People shouldn’t be allowed to marry so young. In fact, I think everyone, as soon as they finish school, should be forced out into the world to experience life on their own.
I will never regret any decisions I’ve made, but maybe if I’d waited, then it wouldn’t feel as if every single memory I have is wrapped up in my husband.
Maybe if I had other memories to rely on, I wouldn’t feel quite so desolate facing a life without him. Because right now? Every undistracted moment I have, my brain immediately flashes to another memory.
Trips we’ve taken, riding bikes, movies, dinners, weddings, quick getaways to Palm Springs, holidays (oh, God… Christmas), playing cards, watching sports, birthdays… everything I’ve done in my entire adult life has included my husband.
I can’t go fucking grocery shopping or do laundry without thinking of him.
I know if it comes to… you know… the Big D, I’ll be okay. I can survive. I’m young and lucky to have parents who will open their homes to me. But when I stand in the middle of our apartment and stare at all the stuff we’ve accumulated, I think seriously? We’re just going to throw away the last eight years of our lives?
The thought of starting over, alone, scares me. But more than that… the thought of not sleeping next to him each night makes me ill.
I never expected this. I thought if we ever separated, it’d be this angry, passionate blow-out over something one of us had done. We’d scream and curse and cry and throw things and then it’d be almost a relief for the whole thing to be over.
But this… this is different. There’s nothing I can do or say. There’s nothing for me to apologize for. I can’t cry and beg for forgiveness. Because I haven’t done anything.
He’s just not sure he wants to be with me anymore.
And trying to explain that kind of pain is impossible.