I Should Have Known … But I Guess I Did …

So I wrote this some time in 2012 I suspect. September maybe? It was titled “An Email To My Husband”. I lost it somewhere deep in the RAM or ROM of the Apple. I vaguely remember leaving it by the worm eating the bug with all the bites. It’s odd reading it. Especially now that the parchments have been delivered by carrier pigeon to the demigods ordained by the immaculate rubber stamp.  I Should Have Known … But I Guess I Did …

This isn’t a “Dear John” letter. You’re names’ not john. … Ha, ha … I know, it’s stupid. I still got a giggle out of it though.

I know that you hate long emails. I’ve tried to talk to you but … *sigh* … you did what you always do. You want the “short version”, you grump and look very annoyed, you do the “speed it up” hand gesture, I get flustered, I try to put it in a nutshell , but I end up leaving out the important points and reasons … you jump to conclusions, and make assumptions, with the end result of you being frustrated, & angry. So I quit and obsess silently over how can I tell you so that you will understand where I’m coming from.

…That’s if we get that far. Maybe it’s because I ask? “Can we talk about this?” The hackles go up and the eyes roll. I did try a few time to just start talking about it all, but stopped when you yelled at the computer. You accidentally put yourself in check on your internet chess game. … There was one time I though I was getting somewhere, but you were staring at the computer, so I said that there was man phuc’ing a poodle out on Grand Parade. … You nodded and said “Uh-huh.”

I know that I ramble, even babble. –  I’m long winded. I want to explain, with reason. I want to have a conversation, meaning you talk too. But I don’t know how to do this with you … *sigh* … We’re broken, and I don’t know what to do …

I knew something was off that Thanksgiving so long ago. We’ve been dating for 10 months. The longest relationship you’ve had since, and you tell me that you’re going to spend Thanksgiving with your friend and her family ‘cos that’s what you always do. I was hurt and upset and I couldn’t seem to explain to you that I was. I tried to understand, but why you didn’t want to spend Thanksgiving with your girlfriend? We ended up spending the day together, but to this day I still wonder if it wasn’t because she didn’t invite you, because she knew about me.

We’ve always been very independent from each other. We weren’t “in each others pockets” as the Irish would say … or at least that’s what they say here in Cork. I reveled in the freedom, even gloated how enlightened we were not to  be bound together with rules or ultimatums. But there was always something amiss. I found myself alone more often than not. Even in times of celebration, esp. in times of celebrating my achievements albeit small. … You never danced with me … Gosh, how I miss dancing … I justified it my head, said it over and over again until it rolled of my tongue as easily as the rain rolling off leaves. “Although I would like him to be more attentive, I can’t deny the independence and freedom that I have.” … Repeat … Repeat  … Repeat … *Sigh* …

We chased a dream together, so I thought, moved to Ireland and started a business, got married … got married …

Then, not more than a year or so later, there was mutiny, a disturbance in the force, and our business was caught in the middle. We were bullied, brutally bullied. Money was so, so tight largely because of your condo that you for some reason wouldn’t let go of. You did put it up on the market but did nothing to sell it. You had to barrow money from your parents to keep up the mortgage payments. There was not a light at the end of the tunnel, there was no tunnel, not to mention the growing black mold in the our rented hovel. It stands to reason that you would spiral down into a deep depression and despise everything that brought you to that point, including me. I’m not a psychologist or a psychotherapist.  Not a mind reader either, though that would be really cool! I started a new chant “I’ll make it better, I’ll fight the war, I’ll prove that the dream is still alive.” … Repeat … Repeat  … Repeat … *Sigh* …

I was winning! … I am winning … I WON! … While I was in the trenches though, you decided to leave, … not me … just leave.

You went behind my back and contacted your old boss to see if you can get your old job back. You told me that he approached you. You wanted to go back, but you told me that you were torn so I thought there was hope. That if things were better here then the choice would be obvious.  You wanted to leave but you couldn’t tell me that because then, you wouldn’t have anything to fall back on. You strung me along, weaving your safety net. I knew that you wanted to leave but unless you actually say it, I would only be acting on assumption. For 6 months you dragged it out. For 6 months I tried to prove to you that we can still make things work here. Knowing that my efforts were futile, knowing that you were stringing me along, knowing that you wanted to leave … Well, some days …

Well they offered you your old job back and only then did you say to me that you were definitely leaving. Finally we can talk and come up with a plan … finally … finally … We weren’t going to split up, you were going to go back and get your condo and financial dilemmas  sorted and I was going to hold down the fort and make “our” business grow. It was an easy adjustment to make. We had our independence and freedom. We had space and who says that we have to live together to love and support each other? … You were so happy, and it was such a long time since I last saw you happy. … You agreed that you would come back in 3 years, … when you had absolutely no intentions of doing so. Aaahhhhh, who can blame you? I left the back door wide open.

Now we live in 2 different countries on either side of the world, and I find myself alone more often than not. Even in times of celebration, esp. in times of celebrating my achievements albeit small. I find myself chanting that old line; “Although I would like him to be more attentive, I can’t deny the independence and freedom that I have.” … Repeat … Repeat  … Repeat … *Sigh* … But it doesn’t roll of the tongue so easily now. I would have thought with all the ways of staying connected that I would hear more from you. Not a constant stream on Skype watching each other sleep, but something more than and hour on a Sunday ‘coz that’s your “day for calling people”. … I can count how many times you said “I love you” without being prompted on one hand … “Although I would like him to be more attentive, I can’t deny the independence and freedom that I have.” … Repeat … Repeat  … Repeat … *Sigh* …

You still haven’t told your boss that your wife, your wife being me, is still living in Ireland. You told me that you would flip for my plane tix to your Brothers wedding, but you didn’t and I was left telling them that I couldn’t make it. You complained when I asked if I can get on your insurance. I visit you 3x a year, might as well get a Dr appointment in, but it would cost you too much money. You couldn’t even bring yourself to introduce me to your soccer teammates when I last visited. You choked when one of them asked if we were a couple. It was your Brother that did all the introductions, it was my Brother-In-Law that told everyone that I came all the way over from Ireland to watch the game.

I’ve accomplished a lot since you left. I won the war. I made a name for myself and “our” business. I have achieved more than I or anyone could have imagined.  So, in that hour of Skype’ing frenzy I tell you as precisely as I can so to avoid the “speed it up” hand gestures and “in a nutshell” demands. I tell you with all the excitement of a child winning their first race all that I accomplished, all that I’ve achieved in that week. … “Ah yeah, that’s nice.” … I post on that damn Facebook and if I’m lucky I just might get a “like” from you. It makes me sick to my stomach whenever I see a post of a husband praising his wife. … I’m so jealous … You can’t even publicly acknowledge that I’m your wife. I get sicker still when I get a message saying something like “Oh your husband must be really proud of you!” about something that I had achieved that past by you completely unnoticed. I’m completely mortified when I get messages from people questioning your support or even your existence. … “Although I would like him to be more attentive, I can’t deny the independence and freedom that I have.” … Repeat … Repeat  … Repeat … *Sigh* …

Why are you pulling this whole Jeremy McGuire act on me? Except there’s no happy ending with this. Why are blowing me off as if you want to pretend that I didn’t exist?


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