Dweller on the Threshold

I'm not writing as much in my blog during this time. I'm really not sure why. Maybe cause I haven't told anyone that I'm writing my blog. And that if I know that no one is going to read it. Does it matter that I write it down.
People reguarly ask me if we're getting a divorce. I just say yes, because in some way I dont want to tell them the real answer. We were just married "for fun". It was real to me though. In my heart I'm still married to him.
I still love him.
I feel just kind of numb to it all. Maybe its been so long since he's hurt me that I'm really not sure how to feel right now. Maybe its been so long, since I've questioned what I've said. That I've had to apologize for "something I did or said". I want to talk to him one on one so bad. But I know that that wont happen, as I "dont exist" any longer.
I dont like feeling this numb for this situation.
I still feel like there is an unanswered question out there, kind of like when you leave your house of a vacation and if you're wondering if you left a window open or left the stove on. There is this lingering unanswered THING,
I want to kiss someone.
I want to be held
I dont need sex, I'm not ready for that. I also think that I'm too fat for anyone wanting to have sex with.
Maybe that's why Peter stopped having sex with me, is cause I got fat. I got fat cause I was unhappy. His not working made me unhappy, his silent treatments made me unhappy, coming home from working all day and finding the kitchen still a disaster made me unhappy, having to sit on the floor in the middle of the kitchen cause there was no counter space left in the kitchen made me unhappy, coming home from work and finding it the same way made me unhappy, getting yelled at and then silent treatment if I did the dishes (ie loaded the dishwasher) made me unhappy. So I ate, I drank. I wanted to be numb.
I want someone to hold me hand and mean it. I want to share jokes across a table over some pints. I want someone that wants to be with me.
I'm back to being a work in progress again, I'm over 200 pounds. I was 140-150 for my wedding to peter. I've gained 65 pounds of unhappiness. I was a size 4-6. I'm now a size 18-20. I'm trying. Its tough, when you view fat as a protection mechanism. If your fat, no one will love you and you wont get hurt. You lose weight, you get pretty, you get hurt. I want love, I want the love that I see my friends have. I'm jealous of them. I feel bad for feeling jealous. But seeing their love makes me know that it exists. I thought it existed. He did, at times, make me so incredibly happy. I just never knew when those would be. I felt so right with him. He made sense to me that no other guy had. I do think that had the dark side to him wasnt there, id still be with him, job or no job.
Why do I still love him like I do?

Times of Trouble

He's got a job now.
He got it through a contracting agency.
He got it with networking (ie a friend told him about the job)
Its on the east side.

Those 4 things, he would say time and time again to me, that he could never do. Networking doesn't work, that he couldnt ever find work cause he was to old, his skills were too out of date, so forth and so on.

He went on to thank all of his friends who encouraged him in getting this new position.

Not a single thank you to the woman who supported him for 3 + years. Who made sure that the money kept coming in. That encouraged him when he felt down. That kept the money coming in. That made sacrifice after sacrifice, so we had enough money to pay rent, the bills, and still not lose our minds by occasionally getting a dinner out once in a while or a stop at a pub. Not a single thank you to the woman who kept trying her best to help. No thank you to the woman, who cried so many nights, trying to come up with the perfect words to say that would be just the right words to encourage him to try something new.

No thank you to the woman who tried to find ways to bring happiness to the household. Bringing him little presents (mostly freebies from work) but it was something to show him I cared.
No thank you to the woman who listened to hours of put downs of himself and getting yelled at when I told him wasn't true. I believed (and still do) in him. I can remember suggesting contracting work. Got yelled at, that I wasnt listening. Remember suggesting networking, got yelled at that I wasn't listening. Remember suggesting all sorts of things, again.. yelled at cause I wasn't listening to him (put himself down). I'm sorry that I'm not going to believe less in my husband. That he isn't on a pedestal. I adored him. Still do. I wanted him to reach for the stars, most days when I got home from working, he was reaching for the remote. I always saw how good he could be. Even when I felt dejected, rejected, abandoned, when the yelling turned to days of silent treatment. Until I apologized for "not listening" "not being a good communicator" "being from new york".

I still love Peter. I think about him constantly. Its hard to think about all the pain I was in for so many years. The tears ive shed. And still want him to love me. And he has no idea that he hurt me this way. That's the harshest thing.

The lies I told friends that everything was fine, when I left early from events. The tears I shed at events, when I was scared to even approach him. Scared... SCARED to approach my husband. Because I didnt want him to hear him say how worthless he was. How he hates all of our friends. That he doesn't belong. I was terrified. The yelling he would do AT himself. The slamming of doors. He wanted me to listen. I did listen. I listened to every bad thing he said about himself. I listened to every criticism, I listened to every time something went wrong. I then made the mistake of offering a suggestion, an idea. Because no idea or suggestion would ever work and therefore I wasn't listening.

But there you are, with a job, on the east side, through a contractor, with the help of a friend. All those things I suggested. But I wasn't listening, I guess. And no thanks for me. I'll be over here, alone. Still wanting him. Missing him.

I never wanted to leave him. But I had to leave him. And that's what hurts the most. I never wanted this. But living in fear is not living.