After yesterday’s post, I wanted to say something…
I feel like I’ve been as even-handed as I can be regarding the circumstances of the end of my marriage, but I also feel like it’s been a bit weighted towards my status as the injured party. The truth in any relationship is that it nearly always takes two to tango and in our case I was probably dancing on my own half the time, sweeping faux pas all over the goddamn world.
Ask anyone and they’ll tell you I possess plenty of flaws (I was once asked in a job interview why so many people hate me). Most of these I know intimately, and I spend a lot of time in a rueful state about the various unkindnesses I’ve imparted. I feel fairly certain that I’m not a sociopath (see above feeling regretful), but I’m not so sure I’m a nice person, either. This is something I grapple with on a near daily basis.
If there’s one thing that can be said about T is that he possesses a sweet countenance. I can’t tell you how many times people came up to me over the years to tell me how lucky I was. I grew to resent this, I confess, because I’m pretty sure no one was telling him the same thing.
I saw a film this summer called The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. One of the characters, an unhappy wife, found no interest in her retirement in India with her husband, and was snappish and bitchy at every turn. As I watched her I saw way too much of myself and had the unpleasant realization of what it must have been like to live with me. Not a picnic, no. Probably not even a shared sandwich in the park.
I’ve suffered from depression throughout my life and being in Kentucky triggered a years long run as I fell into a routine that was comfortable but unfulfilling. Ruminating on our time together there are a great many situations where I wish I’d tried harder or understood more, but I get there’s no going back and I can only do better in the future. It’s a source of great frustration that this movement is in baby steps because if there’s something else about me it’s that I might be the most impatient person you’ll ever meet.
This is a bit rambly, I apologize. I think I just wanted to temper my earlier story a bit with the truth that I am not a victim and T is not the perpetrator of a great crime. We were just two people making the same mistakes loads of people make every day and that’s why I wanted to share that story. I’ve learned that one of the greatest sources of comfort when going through the shit is to know that you’re not alone.