Since that Monday a week before Christmas, I've cried every day.
Sometimes it's just a stray tear or two when I glance at our DVDs and realize that, six months from now, I'll have to separate them by which are mine and which are his.
Others, its wave after wave of uncontrollable hot tears that leave me blind and limp on the floor of our apartment when I think of the reasons he's leaving. When I think of how he led me to believe in our mutual love for the past four years. When I remember all the times he promised me forever, a lifetime of memories together, and is now throwing them away. When I've convinced myself that death would be easier, but my thin hope for a future where we're together keeps me on this earth. When I picture my life five years down the road and he's still in it, even though he's told me my hopes are in vain. When I promise myself that my efforts are making a difference, but the scared little girl inside second guesses, believing that he's right.
As I'm writing this, my cheeks are flushed, my eyes are blurry from the tears I can't seem to suppress, and I can't figure out if it's because I'm angry or heartbroken. It's most likely a combination, but tonight I'm just not sure. It changes from day to day.
Each morning it's a struggle to choose fake happiness. No matter how much I attempt to be optimistic, doubt usually seeps in and crushes my hopes. Grief takes over and logic shuts down. I am weak. But there are also days when logic trumps emotion and I smile, despite the arrow sticking out of my heart.
When the pain says, "It's not worth it," my love for my husband screams, "Do it anyway!"
There are days I feel like getting out of bed is impossible. But I do it anyway.
Most mornings I can't imagine how I'll survive the day. But I do it anyway.
I'm horrified to leave the house, for fear that he won't be there when I return. But I do it anyway.
He says going to counseling won't save us. But I do it anyway.
The old counselor said that reading all the marriage books won't make a difference. But I do it anyway.
When I tell him "I love you" and he just says, "I know," it kills me. But I do it anyway.
I'm alone in this fight for the marriage I want so desperately to save. But I do it anyway.
I'm not sure how I'll survive the months to come, but I will do it anyway.