I'm still here. I'm still making it through every day. The minute-to-minute of my days isn't bad. In fact, right now it's pretty good. The Child and I seem to have found our groove again, and aside from fairly frequent two-year-old Drama Queen incidents, we are once again moving along together pretty happily.
The hardest part is the evenings. The Man and I are still 'separated'. For us, that means that after he puts The Child to bed, we sometimes watch a few minutes of t.v. - sometimes we don't - but every night we head into separate beds. Oh, and weekends are hard, too. We're in this weird limbo of wanting The Child to have good days, so we try to all hang out together. It falls flat. After our outing today, my stomach was in knots and I felt sick. Not because anything awful had happened, but because it was hard to spend time with him.
When I made my big pronouncement, I wondered if it would be a trial separation that would end in reconciliation. Now that we're a few weeks in, it just seems to be more and more clear that we're simply going our separate ways. He's made no changes to his behaviors. In fact, he's smoking more, acting a bit surly and going to fewer meetings. He's made no move to communicate any sort of feeling or emotion to me. Our general communication has pretty much broken down, and we're left throwing information over our shoulders as we walk out the door.
I had a husband and a partner and a best friend. Now I have a roommate. A roommate who's not particularly eager to spend any time with me...
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