Tags
divorce, emotional abuse, journaling, military spouse, serial story, writing, xanax or running shoes
Three weeks after being back in England… with… “England” I found myself sitting in a chair across the desk of a Chaplain discussing why I thought my marriage wouldn’t work with my wonderful husband (insert sarcastic smirk here). He claimed pure ignorance, he had no idea why I was so unhappy or why I wanted to leave.
I just sat there and stared at the wall. We had to have 2 therapy sessions before I could go back to Florida. I never spoke, just sat and stared. He kept talking about how much he loved his family and wanted it to work out no matter what but he didn’t feel as though he could reach me anymore. The Chaplain turned to me and asked me directly if I thought our marriage was worth saving. I said no. He asked if I loved my husband. I said, “I want to go to Florida.”
I was done sugar coating. I was over playing games. I was tired of feeling crazy, wrong, guilty, not good enough, and lonely. I didn’t care whose feelings I hurt anymore. I had made up my mind. I have found that I may waiver in my decision for a long time on important ones, but once my mind is made up… there is no undoing it. It is what it is. This relationship was done. The Chaplain and my husband stared at me as if I was the most cold calculating person on the planet, but I didn’t care. I was one step closer to Florida.
The next session went the same way, he talked of how he wanted our marriage to work while I sat looking at the books behind the Chaplain. They talked back and forth, I heard every other word as I dreamt of stepping off a plane on home’s sweet soil. It was so sweet the way these two clowns wanted to save a marriage. I am nearly convinced they could have spent many years together happily. Meh. What were they rambling about? For the love of God, shut up. You apparently have no clue what you are talking about. Finally the hour was over and I was free to go. As I walked out, the Chaplain asked me if I was still determined to go back to Florida.
More than ever sir. More than ever.
Xanax or Running Shoes? 
I’m looking forward to you being on thatplane with a drink and a packet of crisps. Lets hope you make it and nothing changes
This is a definite cooling and hardening of all those molten feelings. The tone definitely sounds as though you’ve checked out emotionally from the relationship – at least for now. I guess we’ll find out if it was forever.
Were your feelings at this time all related to you, your family, and England, or was Boy Next Door also factoring into the emotional calculus?
I won’t lie Phil they were definitely all a factor. Although the way I felt about my marriage had started long before I ever saw the boy next door again, he did factor in to the equation because the reality of how well he treated me… not as a girlfriend but just in general as a person made me begin to realize that I was settling for very bad treatment. Actually it wasn’t that “England” treated me badly… he didn’t really treat me at all. He didn’t want to deal with having a wife and family so he just avoided the fact all together.
And yet, I would think that not treating you at all is equivalent to treating you badly.
Sometimes the only way to get the message across is to stop talking. It seems like your talked plenty before these sessions and to no avail. The therapy sessions were a charade, and you chose not to play. England was “playing” along and saying what “should” be said to him seem like the good person who is being wronged–oh do I know that song and dance! And a song and dance it is. To the outside world, you’ve got the perfect guy; but when the door is closed and curtains drawn, Mr. Perfect is anything but…
I understand why you did what you did in those “mock” therapy sessions.