A place to clear my head…

Sometimes it’s okay to be broken

I always thought there was something wrong with me.  I always thought that wanting to get married, and have babies, and the whole white picket fence thing, was normal.  That is what I was supposed to want for my life.  So I got married.  I had babies.  And somewhere along the road, I realized that this was not the life I wanted for myself.  The babies are great.  They’re my world.  But the husband was not.  The white picket fence did not exist.  Now, I can place the blame on my husband all I want (and believe me, he deserves his share of the blame) but I’m not without blame either.

My husband and I were together for 4 years, married for 2.  Six months in to our relationship, I realized that it was not what I wanted.  I did not love him, and didn’t see myself ever being able to love him, but I stayed.  Because staying seemed easier than going.  Over the next three and a half years I did nothing to really hide the fact that I didn’t really care for him.  Life was what it was, and I was just going through the motions.  Doing what I thought I was supposed to do.  Doing what I thought was normal.  A year and a half in, I was pregnant with our first son.  I didn’t know what to think, or how to feel. What I did know, was now I was stuck.  Any chance of ever making a clean break was done.  So, what was the point in trying to leave now?  We got married two months before Daniel was born.  His parents choice.  Not mine.  As soon as the ring was on my finger, the two headed monster came out.  I was supposed to flip a switch and love him all of a sudden, and when I couldn’t do that, he became a control freak.  He cut me off from everyone I cared about.  My family and friends only existed when he said it was okay for them to exist.  He was my family and I only needed him.  If I couldn’t love him on my own, he was going to make me love him.  Daniel was born, and he got worse.  And I let it happen.  Because it was easier than trying to fight against it.  One month after Daniel turned 2, Dylan was born.  Now I was REALLY stuck.  That was about the time that the real abuse started.  Not so much physical.  There was some, but nothing major.  It was more psychological than anything else.  Oh, you have claustrophobia issues?  Okay, I’m going to hold you down so you can’t move.  I’ll let you up once you’re on the verge of a panic attack.  I eventually gave up on my appearance because, “You used to be good looking, but you’re not anymore…”  “You want a job?  Too bad.  You don’t need a job.  I’m the man, I provide for this family.  You belong in the kitchen.  What do you want a job for anyway?  You met me at work. What’s to stop you from meeting someone else at work, and leaving me?  If you ever left me, I would kill myself. Because I can’t live without you.  What do you mean you wouldn’t do the same for me? Doesn’t matter.. Not like anyone else would want you anyway.”  About 4 months after Dylan was born, I finally decided that I wasn’t content just going through the motions of life anymore.  I wanted out.  I wanted to live my life on my terms, not someone else’s.  So I left.

I have been “single” for almost 9 years now.  And I think that’s the way it’s supposed to be.  I can’t see myself being with someone for any long period of time.  I don’t see myself growing old with the same person.  Happiness to me, is not spending the next 40 years or so trying not to murder my significant other in their sleep.  And I’m realizing, that probably means I’m broken, but that’s okay.  Some people are meant to find the love of their lives.  Others are meant to find happiness on their own.  I think I fall into that category.  So why do people always feel like they have to fix you?  Like you’re wrong for wanting something different from them?  Listen, I respect your desire to tie yourself to the same annoying human for all of eternity.  If that’s what makes you happy, great!  I’m happy for you!  Please respect my desire to live my life alone.  Don’t look at me with the sympathetic puppy look.  Don’t try to convince me that “you just haven’t met the right person yet.”  If I wanted to meet the right person, I would open myself up to that possibility.  Don’t think that my choices in life are a cry for help.  I enjoy solitude.  I enjoy leaving my house and not having to tell anyone where I’m going, or when I’ll be home.  I answer to myself, and only myself.  I’m not going to say that I never get lonely.  Sometimes I do think that it would be nice to have someone to share things with.  But those feelings are usually fleeting.  They go as quick as they come.  Maybe some day I’ll feel differently.  Maybe some day I’ll grow up and want all the things I’m supposed to want.  But for now, I enjoy being broken.  Please don’t try to fix me.

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