As I was driving away from the house following the conversation that resulted in my divorce, crying that hysterical, panicked, painful kind of crying, the type of crying that can bruise your ribs if you don't control your breathing, the thought that kept going through my head was, "Who is going to love me?"
I was 29, fifteen pounds overweight, and I had been in love with the same man since I was 22. In my estimation, at that moment, I didn't know what I could offer anyone else.
Nearly two years later, as I stood in the courthouse, waiting for my case to be called in and listening to my ex-husband spout a string of nonsense about how he is going to become a civil engineer and design septic tanks for the Mars space colony, I looked at him and thought, "Who is going to love him?"
It was not a malicious thought. In fact, it made me feel absolutely helpless-like I had failed. I loved him the most in the whole world at one point. I loved him at an unhealthy level. I know I loved him more than I loved myself, and I can't picture myself being able to deal with him in his current state. Even I am not strong enough to sit and listen to him paint a delusional picture of 3-D printed houses and how the NSA might be investigating him. I could humor his grandiosity at one point, but this is too much even for me.
I have only gotten more healthy since he cut me loose, and I feel like he has gotten progressively sicker. Our relationship was parasitic, and now that he has half the blood supply to work with, he can't take care of himself. I know that I carried him, but I had no idea how much I was carrying him.Whatever mental issues he has have either just now presented, or they have accelerated since we separated. He looks thinner, and grayer, like he has aged ten years.
The person in front of me in court was not the man I fought with, the man who kissed me first, who brought me flat ginger ale when I was sick. He was barely a shadow of that person. The way he was talking to me felt detached, like there had never been anyone in there who loved me. He talked to me like an old friend, but there was a remove, like we were old work friends, not old best friends.
An overwhelming feeling of guilt came over me, that I was not anticipating. I thought I would feel relief when the judge pronounced that our divorce would become official in 120 days. I thought I would feel closure. I felt nothing approaching resolution-all I felt was guilt that I didn't fix him. I know that the guilt is irrational, and that I am not responsible for him, but knowing that doesn't make it go away. I keep thinking that if I had fought back, if I had not so quickly acquiesced to his need to get a divorce, he might still be mentally sound, and yeah, I might not be as happy, but maybe I was the thing that tied him to the ground, and my happiness was what needed to be sacrificed to keep him well. Or maybe this would have been bigger than both of us. There is a very specific God complex that arises as a result of a former partner losing touch with reality after a break-up.
I know that the guilt I am feeling is survivor's guilt-I got out of the wreckage, but I left some people behind. My ex's family are the ones who are taking care of him, and will continue to do so until he stabilizes and can actually take care of himself. I feel like I broke my promise to them as well, my promise to keep him safe. Of all the things I was expecting to feel leading up to my divorce, this came as the most surprising, and the one thing I can do the least about. It is not my job, or even my hobby, to fix him, and I have to tell myself that every time I feel the guilt try to fish hook me back to that place.
