16 years and 3 months. That is how much time I wasted. Maybe. It all depends on how you look at it. Right now in this moment, unfortunately, I am leaning toward that view.
I feel like my suffering has ruined several lives now. Well, ruined is such a strong word. More like scarred. Many hideous scars have been carved into our souls, from this.
I really didn’t know. I was so madly in love that 6 months later when our shared dream of having a baby was beginning and everything else ended I was completely dumbfounded. I was young, alone, without advice. My natural instinct was to fix it. That’s always been my immediate response… “Oh, did that break? Well let’s see if it can be fixed”. If not, then I re-use it, and if not that then into the bin. However this, this was my life. There was a baby coming, eventually, it was all so precious, so the cold distance that had risen from seemingly nowhere was mind-numbingly shocking.
Who was this new person? Where did my lover go? What the HELL was going on?/ It must be a fluke. He’s worried. He’s frightened. He’s tired. He cannot have changed so quickly. It isn’t possible. /I must be doing something wrong.
I didn’t blame him. I still don’t blame him, not entirely, which is probably madness to some. I didn’t blame myself much either, minus the leaving. I do blame myself for not leaving. I asked him to stop. I asked him to leave. I begged. I wept. I screamed. I offered help. I baked from scratch (shameful attempt at humor in a non-humorous situation but I did indeed try everything, mind you I liked cooking from scratch so that wasn’t for his benefit, though he reaped the rewards). I ignored. I surrendered. I tried everything but leaving because I had nowhere to go to by the time I realized how bad it was. No shelter. No friends to run to. No family. Just me and my children. I wasn’t helpless though. I fought back. I stood up for myself. If anyone was the monster it was me. I became a monster through all the lies, betrayals, cruelty. I turned into the worst version of myself, and it is fantastically ugly. I used to wake up happy every day because happiness was inside me, now I can’t remember what that felt like. I question that it must have been a dream.
I no longer feel. I spent the last year not feeling. It didn’t happen overnight. It was a slow process, which I’ll save that story for another time. Now I am scared without feeling scared. I just know something within me is wrong. I’ve gone empty, yet at the same time I have a soft, cozy void filled up with some type of invisible emotion-absorbent white cotton. My emptiness isn’t hollow. Still, I do not know joy or excitement. I do not know passion or love. Me, the now ex-bleeding heart. I no longer feel and I am trying to figure out how to get it back.
This blog is about my personal story of having a husband who happens to be Borderline. This is my journey. Me. Who happens to have Asperger’s. This is not a “Borderlines are evil” thing-a-ma-stuff. Everyone is different. Everyone deserves love, in my tiny little barefoot, (ex)bleeding heart, opinion. This is my mess, that I am openly sharing so that hopefully you can take something helpful from it. Maybe I can, too.