I haven’t felt attacked until tonight.

“Everyone else knew I wasn’t happy, and I didn’t shield you from it. I haven’t been happy with almost anything in our relationship for a year or more. It’s not news, but every time I tried to talk to you about it, you’d give me the same answers, and we’d go absolutely no where. If we’d listened to mom a year ago, and gotten into couples counseling, we might have saved it. At this point, I don’t even want to save it.”

My memory of an entire year is wrong? Our rebound from the rough patch? I was completely mistaken about that? When she said that things were better? When she acted as if things were better? I remember wrong? Why do I feel so deceived that I want to throw up? Why does this feel like yet another in a long string?

I don’t even remember her mom suggesting couples’ counseling. I am incensed. Enraged. Barely in control of myself.

I took everything that she’s said at face value. I have trusted the words that have come from her mouth. She does not give me the same benefit. She cannot stop herself from thinking that I am judging her or implying things that I am not. She takes offense, and lashes out at me in return.

She is certainly making it easy for me to move to California.

I felt pangs of loneliness for the first time when I crawled into bed last night. They were overwhelming. They felt far more permanent than they could ever be, and thus I felt hopeless.

Depression had snuck up on me while I was watching a Eureka episode on DVD. I crawled into bed, assumed the fetal position, and wanted nothing more than someone to hold me.

There are those that have been flirting with me. Or, I’ve grossly misinterpreted standard conversation for advances. I’m fairly certain that it’s been flirting, though. Anyway, the physical comfort that might come from another’s touch is… extremely appealing, though obviously dangerous. With all of the emotional storming that’s going on inside of me, typical rebound problems are very likely. This, of course, is ignoring the fact that I’m still married. There are a lot of knots yet to be untied, and no paperwork has been filed. I’m not about to cheat on my wife.

I knew that this was coming, but I don’t think that there was a way to steel myself against it.

We are disagreeing on how things happened. She says that we talked at length about the idea of her being able to sleep with people while we were separated. I don’t remember it like that.

I remember being in the shower, being afraid to broach the topic; being afraid to assert myself. She was on the can or at the sink, I don’t know. She was in the room. I told her that I had thought about the separation idea that she had mentioned the night before, and I had decided that if that’s what it took to save our marriage, then that was what we would do. I then asserted that I was not okay with her sleeping with people. She grew angry, and left to cool off.

The work day went by.

We were driving home from work, and were taking the Cedar/Pennsylvania exit off of I-496. I remember that detail clearly. She asked if I understood why what I’d said made her mad. I said no, because if she was defining who she was without the influence of other people, why would she need to sleep with other people? She would be being influenced by those people. This is when she said that it was an external restriction, and external restriction of any kind was not welcome.

This was all the reasoning that I had for our divorce up until Sunday. I was sitting in Denny’s, writing. This is when she told me how much fun she’s had since we’ve separated. This is when she told me how much she likes who she was before me, who she is now without me, compared to how she is with me. The impulsiveness, the brashness, the crazy, and the sleep deprivation. This is when that I learned that our divorce was no longer about sex, to put it bluntly.

She worries that I’m going to be up on my moral high horse, looking down at her, and telling everyone that that’s what this is about. I told her that until Sunday, that was what we were getting divorced over.

It didn’t take her three months or six months to decide that she didn’t want to be around me any more. Took just around one. Almost sounds like her mind was made up from the start, but that’s a paranoid direction that I want to avoid.

I am starting to feel so tired about all of this. My blood family knows, and that is an incredible weight off of my shoulders, instead of a frightening ordeal. I knew that it would be, but I always have that irrational fear. They have my back, and want me to be happy, which should have always been obvious. I guessed wrong on which parent would be the angry protector, and which would be more focused on consoling and healing.

I love them, you know. My whole family. Blood, or not.

I told Dad that I have no doubt whether I will survive this. That is a given. I just need to make sure to experience this, and to deal with it. I will add to that, now. I need to deal with this without fear. I need to deal with this as a whole person, a full and responsible person. There is a lot of fear involved, and there is a lot of uncertainty. But I will survive.

If I’m to be in a holding pattern for a little while longer, I might as well just circle and enjoy the sights.

Things move forward, whether we want them to or not. People move forward. She’s moving forward. She’s moving on.

She’s decided that she likes who she is without me. She likes who she used to be before we were together. She does not like who she is with me.

This is really, really ironic. She crushed on me for six months, while I was sure that we’d never work as a couple. In fact, she never let me forget those six months where I made her doubt herself, her instincts, her choices. The house was her idea. The dog was her idea. The renovations were her idea. Moving to California has always been her idea.

Still, people are asking me not to move forward until they have a chance to confront her. I agree, I mean, she’s my wife until she isn’t. I’ve told her this, and I’ve told everyone involved this.

For some reason, I still feel like a caged animal, being poked with sticks from all sides. From my wife, from Jody, from Lauren… when all the latter two are doing are trying to help. The former… she says she wants to be happy, and I want her to be happy, too. But what about the commitment she made to me? I am angry that it seems so easy for her to cast it aside.

From a protected post in her blog:

“We still love each other, but just because we could make it work (with effort and sacrificing parts of ourselves, and introducing the possibility of later bitterness and more severe hurt and anger) doesn’t mean we should.”

This is the part I disagree with. This is the part that hurts. This pisses me right off. But I’m still in this cage.

I’ve told my blood family. If it’s to be real, then it’s to be real. I’m not hiding any more.

I’m wearing my ring again. The wedding band that I designed. I designed mine, and she hers, and they were joined by a theme. Does that mean that we designed them, or did we each bring them about to mean different things?

Jody has asked me not to give up. She’s asked me not to keep moving on the path of letting go. She sees these things that are going on, these things that I have accepted as grim and unavoidable, as aberrations of behavior and personality. Our mutual friends have echoed this. This is not like her, they say. This makes no sense. Why does she become angry when holes are poked in her logic, instead of re-thinking? Why is she living so fast and hard? Why is she acting like life is the monitoring of servers… give everything just enough attention to shut it up.

Jody has not yet been asked to untie her knot. This contradicts what I thought I knew. My sister (in law… she calls me her brother, without the added two words. Is she my sister, then?) tells me that she has decided that she will not untie her knot unless we both ask. We must both ask Brandy for divorce. I told my wife (she is still) that the only reason that I would do this is because this is something that she must do to be happy, to be herself.

She was angry with me already. This did not help. She glared at me, saying that we would have to have “that talk…. again.” Again? I’m certain that I have an understanding of the time line, and that it does not suffer the usual failings and generalities of my memory.

At every step of the way, she decided on her own. She did not include me in her thoughts, in her ruminations… when she finished thinking, she presented me with an ultimatum. Polyamory or divorce. I would not choose divorce. I told her that while I could not deal with her showing physical affection for others, it would be foolish for me to think that I had any power over whom she loved. Marriage is commitment, and I was committed to her.

She began to think. Her frustration came from our lack of intimacy. I told her that there was some distrust, from the last time we came close to parting ways. I told her that the things she did made me not like her, though I loved her. They made me less likely to feel intimate. I told her that when I did approach her, she was not as in the mood as she claimed, and would rebuff me. Feeling rejected and confused (had she not said that she wanted this?), I would turn over, and then she would be angry at me for not cuddling. Then she would feel angry at herself for strong-arming me into cuddling with her.

The things she did… starting things and not completing them, not doing what she said she would do, driving wildly, driving without insurance… she decided that she needed to find out if she did these things that made me dislike her because they are a part of her, or if she did them to spite me. She suggested a separation, a few months staying here in Michigan before coming out to California with me. I thought about it for a day, and decided that if this was what must happen to save our marriage, then it should be. I told her such, but I said that I still could not deal with her sleeping with other people. This angered her. I asked her why she needed to sleep with other people, if her intentions were to determine who she was without the influence of other people. She says that it is an external restriction, and defeats the purpose of her discovering who she is. I said that what she wanted was outside of marriage, to me. It was not_marriage, as opposed to marriage. This is our fundamental disagreement. This is what is causing our divorce.

Scott says that what she’s asking is outside of our commitment. He believes that were we to change this fundamental nature of our marriage, another wedding would be in order. He thinks it’s that different.

Lauren says that you can’t put marriage on hold.

Geoff says that marriage is a thing, it can’t just stop like that and start up again.

Jody says that she has not been this frustrated by her daughter in a very long time.

Eric, Scott, Lauren, Geoff, R. Chris, Ken, Jay, Brandy, Jody, Emily, Kelly, Alex, Anne, Scott K, Bob… so many are making certain that I do not feel alone. They make certain that if I need something, I will have it. They are worried about me, and they are the best people… every time I tell this story (and I’m certain that I’ve forgotten a few), more people tell me that all I need to do is contact them, and they will be there for me.

I have told the story so many times, but I haven’t told my parents yet. I haven’t told my brother. I am so frightened of the finality of telling them. If I tell my family, it makes it even more real. How can I fight it once I’ve told them? How can I hold out hope? They are the real world, after all. I’m here, living in my dreams and fantasies, and they have to deal with the real. If I bring it to them, this thing touches the real.

This thing.

My divorce.

I don’t want it to happen.

I wonder, sometimes, if it’s better off if it does. And that makes me shrivel up inside myself.

It was almost a week before I stopped wearing my ring. I was attending a handfasting. I’ve been such a hermit lately, and it was incredibly short notice. Still, I felt an urge to go, so I made the time.

I had gone to Meijer’s to pick up some food, as it was potluck. Not much better than kettle chips. Anyway, I parked in the driveway, and just… froze, I guess. I was staring at my ring, and I didn’t even realize it. It felt wrong to wear it into a ritual setting, especially one that was a joining of lives. It felt like I’d be lying to them, to myself, and to the gods. I took it off and dropped it in the cup holder in the car, amongst the pennies that she keeps there.

I didn’t get in the car all Sunday, and any of Monday morning. By the time we were heading into work, I was panicking that somehow the ring would no longer be in the cup holder. I was deathly afraid of it getting lost or stolen. My chest would tighten up any time I thought about it.

Another cliche, used over and over again because it’s true. Used so much that the intensity of its meaning is lost until experienced.

The ring was still there. I’ve been carrying it around in my pocket, next to my keys and change. You can hear it clink when I walk, usually. The ring has always had such an amazingly clear sound… I don’t know what to do with it. Do I bury it in the yard, leaving it behind with the house? Do I take her suggestion, and have it melted down into something else, into a new meaning? A new significance? Do I pawn it, and get some practical use out of it, and hopefully let someone else attach meaning to it?

I keep thinking that this would all be so much easier if could just get out to California, and start with the moving on.

I thought that I was done with that last one. I’ve been sitting here, chatting, and realized that there’s more roiling around down there. In the tempest, if you’ll allow me the pretension.

The night that we came to the big impasse, and the word divorce was first said with a sense of finality, she went out driving. I let her go. When she left, I started to shudder, and tears overwhelmed me, and I started to sob. Really sob, like can’t-control-your-limbs sobbing. Like when you’re twelve and get turned down by that girl you like, or when you realize that you’ve thought for a long time that your wife doesn’t really care about you.

I stopped it. It was too much pain, and I REFUSED to admit that this was done. I decided that sleep would be less painful (red flag) and I went upstairs to go to bed. I got to the top of the stairs, my dog looking at me with those “gimme pettin‘” eyes, because he knew that I needed comforting. He’s just lucky that he gets to express love by getting it. I started to break down again. All of the cheese phrases about hugging yourself, about feeling yourself break deep down, about abandonment, about the cold depth of being alone… they’re easier to dismiss when they’re cheese.

It sucks ass when they’re true. When they’re real. It took me a bit, but I recovered, and went to bed. I lost myself to sleep and dreams, and I woke up feeling better. It was another day, I was in bed, and only mildly disturbed that she hadn’t come up to bed that night.

I got myself around, went through my pattern (patterns are so comfortable and reassuring), and didn’t get shocked out of it until I saw her ring finger. Empty.

It was so quick. Did she doubt? Did she just toss them away like they were worthless? Do they carry chains and cuffs instead of love? We designed them, they’re unique. Both hers and mine.

Did she pause, like I did, and stare at them, wondering what the shit was going on? Did she ask herself how she got there? Did she regret? There’s too much wall to know for sure, and it’s no longer my place to ask.