In the midst of a marital war..

I asked God to let me see you,

the real you,  as He sees you.

He did...

and with shocking clarity
I saw your brokeness,
your harrowing sadness,
your fear,
and your astonishing goodness
shining so bright it encased all the rest.

I sprung from my chair
and ran to you
unable to do anything else
but love you.



I think I found a key
to love eternal.

http://www.thanks2net.com/

I have come to understand a few things......

I have had this blog private.  It was just for me to vent and despair.  But I have decided that maybe others need to be able to relate to someone when they are in there own darkness. So I have changed the settings.  And I trust that someone might be led to this small quiet place and be reassured that they are not alone.

Things I have come to understand:

1.  The ideal marriage is a farce.  Okay there may be a select few who get the dream romance, beautiful wedding, happily ever after, without struggle.  But I think there are very few.  I can only think of two couples and one of them seems somewhat phony.  So maybe marriage is supposed to be hard.  Maybe the struggle is what makes us grow as individuals and grow together.  And maybe the ideal, happily ever after marriage is a plot by the Adversary himself, to make us feel like our marriage isn't up to par or maybe isn't even "right" or that we married the wrong person.

2.  Every struggle, every difficulty, is refining.  It improves us if we allow it and we attempt to learn from it.  Like sandpaper smooths wood by the tireless grating off of minute particles, our being is sharpened smoothed and beautified by the strife.  It is often easier to focus on the despair without looking at the end result. One night in frustration I prayed and told God "This is not fair.  This is so not fair!"  And in a still small voice I heard distinctly "No, but it is refining".  God has plans for me.  He can make me into something I cannot even imagine.  If and only if I let Him.

3. God is there and He is the source of all love.  And as the source, the spring, you can always go to Him to refill your heart when it is empty.  So many times I have hit my knees begging to fill my heart and help me love ...one more time.  And He does, each and every time I ask.

4.  Everything not right in this life will be made right in the world to come.  I put great stock in that.  I don't know how it will be made right.  But it will.

5.  There are compensations.  God  does bless us infinitely, even in the midst of the struggle.  And it is best to focus on the joy that is there to be found.  And there is joy.  So much joy!

6.  I am not responsible for anyone's happiness but my own.  His anger is his.  It may be depression, frustration, or fatigue but it is his.  I cannot make him happy.  That is his choice. I can't force him to feel or love.  And I have to remember that I have the same choice.  He cannot make me feel guilty or sad.  He can throw out worded barbs but I do not have to accept them as truth.

7.  Comparing makes you sad.  Comparing your life, your home, your kids, your wealth, ... anything takes the focus from what you Have to what you Don't Have and that.... will never help you be happy.

Hold on.  Pray.  Stay the course.  Love as you can.  And don't ever forget... you are not the only one in the dark.

It took me a long time to realize that the anger is not anger. At least not in you. Anger, it seems, for you is a way to say "look at me, take me by the hand, tell me I am still valuable to you even in my weakened state. Tell me some way you can love this battered shell of a man that I have become."

When I see that. I can take your hand. I can hold you. I can.

how did I go on?

The question was asked of me.  How do I go on.  I reread the posts and once again relive the pain and despair of a spouse with a chronic illness.
Things are so much better now.
We are so passed the tenuous - is this marriage even going to survive?
We survived and we will continue to do so.

And life is good now.

But why?

He didn't get better.
Life didn't get easier.

Is it because I found my worth?
Is it because I found his?
Is it because my Father in Heaven held us together when we were trying to push ourselves apart?

I love my husband.
He is my very best friend.

It took a looooonnnng time to find that out.

You say it's time for us to part ways.
You say alll we do is argue.
You say we don't even like each other anymore.

the really scary thing
is not that you touted these things
(which by the way are ALL untrue)

nor is it that you seem so
easily able to cast me aside

the really scary thing is that

it didn't even hurt.


Is my heart so encased in scar tissue
and concrete barriers I have built
that I no longer feel the pain?

And

if I no longer feel the pain -
can i even still feel love?

But I can and do feel love.
So

I choose to believe that once again
depression has reared it's ugliness.
or
you are off your meds
or
your self worth has plummeted again.

And we will go on.

I held your hand and

we walked in the snow

(not too far)

and looked at the moonshadows

of the pines.

We relished in the brightness

of the night,

the coldness touching our noses and cheeks,

the glittering of the ice crystals on the snow,

and the quiet pleasure of

each other.

I want for this to last

but

at least

I can hold it in my heart

and pull it out

for wistful pleasure

like an old photograph.

Sometimes . . . we are happy. Sometimes there is sweetness like strawberry juice lingering on our lips. Sometimes we share and laugh. Sometimes we want the same things and are able to work together to achieve them.

Sometimes, late at night, after the passion, I want to lie with you and relish all that is sweet and lingering and harmonious between us. I want it to keep humming in the air around us - just for a little while.

I want to let go of all that has come before and be together just like this.

sometimes.

Maybe we should hold a funeral.

For the you who used to be

and the me that used to be.

We could dig a hole and toss in
what we've lost
what we grieve over
what we will never have.

and bury it

deep.

And then we could hold hands

place flowers on the past

and start again

I was so hurt and angry. Beyond hurt. Devastated. Crushed. The fragile shell, with which I had carefully walled off my heart, was decimated into a crushing smoking pile of rubble. Leaving it bleeding and tenuously beating.

I was in such torment that.....

I couldn't see your pain. Your agony.

I realized that if: anger = pain for me, the equation holds true for you.

or is it that pain is easier to deal with if it is transferred into an anger form.

either way. You have been excruciating for a long time. And....

I never once

noticed.


I can get out the bandages and mortar and once again wall up my damaged heart

but you

is there any healing for you?

or does the agony - for you -

go on

and on

and on.

I almost saw you last night.

The you who used to be.

I saw a glimpse in your countenance. A brief smile.

We shared a laugh. Briefly.

......and you were gone.

I turned my head and cried.

I have actually come to miss you.
The you that I used to know.

Not the you that currently inhabits your being
the one that cannot see anything
beyond it's own
consumption
like Beast
in a Disney movie.

The other you.
The one that was kind, and gentle, and....
touched ever so softly.

I'm no Beauty,
and I am trying hard
to love this Beast

but it doesn't stop
my longing
the other you.

...and what am I do to with the information you so indifferently tossed out to me? You feel nothing? You are not capable of loving? I hear the sound of glass (which is my heart) shattering into thousands of exquisite glistening razor shards, slashing at my very existence. You don't love me? You don't love me?

 I hear screaming. It is my mind shrieking with disbelief and horror at this news.




Days later.

I have digested this news and chosen to deal with it by referral. I will believe you are not taking your antidepressants and thus are not in a reasonable mind. You are not you. (Please God, let that be the truth).

Yet, I always suspected it on some level. I always suspected that because you were unable to value yourself you were equally unable to love anyone else. But dammit, I wish you hadn't said it outloud.

Now I pantomime my days as the me I used to be, before the news. I pretend to laugh and care and live...

Somewhere in the recesses of my female mind is the stalwart belief that if I just give enough or do enough or am supportive enough ...... he would love me.

Then my other synapses kick in and I am sickened. over my own desperate needs. After all most men seem to prefer bitchy dominate women who tell them what to do. So how would my meekness be construed as desirable. Meekness is a synonym for weakness.

I feel most vomital for my lack of spine.

To speak, to say anything at all is to put oneself in jeopardy or peril.
How odd for a one-time writer to be silenced by emotional blackmail.

How can a heart and mind contain this quantity of anger and frustration and forlorn eagerness and yet stifle it behind walls of silence? Is it of a finite size wherein all this is contained? Will it rupture one day spewing forth all contents and creating havoc and upheaval on those I love?

 Or will it be so contained as to put immense pressure on the brain shorting out all thought and leaving in its desolate wake a blithering idiot? Am I destined to be one of those people who is found in a bus station with no former knowledge of who I am or how I came to be there?

 Would that be a better existance?