I don’t know where the apostrophe should go in the “wits” of the title. That’s not the reason that i feel so frazzled, mind you, but it doesn’t help.
I am STILL, three years on, stuck in my crappy fucking dead-end marriage. Circumstances have conspired against me. I got as far as beginning to exchange separation-and-eventual-divorce agreements with CH… and then his father got terribly horribly deathly sick, and I just couldn’t do it.
CH’s reaction to my wanting a separation was always one of confused bewilderment. At first, he didn’t understand what was wrong with our marriage. Bearing in mind the example with which he grew up, I’m not altogether surprised at that.
A year of therapy later, and the penny dropped. All of a sudden, attention was being paid, affection being given, and whenever possible, he’d try and slip me a dose of hot, hard cock.
The problem was that I was no longer interested in him.
I tried. It’s well documented on the pages of this blog, albeit approximately eight squillion years ago, or so it feels. I mean, I’m not entirely blameless. My initial reaction to waking up one morning with a renewed sex drive after a sex dearth that lasted eight years, was to fall for a bi-sexual, second-time-married, cross-dressing man who worked for the same company as I.
Said man, known to the readers here as “G”, turned out to be an entirely self-obsessed individual whose only care was how far he could push the boundaries of his transvestism in public, and how amazing that was. Not that I objected to his outing himself slowly and gradually, as he is (i believe, still) doing. But he had no room for anyone in his life other than himself and his femininely-dressed alter ego.
And I kidded myself for months that he loved me, and wanted me… and he did. Just not enough. Not nearly enough.
So then, CH and I tried again. And i put my heart and soul into it, which, with the banishment of G from my life, I was finally able to do. And it was great but lacking something.
I no longer loved him, nor could i summon the appropriate feelings of love from where they’d been buried. It was gone. Dead. Over.
However, in addition to a dearth (yes, twice in one post, bad Minx) of love, there was an abundance of guilt. Feeling guilt comes as naturally to me as the inhalation of oxygen. And every time we talked about “our situation”, CH’s big brown cow eyes would well up, and I’d think about the grief i was causing him, and the small minxes, and this was all because i was miserable, and shouldn’t i suck it up in order to not disrupt everybody else’s life just because i no longer loved my husband, and who was to say I’d ever find love again anyway….?
Eventually, nearly a year ago, I took the bull by the horns, and asked for a separation. Still crippled with aforementioned guilt, it took a few months to get to the stage of actually discussing the meat and potatoes of an agreement.
And then his father fell ill… (see beginning of post).
The odd thing is that things were civil but very definitely not hunky-dory between us. This prior to the time of his father’s illness. And since then, when i put everything on hold, not being an entirely unfeeling cruel hard bitch of a minx that sometimes, believe me people, i truly wish i were, CH has been changing his attitude. He thinks everything in the garden is rosy.
It so isn’t.
I am not having a romantic affair with anyone right now, but I still don’t want him. I don’t. Want. Him.
I just can’t find the strength to go. If it killed his dad, who gets weaker by the day but due to the miracles of modern science will probably hang on for a good few more years (possibly just to spite me), I would implode from the guilt.
Does anyone have a guilt-remover? Heh, just kidding.
Currently, come hell or high water, regardless of guilt or illness, I plan to talk to him in the New Year, and reassess our current situation.
It scares the living shit out of me, but I know i need to do this. And to do it, I will need this blog. So consider yourselves all brought up to speed, and keep watching.
The Minx is back.