Speaking out loud after my month long declaration of silence made my spirit better. I now have one friend I can talk to and trust. A really good friend that I love and still loves me, despite my feelings about my love's transformation and this hell I'm trudging through.
I was able to come home with a smile on my face and greet my love with an airy heart. I felt more grounded. And you know what was the craziest part? I didn't cry my tear ducts into a swollen frenzy, looking like I'd been pummelled! I was actually able just to get the thoughts out of my head and through my mouth in hopes that my healing journey would begin. I had one moment where I felt that I might tear up and fall into the crying delirium that has been my persisting reality.
But, I didn't.
I know this doesn't mean my tears are cried out. I know it only means that I'm healing. There will be more tears. I know that truth is inevitable. But, I was able to talk without the hysterical crying that I've been enduring in this small room with 6 animals surrounding me as I lay flat out on a lazy boy, in agony from my re-injury and in anguish over my love's decision.
I have been looking for a way to support my love. A way that would protect me from the overexposure of what I think is the devil. A way to guard me from the visions of a horrid future that would throw me into a tailspin. I've been searching for a way to still be there for my love to feel support. Papi has moments where it doesn't feel like I'm supportive at all. That I'm the enemy.
An example? When I heard the words, "But I'm scared too," I think well why are you still doing this with all the fears you're laying out in front of me? All the health risks and the horrid possibilities that you speak of?! And out of my mouth comes, "Well why would you do this to yourself then?"
I suppose it's my tiny, vain window where I could convince her not to change! Please! Don't do this! It's terrifying and it's killing me! But really, my love is only saying these things in hopes that I'll listen and just be an ear. It's not support that I'm throwing back in my love's beautiful face. It's my desperate attempt to keep my wife.
When I snapped out of it and realized how selfish I was being and how I could be harming our loving bond, it killed me. I knew that continuing to poke at the fleshy wound would inevitably destroy our trusting union. I had a choice. I could continue to bruise the lesion, or I could gently tend to the pain and apply what little treatment I had in my first aid kit to work with.
I sent my passive aggressive teenager out of the room for a moment and gave in to my loving heart. I thought about a friend of mine had anxiety about all the changes, adverse possibilities and fears who successfully went through the transformation. My friend went to an acupuncturist who helped with the anxiety immensely.
So, with my beaten attempt at saving my wife, I conceded and spoke about this option to help during this time of fear.
My love said, "Thank you."
I asked, "For what?"
"For supporting me."
I guess resistance truly is futile. I don't get borrowed time. I won't get to live out the fantasy that I can somehow save my wife from leaving me. I don't get to see my wife change her mind about this decision though my meager attempts to convince her she's doing the wrong thing. The petrifying new person that isn't my wife.
If I want to be the supportive partner and stay in this marriage, my option is to be supportive. I know my choice is to stay and go through this, so if I'm going to save my marriage to my love, I have to accept that the house is going through renovations. The house is getting a new look, but the house remains with the same foundation.