I've looked at clouds from both sides now...
I've always enjoyed sneaking away for an early walk in the park. The cool, damp air lifts the fog from my mind as I wander aimlessly. Today was no exception, and in the early morning mists of central park I knew I wanted my life back.
For those of you who still don't know, Jeff Richmond is my husband. We've been married for something like four years now. We met at Second City in Chicago, and he recently became the music director at SNL. Our marriage hasn't been good for, well for quite a few months. I placed the blame on myself, because Jeff hadn't done a thing that I knew of to deserve the way I treated him. I don't know how to describe it except for a loss of interest on my part. Which fostered a loss of interest in his part. But who would be interested in a woman that didn't want anything to do with you? It was a neverending cycle.
Finally, a week or two ago, I left home. Jim and Seth were sweet enough to take me in. A person can't live in that kind of tension. Through the gentle coaxing of friends, I called Jeff. I knew we had to decide something, no matter what it was. He was kind to me when I called; I felt that he had a much bigger heart than me. We knew that this wasn't a topic for the phone, and we planned to see each other soon.
This morning, I saw an older couple walking their dog. They were absurd looking, a parody of the golden years. But they were happy. And I knew I wanted that. I wanted to be half of the mismatched couple in the park, walking hand in hand. It was right in front of me, and I didn't see it. All we needed was for one of us to reach out and try. After all that time, how could we just give up? I found myself near our apartment, and I started towards it. It was now or never.
The butterflies hit my stomach when my hand touched the doorknob. I had no idea if he would want to get back together, but I was quite ready to do whatever he needed so I could regain his trust. Determined not to let the inevitable speed bumps ahead stop me, I went back into our apartment.
Not an instant after I had shut the door, I had the most awful feeling. The feeling of entering your own home, but it's not yours anymore. Something had been violated. I imagine it's what people feel after they've been robbed. Now I was being robbed. Robbed of my home and of my sanity and of my husband. I didn't have to move to see who he was talking to down the hall. I didn't have to look to know what he had done. Yet I walked to our bedroom, blood pounding in my ears. I didn't have to throw the door open, but I did that too. I should have said something, anything, but I couldn't. I turned and walked away. He didn't follow me, and once I was out I ran. I ran out of the building and into the street.
I can't breathe. I can barely think, at least not of anything other than what a stupid stupid fool I am. The city was suffocating, so I've left that behind. I've gone somewhere away from my life, where I'll feel safe enough to cry.
For those of you who still don't know, Jeff Richmond is my husband. We've been married for something like four years now. We met at Second City in Chicago, and he recently became the music director at SNL. Our marriage hasn't been good for, well for quite a few months. I placed the blame on myself, because Jeff hadn't done a thing that I knew of to deserve the way I treated him. I don't know how to describe it except for a loss of interest on my part. Which fostered a loss of interest in his part. But who would be interested in a woman that didn't want anything to do with you? It was a neverending cycle.
Finally, a week or two ago, I left home. Jim and Seth were sweet enough to take me in. A person can't live in that kind of tension. Through the gentle coaxing of friends, I called Jeff. I knew we had to decide something, no matter what it was. He was kind to me when I called; I felt that he had a much bigger heart than me. We knew that this wasn't a topic for the phone, and we planned to see each other soon.
This morning, I saw an older couple walking their dog. They were absurd looking, a parody of the golden years. But they were happy. And I knew I wanted that. I wanted to be half of the mismatched couple in the park, walking hand in hand. It was right in front of me, and I didn't see it. All we needed was for one of us to reach out and try. After all that time, how could we just give up? I found myself near our apartment, and I started towards it. It was now or never.
The butterflies hit my stomach when my hand touched the doorknob. I had no idea if he would want to get back together, but I was quite ready to do whatever he needed so I could regain his trust. Determined not to let the inevitable speed bumps ahead stop me, I went back into our apartment.
Not an instant after I had shut the door, I had the most awful feeling. The feeling of entering your own home, but it's not yours anymore. Something had been violated. I imagine it's what people feel after they've been robbed. Now I was being robbed. Robbed of my home and of my sanity and of my husband. I didn't have to move to see who he was talking to down the hall. I didn't have to look to know what he had done. Yet I walked to our bedroom, blood pounding in my ears. I didn't have to throw the door open, but I did that too. I should have said something, anything, but I couldn't. I turned and walked away. He didn't follow me, and once I was out I ran. I ran out of the building and into the street.
I can't breathe. I can barely think, at least not of anything other than what a stupid stupid fool I am. The city was suffocating, so I've left that behind. I've gone somewhere away from my life, where I'll feel safe enough to cry.