idea.

I went Thursday up to Buffalo.  Got the chance to tell my family that my husband and I aren't going to make it.  That we're done.  The reactions I received from my parents and siblings were different than I could have anticipated, but the news of my father's job loss diluted the effect of my news.

For the most part, Friday, when I broke the news, my mother was supportive.  Monday when I called her to let her know I was home she was changing her tune - but it's much easier to deal with her negativity over the phone as opposed to in person.

I know some people will be shocked;  Others will condemn me for abandoning my poor blind husband.  These were the people who praised me as being a special kind of person for marrying him in the first place.  Some whom I thought would react badly will show me the kind of support I'll be eternally grateful for.

It's all unknown at this point, which is always the scary part for me.  But I think I'm handling it well; I'm surprising myself each and every day.

Exit stage left

It wasn't the first time I broached the topic.

I've made parts of the speech before.  I'm leaving, I'm done, I can't do this anymore -  have all been said.

I'm not sure he ever believed it before.  He thought there was something he could do or say to change my mind. 

This weekend I stood my ground and spoke up for myself.  I made it known that I am leaving.  I made it clear that I cannot, will not stay.

I am visiting my family at home this weekend.  I will be telling my parents of our split and asking them to support our decision, even if they don't understand it or like it.

When I get back to Nashville, I'll be making my exit.