So.. It’s a year today since the wife came back from Opa’s house to Lazaru’s, and I sat at the bar and said “I can’t do this anymore. I want a divorce.” I can still see us sat there as I said “We have nothing in common anymore.” There was no argument from her. No anything really. No “I love you”s. No” Don’t leave”s. All those years I gave, and everything I gave up to be there, and in her eyes I wasn’t even worth the effort of a single protestation. She simply didn’t care. She’d drained me emotionally to the point where I was no longer of use, and thus was fine with me leaving. What existed there was just a husk.
Well. Fuck you Esther. With my help and support we probably put 10 years on her life expectancy as she dropped 76lbs and as a consequence took her blood pressure back to normal for the first time in a decade. I backed her when her family treated her like shite, and when her work tried to force her out (let’s not mention the psychological evaluation issues you had there eh which led to that?). And in return? Nothing. I even stood up for her against a guy 6 stone minimum heavier than I am, climaxing in my breaking my own rule and punching the tosser in the face.
And so, a year on, I look at that day, the day I said “enough”, and see it as the bravest decision I’ve ever made in my life. To choose to leave, no matter what the consequences to myself would be, in order to be true to myself, took balls of steel. I was so nearly consumed that I could easily have said “Sod it” and given up. It’s testament to the hell it felt like there mentally, that irrespective of living in Holland in a nice house with no money worries and a foreign holiday or two a year, I still feel so much better over here living in shared accommodation wondering if I’ll be able to pay next month’s rent.
I no longer hate waking up, and the reason for this is simple. I now know that at least one person in my world cares about me. That person is me. I’d spent so many years putting Esther van Sluijs first that I’d forgotten to look after myself. I thought that was in safe hands with her. This was supposed to be reciprocal. I hate being wrong but boy was I wrong on this.
But I got out. I survived. One year more over there and I’m certain I’d not be here, but I know if she’d have shown the slightest inclination to fight for us, I probably would’ve stayed because my investment there was so great. And that probably would’ve killed me.
So… one year on. I’m going to go. Sit in another rock pub, and grab a pint of a beer I actually want to drink, speak my language without feeling rude, grab a pie later on, and think. There will always be “What if? “s. It’s human nature. But for now, I’m going to pat myself on the back and say, ” Well done Wiseman. You did the right thing.”, because I did. I really did. And every interaction since then with her has confirmed it.