Perspective and the pieces of me that died

Hey You,

I feel like a piece of me died when I left my ex husband. I am worried that I will never be able to love again.

At the moment I am kind of in a relationship with a new person. He is wonderful, but its not the same. I’m not in love. I could LOVE him. He is LOVEABLE. I SHOULD be able to fall in love with him and love him, but the truth is… I’m not in love and I don’t love him.

I care about him. I think he is a great person. I want to fall in love with him… and at the same time there is something so broken inside of me… I’m not sure if I even still have the capacity for love. This makes me very sad. What makes me even more sad is thinking that for him, it is probably the same, because he was in love before and he was forced to leave her as well and I know that broke him into a thousand pieces.

How can you ever love again after that? Is there life after love?

When I met my ex-husband it was like I was struck by lightning. I know he felt the same when he met his ex. I was so in love. Everything was rosy and beautiful. The sky became more blue. The world was a better place. All I wanted to do was be with this person.

Everything was fun and funny. We had the best adventures. We held hands. My love was returned. We wrote poems to each other. We declared our undying love for each other. We painted together. We faced tough times together and survived. Everything was worth fighting for. I could climb mountains and survive being drowned by life because he was there and he was my everything. Everything.

And now he’s gone.

Slowly, over the years, while I stayed in love, he started falling out of love with me. It was evident in the way he treated me, but I didn’t want to notice. We stopped holding hands. We stopped going on adventures together. He stopped wanting to have sex. He told me everything was my fault and that God was angry with me. He alienated me from God, my family, friends and most of all…from myself.

I stopped taking care of myself. I started feeling very lonely and eventually worthless to the point where I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror anymore. I still loved him. Things got worse. I would try to cook for us. He would refuse to eat the food I made. I would work 16 hour days, he would do nothing but sleep and drink and play games or whatever.

I felt resentful, but I made excuses in my head for him until the resentment went away. I would spent nights worrying about when he is coming home, if he is coming home. We never did fun or nice things together anymore. I bought a datebox subscription. He refused to complete the datebox tasks with me.

I kept working. I cut my hair short. I never wore makeup. I wasn’t pretty anymore.

Then the physical abuse started. A lot of shouting and being yanked around. I didn’t feel safe. And that one night when I went to fetch him we got into an argument and things got really bad. Our next door neighbour had to intervene. I was so glad that the next door neighbour was here because I was terrified.

He stood over me shouting and kicking at me. Like i was worthless, like he hated me, like everything was somehow my fault. I still loved him. I still remained loyal. I still worked hard. I tried everything. I paid for his therapy, my therapy and couples therapy. Nothing worked. Nothing brought back the man that I had fallen in love with, the man that I was fighting for was gone.

And then on that morning we had spent the night arguing. He wanted the tenants to leave so it would be just us in the house. I didn’t want that to happen. I was afraid. He picked up the phone and called my parents to tell them that I had gone crazy and they need to have me committed.

My dad said to leave my clothes, grab my wallet, get an uber and get on the next plane out of there. I obeyed. I left. My ex told the tenants and the neightbours and my business partners that he had sent me to my parents to have me committed. He also called my psychologist, the one that had helped me deal with my traumatic childhood and told her that I was crazy. He called the one friend I had and told her too.

Everyone believed him, except for the one tenant (the one that saved me that night), my one friend (whom I had met when we were both in a mental hospital recovering from our traumatic childhoods) and the psychologist who had treated me. The psychologist phoned me to check that I was okay and tell me about his weird behaviour, the friend told him she had spoken to me already and I was fine, the tenant, well he was there for me throughout this whole process although he desperately wanted me to come back and not permanently move back in with my parents.

He was so sweet. He was the only person that really helped me through all of this. Even my parents were considering if maybe I had gone crazy or not. They actually called the tenant to confirm that I was not crazy.

But I never fell out of love with my ex. And now I’m in a new relationship with the tenant (the one that saved me that night and that was there for me throughout and that continues to be there for me), but I’m struggling to love him.

Why is that? Will I ever recover from this? Are you sad for me? Are you hopeful? How do you feel about my story and how it could possibly turn out? Please let me know. I could really use a friend right now.

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