And in the End…
“I have not broken your heart—you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.”
Author’s Note: Please remember that this rant is a work of nonfiction, but it is told from my side of the story. There are two sides to every story. If you want the other one…go find it.
How do you tell the end of a love story that wasn’t ever really a love story to begin with? Looking back, I liken my relationship with my soon-to-be-ex husband (from this point forward referred to as “the ex”) to that of Heathcliff and Catherine from Wuthering Heights. And for those of you who think that is a love story for the ages, you couldn’t be more wrong. The relationship between Heathcliff and Catherine was a pool of codependency and toxicity — a relationship that was destined to fail. Once again, how do I tell the end of that story fairly? The ex isn’t going to weep for my ghost on the moors, but I think we do hate each other with the same passion that Heathcliff and Catherine did (sorry for the spoilers, but if you were going to read it, don’t you think you would have by now?).
All that being said, where do I now begin? Well, this story has several endings — much like the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Let me first start this by saying that during the course of our marriage, and especially after the start of 2014, the ex had started calling me names during fights. Granted, all couples say things that they regret, things that are hurtful, during confrontations. And because I am fair (and I admit my flaws), I will admit that I know how to push buttons and use my words bitterly, when needed. But, I never called him names. It didn’t stop, and the apologies started to mean nothing when the actions didn’t change. The constant tension that lived in our house drove me into a deep depression that I still haven’t completely recovered from. I felt like I was tiptoeing through a minefield half the time. Like I said, our contempt for each other was much like Heathcliff and Catherine.
What was all the tension about? It was simple — I was an adult, and he wasn’t…at least not emotionally. I expected him to get a job, keep a job and contribute to the household. I expected him to help around the house. I expected to have a partner that would support me while I supported him. What I got was a man who sat on my couch for the majority of our relationship playing video games or running off to be with his friends. He was basically a teenager disguised as a 33-year-old man.
The first ending was in March 2014. We had been married since Sept. 2013, and after a bad fight, the ex went on a bit of a rage, breaking things in the house before he left. This made me question my safety, and I felt the need to flee the house and have time to get my head straight. I decided to take a bus to somewhere to get some distance from the ex. So, I went to stay with my friend (my male friend of almost 10 years — which is important later) for a week. The ex had no problem with this when I left. He said he understood, helped me pack, drove me to the bus station and waited with me for my bus to come. I slept in my friend’s bedroom while I was there (he took the couch), and I spent a week sitting on his bed, writing, talking to my family and friends for advice and meditating. I left the room to eat, shower and use the restroom. That was about it. My friend went on with his life — school, work, women, etc.
The ex picked me up from NC and drove me home a week later. Not too long after, I realized that he had taken up a habit that he said he would never take up again, and because of the lies and everything else that had went on, I threw him out. He went to NC for a week to see his family, and then, we decided to work things out.
Then, things really broke bad during the hospitalization and death of my sister. He was hit or miss when it came to being supportive. He would criticize me one day for using the car to go to the hospital and see her one day, and then offer to drive me the next. We had a fight one night and decided it was over, and 10 minutes later, the doctors called us in to tell us my sister had taken a turn for the worse. Our parting was put on hold. But, it kept bubbling up at inappropriate times. It bubbled up when I was writing my sister’s obituary. It bubbled up that morning before the funeral, and on the ride home from the cemetery. When I got home from the funeral, it exploded, and I told him he needed to leave. We went back and forth for two weeks about whether or not it was over while he stayed somewhere else. But, by mid-June, we knew it was time to part ways. He moved back to NC, and I stayed here in Ohio. Ending number two.
However, once we split, the hateful nature of the beast kept on raging. I would get text messages calling me a whore and asking why I cheated on him while we were together — asking how many guys I had been with while we were together. The answer — zero. Why was he suspicious? You guessed it…because of my trip to NC to see my friend. If I didn’t want to be with the ex anymore, it HAD to be because I was cheating on him, right? Wrong.
One night about three weeks ago, he called me in tears. He was hysterical. He loved me. He missed me. He needed me. He wanted to come home. He got to me. I told him to come home. He showed up the next night, begging for another chance. This time, there was very little yelling or name calling. There was very little arguing. He would help around the house. He was good with the kids, and he tried to be good to me. But, I realized that it just wasn’t the same anymore. There wasn’t that connection. I didn’t feel toward him the way a wife should feel toward her husband. I felt like he was someone I cared about, but not someone I was in love with. And, no matter what he did to show he was “trying”, he wasn’t capable of being the person I needed him to be. If he tried to be that person, he would have hated it, and began resenting me, which would have led to our separation later down the road.
So, on to ending number three: I told him everything I wrote in that last paragraph. I broke his heart. I had to — if I didn’t, then he wouldn’t have agreed to leave and stop trying. I had to show him there was no hope. And there really isn’t. People like to think that Catherine and Heathcliff end up together — and they do…in death. But, in life, they are always in other relationships. I don’t want to wait that long. I don’t want to live my life unhappy and hope for happiness in the afterlife. So, I cast off my Heathcliff. He left yesterday for NC, never to return to the North. He left a confetti of text insults and accusations along the way, calling me terrible names, assuring me that I was a whore and probably cheated on him constantly. He even disparaged the name of my late sister as a way to get at me. He demonstrated the true vengeful nature of his heart, and how Heathcliff-esque he really is. Thankfully, this Catherine knows that the third departure will be the last, and that she is lucky to have let go before her soul was left in tatters on the floor.
So, how does a love story that isn’t really a love story end? It ends with happiness for the one who got away.
