But first (a note of hope)
I know I’ve only just started telling the story.
And you’re getting ready to hear how things fell apart.
Spoiler: they really did fall apart.
But I wanted to jump ahead to the light, before going back to swim in the dark, dark depths.
So I’ll split history into three distinct sections.
The before, the chaos and the rest.
The before.
It’s near impossible to look back to the early days without being blinded by what happened later.
Hindsight not only makes us far smarter than we were in the past, but has a way of throwing up all sorts of illusions, ghosts, and mistakes.
But we were never really that happy.
We pulled in different directions in all sorts of ways. Religion, politics, cultural background, and maybe even moral values.
The problem was that she was my first serious relationship.
I’d had a plenty of girlfriends, but never a long-term relationship.
And I was surrounded by friends who were settling down and even marrying,
So all the concerns, reservations, and “really?” moments I had, I put down as normal.
But they weren’t.
The novelty and excitement soon faded, and turned into the existing cliché of a couple living a fairly mundane and insular life.
We lived in town hours away from her family, and a day or so from mine.
Yet even then, while starting to settle into a life with me, and getting a slightly pointless degree from University, she would go to stay with her parents whenever she could.
The warning bells were probably ringing, but I chose not to hear them.
Even then, in the easiest of times, she preferred to hang onto the past rather than build her future.
I went along with this. I had little to compare it to.
I didn’t go to her parents as often as she did because I found it stifling, depressing, and irritating.
But I never questioned why she chose to be with them, and not me.
Heaven knows what I was actually thinking.
Then we moved to a new city, closer to my family this time, and inevitably we married.
Not because we desperately wanted to, but because it seemed the sensible thing to do.
When we had our first child, the distance between us began to grow further.
Not because of our child, but because she seemed to have everything she wanted at that moment. And could then unleash her love on someone who relied on her.
I don’t remember when I started sleeping in the makeshift spare room that we used for visitors.
And I don’t remember when this became permanent.
Initially, it was because I had to get up to drive to work each day, while she could rest with the baby.
But then, she started to prefer sleeping in a room without me.
And that was fine with me too.
The chaos
The chaos began, as most storms do, with gentle little gusts of wind.
A hint that rain might be coming.
When I look back at the years of chaos, if truth be told, I want to shake myself.
Why couldn’t I see what was starting?
Why did I do nothing to change the course we were on?
Perhaps I just couldn’t see that far ahead?
Perhaps I had my nose buried so deep in my books that I couldn’t see the dark skies that lay ahead. Couldn’t see the occasional flashes of lightning, or hear the very distant thunder.
The chaos began so gently.
An almost imperceptible lessening of physical intimacy.
Less sex. Less bonding. Less quality time together. Less shared joy.
More nights alone. More pursing our own interests. More time apart.
She started to go visit her parents for days at a time. Then weeks at a time.
She’d take our child with, so our home would be quiet, empty, and cold.
When she was back, she focused all her time and energy on our child. Obsessively.
She started to buy more clothes than could ever be worn.
Then started spending money on herself.
Clothes that remained unused. Unread books.
She had plans — so many plans — and would buy the tools, the books, and the parts, but never actually do them.
She spent hours each day on her phone.
By this time, the gap between us had become a chasm.
And instead of looking down and acknowledging it, we pretended it wasn’t there.
One of the few remaining joint activities was watching TV at night.
It’s the most passive form of bonding, requiring no effort.
We’d stare at a box on the wall, lose ourselves in what was happening, and pretend that we weren’t sad and lonely in our own home.
And then, as surely as the sun sets each day, the chaos deepened.
She spent more of the money I was earning.
I resented the spending, but never spoke of it.
She spent longer at her parents. Longer on her phone. Longer hunched over her computer staring at mindless shit.
I said nothing, but spent longer at work, longer working even when I came home, longer with friends that she wasn’t a part of.
She withdrew deeper into herself, her family, her phone.
And then, she did it.
She hurled herself to the point of no return with absolute abandon.
But there I go, getting ahead of myself again.
In the next post, I’ll tell speak of the noise the fan makes after the shit has been through it, and my descent into the darkness.