The Decisions of Others

When I was fifteen I met the man I thought was the love of my life. And hell, maybe he is, because now I don't want to fall in love again. Essentially, he promised me the world on a string, siting on a rainbow, but recently he's broken every single promise. My husband is a good man. He has to be, to have put up with me for so long. But it's finally worn him down. And I don't suppose I can blame him for that. I'm a lot to handle. The problem is though, that I trusted in all of those promises. I believed in them, for a long time they were the only thing I believed in. And now they're all gone, like ash in the wind. Empty chairs at empty tables.

He wants to get divorced. He doesn't want to try to fix it. He doesn't want to stay with me. It's a decision he's made. And for some reason I'm struggling with it. Imagine, me the 21 year old divorcee fleeing home to the mother that fucked me up in life because I've got nowhere else to go and I drove away the only person I ever believed loved me. Jesus, try telling my therapist about that one.

And maybe she isn't really. Maybe that's just how I perceive her. But every time I go to see her all she wants to talk about is my marriage, she essentially said that the fact that I gained a hundred pounds post having a kid is probably the reason my husband doesn't want me any more. The whole reason I'm going to therapy is to work through the issues I have because of my mother and my father and yeah, in part, my husband. But he's only the issue right now, because eventually that'll be in the past too. Because it's what he wants. It's the decision he's made.

I don't want that.

I still love him. I still look at him and have so much adoration for him. I still feel the emotion behind every promise. I still want those outcomes. I still believe in it.

But he doesn't.

So what can I do? I can make him miserable. I can ruin everyone's life. Or I can be miserable. Fuck though I don't want to be miserable...

But... I can't let him be. I know, I should stand up and I shouldn't take it but at my core, I'm a people pleaser. It's what I do. I get a small sense of self worth seeing others happy, knowing that I did that.

And making him happy... Well it's important to me. I don't know why. Maybe it's for th be five years he gave me. Maybe it's for the beautiful child he made with me. Maybe it's simply because I do love him.

But his happiness is more important. I'm used to misery. But I just wish I could keep him too.