I am an utter fool. There is no life after love. What a idiot I was to ever think there could be.
I have fucked up what little there was between me and my husband. I don't know why the hell we are still together, I care about him but don't love him, I have concern for him but am not in love with him.
Whereas once I convinced myself he still loved me and the depth of this love kept him with me I now consider it more likely to be a combination of ease, fear and a determination not to let go of the house. We have little respect for each other, we share very few common interests and exchange nothing more than small talk as conversation. In short it feels a fucking mess.
Now I have just spent 2 nights down on the south coast, first day a lovely loved-up lunch with K, the second day we spent partly in bed and partly by the seaside, fish n chips on the beach, a quick paddle in icy sea and a browse around an eclectic English seaside town. I had a wondrous time. I was as high as a kite, my world felt multi-coloured and magical, I felt childlike in my thrill of it all. I felt in love.
I drove home yesterday and admittedly I knew he had a busy day of plans, but contact has been sparse. Brief. Distracted.
I feel abandoned. Whenever we have had a lot of contact or a much anticipated liaison (as well as the highs of sexual play) there comes the inevitable down, the loss, the plummet but we nearly always managed to bolster each other along and share it. Today I feel at a loss, I have no one to share it with, I have no one to talk to about it, and if the truth be told I am so angry that he can just let me wander back and seemingly forget me.
I feel very very low today.....roll on next weekend when I am off to Portugal with my girlfriends and at this very moment in time I am contemplating not taking my phone and fuck them all! But of course we all know I won't......