Here's The Deal

I still love my soon-to-be ex-husband.

It's a strange but real truth.

I love him for being the father of my amazing children.

I love him for being the kind of man who is willing to sacrifice his life for our country.

I love him for all the precious and joyful moments we have shared.

I love him for his loyalty, his determination, and his strong work ethic.

I love him for all of his good and positive qualities, and even for some of the things that make him quirky and weird.

I will always love him for these things.

And this is why I know that my decision to divorce him is right.

I am not acting out of hatred, frustration, or even fear. I am not reacting to one thing that has happened or even a bunch of things that have happened. My decision is based on prayer, meditation, and careful consideration. My decision is based on watching myself wilt and crumble beneath the weight of his disabilities and obsessive behaviors. My decision is based on watching my children begin to try and protect me and themselves from his inability to recognize and respect the emotional and physical boundaries of others.

His problems are not his fault, to a certain extent. He served our country and was injured physically, mentally, and emotionally. He fights so hard every day to get out of bed and to make something of himself. He has astounding courage and strength, and this is why I stayed with him as long as I did. 

I see him. 

I see his real self in there, struggling so hard to break free, to be healthy, and I want to support him in that. But I know that I cannot trust him. I cannot love him the way a wife needs to love her husband. I will never again be able to give him those precious parts of myself that are most vulnerable and sacred, because he is incapable of handling them without irreparably damaging them.

I tried. I tried so hard, for so long, but he is too heavy for me to carry.

I am hoping that he can heal better without me there. The majority of his paranoia and delusions have centered around me. He imagines I do dangerous or inappropriate things that I have never done. He imagines I am in danger and people are after me that do not exist. He obsesses constantly about what I am thinking and feeling, and wants me to tell him these things over and over again every day, even if I have already done so multiple times.

I am hoping that, in removing myself from him, he will be free of my expectations and the worry of making me happy. He will be free of the burdens of pleasing someone else when he needs to give all his focus to his own well-being, for that is all he can handle. He will no longer have the excuse of his imaginary outside distractions to prevent him from focusing on the true problems inside of himself. I am hoping that this big, huge thing will be enough of a wake-up call for him that he will seek the true help and treatment he has shied away from thus far.

I hope.

But, no matter what he chooses, I know that the decision I am making is right and best for all of us. So I press forward in doing my best, and I make the decisions I can to protect myself and my children. 

And to free myself 

and my husband.

Last Night
by Micki
Written October 7, 2014

Last night, I held him as he trembled.

Last night, I listened while he screamed.

Last night, I stroked his arm, his hand, his cheek

Struggling helplessly to set him free.

His dream, so much more than reality.

His dream, an unconquerable leviathan.

His dream, a terror he cannot escape

And still I pull and beg and call his name.

His name, that day I took upon me.

His name, a symbol of our love.

His name, we share as one, forever

But in vain I call it out to bring him home.

“You’re home,” I plead as he is moaning.

“You’re home,” I cry as he calls out.

“You’re home,” I whisper as he looks at me

His eyes still trapped in hell, no place to run.

I try to run, so his monster won’t hurt me.

I try to run, to free myself and get away.

I try to run, and stumble, fall, return to him

I am bound; no matter what I want, I stay.

We stay, secluded in the darkness

We stay, both cornered in his eternal fight.

We stay, as he whispers “I’m sorry.”

For all we know is this neverending night.