Remember, remember…

Today is our 2nd anniversary.   David and I got married two years ago this evening.

I guess one’s anniversary would be easier in almost every other situation than the one we’re in right now.  We’re not happily married, so it’s weird to celebrate it.  None of our friends are saying anything to us, I asked my mother to not send us a card or commemorate it in any way.  If we were divorced, I suppose, this would be as good a night as any to invite my girlfriends over to watch movies and knit, anything to avoid getting drunk by myself and crying over my wedding album (not that I do that anyway).

But we’re not even technically separated yet.  The house closing, which was originally set for tomorrow, November 6th, has been postponed indefinitely.  My aunt can’t move until the house closing goes through, therefore, I can’t move until she moves.  I found that out on Saturday, after going shopping for some kitchenwares that I needed replacing, and a TV set that is vastly too big for my needs (but the 32″ was on sale for the same price as the 26″, and David pointed out “Just imagine how ‘The Tudors’ will look on a screen that big!”  Considering that we’re splitting, he knows me too damn well).

And I cried on Saturday, not because I am miserable living with my husband, not because we hate each other (we don’t), but because my life is going nowhere right now.  Both of us are in a sort of awful, awkward limbo, loving each other but knowing our marriage is going nowhere, wondering what the best course of action is, knowing we certainly can’t make a split official when we are still living under the same roof.  I feel as if the days and weeks are ticking by, each day moving me closer towards my 30th birthday, still stuck in this horrible stagnation.  As much as I fear and dread the idea of being by myself, making this split final and official, I fear this terrible sort of half-marriage so much more.  Sometimes I feel like this is the state my life is going to be in forever.  That is…hard.  Again, so trite.  It sounds so incredibly trite.  “This is hard.”  Such a little sentence — a little too simple — but it explains everything.

I’m at work, and I don’t want to cry at my desk, because my makeup is done and nothing looks worse than smeared makeup all over your face.  And at least my boss is away this week, and nobody here remembers that it would have been my second anniversary, and for that I’m so grateful, because the explanations are awkward and hurt.  And every time I think I am done crying and mourning the loss of what was, I feel another stab to the stomach, some fresh pain that I hadn’t considered before.

How does one date go from the happiest day of your life, to one that causes you the most pain?

One indifferent husband.  One brokenhearted wife.


Today I will get through work as though it is any other day.  After work we will go to marriage counseling (separation counseling, whatever you want to call it), and try to work out how we are feeling, and that is where I will probably cry, even though I’ve vowed not to cry in front of David anymore, because I feel terrible when I’m in pain and he’s not).  And then we will go out to dinner, not to celebrate our anniversary, but just to try and make ourselves happy, and try not to remember that, two years ago, we were floating, so happy, so in love, so ready for the future, and wonder where the hell it all went wrong.


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