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. 

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.

Men are like ovens (where else can you get such a metaphor?)

We are all so conditioned to believe that no one wants to be alone.  That ending up alone is the most terrible fate to await a person.  This may very well be true.  I can't know for sure, because the extent of the time I have spent alone is next to nil. 

I know how terrifying it is to be alone after a rape.  I know how alone I felt when I was diagnosed with cancer and my friends didn't call anymore.  I know when you're holding someone's hand, and they pass away, you feel utterly alone.  I know those kinds of alone.  I do not know what it would be like to spend the rest of my adult life alone, or lonely for that matter.  However, I am cognizant of the fact that lonely and alone are two very different animals. 

I know some people can't be alone.  I think we all know people who have one relationship after another, or people that choose someone anyone because it's better than no one.  I have never considered myself one of them. 

I realize that by leaving my husband, I may be choosing to be alone forever.  I don't know what lies ahead of me.  I would love to tell you that I had faith, or hope, that everything will somehow work out for the best, but I can't do that right now. 

I love that I have a wealth of opinions thanks to my inability to censor myself.  A good number of people have shared the idea that "something is better than nothing" when it comes to my husband.   That at least I have a husband.  At least.  Yes, I have a good man who shares his life with me.  On the surface, I see where that looks appealing. 

Please keep in mind, that he picks and chooses which parts of his life to share with me.   We share finances, a place to live, things. 

He doesn't share with me his feelings, his affection, his thoughts.  There's no shared intimacy, passion or closeness. 

The thought of  "at least you aren't alone" is no comfort when I crawl into bed and he moves so close to the edge he might fall.  (Although, sleeping alone night after night would bother me.  Once you are accustomed to another warm body, sleeping alone would probably take some getting used to) 

 "You have someone" doesn't make me feel better when I'm crying with no one to comfort me, or frustrated with no one to encourage me,  or aroused with no one to satiate me. 

I know there are a lot of jerks and assholes out there.  I know women who are married to worse men.  I know divorcing means I may end up in a situation with one of those men.  Should I stay with my husband because if I divorce I may find an unsuitable suitor?  I may never find anyone better.  Perhaps better isn't exactly what I would look for.  Do I stay because there isn't anything else available? 

If I had an oven that didn't heat up, would you tell me to keep it?  Because who knows when I could afford one.  Because, even if it can't be fixed, I did purchase the warranty.  Because I might never find an oven that got hot enough for my taste.  Because the restaurant version is out of my league anyway.

Yeah, comparing men to ovens is terrible, so forgive me; but you get the general idea.

Is a marriage, even an unfulfilling marriage, better than being alone?  That's a question, the question, I have been asking myself for months.  Apparently, I'm not the only one pondering it.  Hours browsing books on marriage have shown me that (excuse the snicker) I'm not alone.   But those books can't answer that for me.  Thousands of dollars to therapists and thousands of words here can't tell me either. 

Is the idea of being alone so frightening that people stay for that reason?  If so, I can't fault them.  I just don't think I can join them.

Rain, rain, go away...

I'm sitting in the window here at the Grand Hyatt, watching the intersection; watching it rain. Rain leaves me pensive. I feel like brooding a bit.

I'm supposed to be heading to lunch. I'm debating blowing it off. To be honest, the last thing I feel like is telling a stranger all about me, and having them ask questions I don't feel like answering. Now, if I could get them to spill tabloid worthy details about their boss' recent scandal - perhaps it could be interesting.

I talked to the Other last week. I'd been distancing myself from him, but it's not fair for me to stop answering the phone without some explanation. So, I opened the phone and took a deep breath. Before, I thought if I could find a way to have him not affect me, I would jump on it. I thought I could avoid him, and have him leave my periphery. I can't and don't want to. I recognize the danger he holds, and I am aware of the damage he can cause. Isn't acknowledging that something? I won't jump from the frying pan into the fire. I've taken steps to ensure that. However, I don't think I should have to completely shut him out because of the temptation.

Maybe I'm foolish. Maybe.

Before, I ran. I had a friendship with a man, and it was becoming dangerous. We got along fantastically and thoroughly understood one another. We were able to support each other through some truly terrible things. But, I sensed the change when it happened, and I didn't want it to destroy our relationship, or our relationships with other people. I could have let things run their course, but I knew there was too much at stake. So I left. We went from daily contact to nothing. I knew he was suffering, I heard it in his voice when he'd call, begging to see me or talk to me. He showed up places, trying to track me down. But I made my point clear. I didn't think it was fair to stay in contact the way we were. I knew we would have ended up in some messy situation, jeopardizing the important things in our respective lives.

It may sound stupid, but I think it was one of the smartest and bravest things I've done.

I don't feel this is the case here.

I didn't set out to have a relationship. Compared to a lot of women, I've always been good at compartmentalizing, ones that were sexual didn't have to be anything more. I don't necessarily believe that sex = love. Perhaps I'm missing that chemical reaction, I don't know. Maybe I'm jaded, or broken. I know there's something there I've never found before. I know he has a lot of the qualities I admire in a person. A lot of the qualities I've only found once before. He's given me strength at a time I felt drained by most everyone else.

It's convoluted.

I try to distract myself, thinking about other men. Remembering that he's not the "be all and end all"

I remind myself of my obligations.

I talked to someone last week I know only a bit. We were discussing separation and marriage counseling / therapy. I was asked if I can remember good times. If the person I married is still the person I want to be with. If I met my husband now, would I fall in love and want to be with him. If I believed we could make our way through this and be stronger.

I was asked if I knew what I wanted. I'm beginning to know, I just have a hard time vocalizing it, especially to my husband.

And myself.

Weekend ends

Sunday is almost at an end. I'm grateful for the reprieve the workweek will bring. He's so hopeful, yet so unable to talk, to hear me. He's so busy blaming himself, I don't think he can see past his past.

We'll be traveling to Washington D.C. next Sunday. I don't know yet whether this is a good thing or not. Our last conference jaunt was fraught with tears and yelling. Both on my part, of course. It was not a fun trip.

It will be hard to be on my best behavior. There's just something about hotels. Strangers in strange cities, lobby bars, big beds. I could go on, but well, perhaps it's best left in my fantasy head. Plus, when I have to travel with him, I inevitably have too much time on my hands.

Awake at four in the morning

It's a weird time to be awake. Whenever I don't sleep, I find myself thinking too much. Shocking, I know.

It's hard to be married and lonely, but it's common. Perhaps we have all these unrealistic expectations when we get married. I tried not to have them, I honestly didn't think he'd be "the be all and end all". I knew that happily ever after is a nice idea, but that most people aren't able to have that. I recognized that it was unhealthy to expect this other person to be completely responsible for our happiness. It's unreasonable to think that because we love this person and choose to spend our life with them that we will never be lonely again. That we will always feel loved, safe and satisfied.

Side note: there are people who are married and lonely for much better reasons. Perhaps they never get the chance to spend time with their spouse because of work obligations, military duty, or something else along those lines. I feel for them.

My husband thinks we wouldn't be at the crossroad we're at if we hadn't moved here. I know we're both lonelier here, more isolated from the support system we grew to rely on. I also know this was inevitable, and think the difference is only in how it would play out.

I know he must be lonely. He won't talk to me. He prefers his privacy so much that it's hard for him to turn to his friends. He's had some for 20, even thirty years, but cannot fathom talking about his marriage with them. He tried to talk to one and it caused the fiasco last week. I can imagine this has only perpetuated the idea that he should keep things to himself. He doesn't talk to his family either, because they were raised to keep it all in. My running joke was that they sweep it all under the rug until you fucking trip over the bump it causes.

I see how he withdraws, pulls into his shell. How he shuts down, but I can't save him from himself. I try to get him to work with me. To either make this work or end it gracefully. Depending on my mood and his response, my preference for one of the other changes. 

I am not looking forward to this weekend. More time alone together cannot be a good thing, we still both seem so raw, so hurt.

Process and Progress

Every day that passes, I wish more things were decided.

Went to our marriage counselor on Wednesday. Not sure we'll be going back. She was late and a bit less professional than I'm used to.

Things were said that helped to illuminate the other person's side of the story. I bit my tongue, I waited for her to urge him to talk. Not so much, though it was made apparent that issues from his first marriage permeate ours.

Part of me thinks, if we do this, we may be better off with individual counselors first. Another part of me wants to simply find someone who will tell me it's ok to leave; Or who will tell him he'll survive without me.

A rambling update.

Tuesday, I left for New York. Had packed some things and decided this was a needed trip. To investigate what's in Buffalo, if I head back there. To decide finally, what's ahead of me. Tuesday night I got in and after a short chat with the friends I was staying with, I headed to bed.

Wednesday started off on a sour note. Friends' baby threw up on my outfit. So, I got re-dressed. I had a doctor's appointment and some blood work before my job interview. The doctor I saw was not my usual, and regarded my questions as unnecessary. After asking questions unrelated to my case, and me tearing up, I headed out of there with my paperwork for the labs. Hit the Quest laboratory in Amherst and ran across the most unprofessional phlebotomist I have ever had the chance to meet.

Next, the interview. Had to meet with four individuals, one of whom was a physician. He and I had a personality conflict from the get go. We were having a language barrier problem and it went downhill from there. It started when he told his assistant he would get me when he was ready for me. (Translation: if she waits for 30 mins while I play on my iPhone, so what?) Really, his attitude towards his current staff had the hair on my neck standing up. I did my best to seem polite and professional, but he was unimpressed with me at all turns, especially once he heard I took the MCAT and then didn't go to medical school.

So, interview over, I head back to friend's house. I then learn a friend of my husband's has called my parents about MY marriage. Livid does not begin to describe it. They were not aware I was even in town, because I wanted the chance to think without having to hear everyone's opinion. I had intended on calling them Thursday, once my apartment viewings, my appointments and my interview were over. He left a message, without his number and my mother called me to find out what he wanted. I did not answer my phone, I didn't hear it ring. I hear of this and call my husband to see why his friend felt the need to intervene. I then call friend and leave a message asking him to please cease and desist. Numerous phone calls, messages, curse words and tears later, I go to bed at 3:30.

While I should have spent my Thursday seeing apartments, networking for other interviews and thinking, I continued to have life altering conversations with my husband, and then his friend. Then, my parents call, before I have the chance to call them. Husband's friend called them back until he got them in person. They then called me. Fun, wow. So, Thursday turned into another useless day, full of phone calls and fumbling explanations.

I headed to their home Friday morning, so they could continue their attack in person. I was supposed to go straight home, they said. But I could not fathom spending my day in the car after the conversations with them and the Husband.

So I left Saturday, and hit traffic and accidents. Got in late Sat/Early Sunday. Woke up at 11 am only to have more talking start. Husband didn't let me go to bed until about midnight. I'm glad he's at work today, because I cannot handle anymore talking. I barely have any voice even.

Today I've been calling counselors. Interesting to note that I don't seem to find a lot in the area. The Western NY area probably has 10 times as many. I'm hoping to find someone who will see us this week because I'm not sure we'll make it much longer without collateral damage.

Looking around

I'm supposed to be packing. I'm headed up to NY again (yes, I know gas is expensive) to spend a few days and the 4th with some friends. I have a job interview while I am up there, but I don't know that I want to return to Buffalo for good.

I walk around this apartment; the place I've tried so hard to make our home for the last few months.

I think about what is "mine". What I can leave with, what I have to leave behind. Am I prepared to start over with very little? To have to finnagle a way to find some of the basics, because it's easier for me to get them than to have him need things? I find myself taking things into the spare room, making piles of necessities. Making two separate spaces, one for things that can go now, one for things that can't until I find a permanent place.

So much of this place is "ours". So many things I can't take, because he needs them, and I know I can find a way to live without. The fact that I want to leave him as comfortable as possible doesn't escape my notice. I know my guilt about this separation is leeching into the ability to pack belongings.

Some part of me feels I don't deserve the things that might make me feel at home somewhere else.