Day one

Day one:

It’s been almost 2 months since my husband kicked me out of “his” house. After a major meltdown (on my part) last night I finally convinced him to stop dragging his feet with signing the divorce papers. Thankfully (sarcasm implied) he invited his aunt and uncle over to witness our 1,000,000^th argument, and thus they have promised to walk him through the entire paperwork process.

To this day I do not understand his reasons for not wanting to sign the papers when he had stated repeatedly that he does not want to reconcile or work on our relationship.  Well, let me restate that, he had said he would go to one counseling appointment to “see if there’s anything left” , but other than that he had repeatedly said that he does not want to reconcile or work on the marriage.

My meltdown was of epic proportions. I still look back and cringe when I think of the four letter words and insults I slug around as though I had been a sailor my whole life. I get a little nauseated when I think about the shredded engagement journal (a journal that depicted all my hopes and wishes for our marriage) I neatly threw all over on his closet floor. But I’d have to say the most infuriating thing were those puppy dog eyes he had the entire time. It was almost like he was saying, “Don’t hurt me, I’m just a puppy. I’m just a victim.” Not because the idea of all 5’4” of me somehow hurting all 6’4” of him was ridiculous, but because he acted like HE was the victim. As if he hadn’t kicked me. As if he hadn’t emotionally disengaged months before. As if he had not taken everything away from me without as much as a sideways glance.  As if he hadn’t been the husband I begged for yet was resented for needing. And even now, the worse part of everything, is that I'm sure he still would claim to "not know what happened!"