I didn’t want that for myself, didn’t want to feel helplessly controlled by an emotion generated by chemicals which caused only chaos in the real world.
My twenty-year-old cynical young self assumed if I wasn’t crazy head over heels in love to begin with, then I couldn’t really fall out of love.
Following a childhood fuelled by instability, I sought a steady, secure relationship, not something that would wither and die as the chemical reactions lessened on our brains and bodies over time. I wanted someone solid to stand by me. Someone who wouldn’t uproot everything and leave. Someone with the same goals, hopes and dreams. I craved normality, emotional security, a family of my own.
My plan seemed fool proof at the time. I knew what I was going to be left with in the end, because I already had it. Not the most exciting relationship, but a life partner.
On reflection, with hindsight only age and experience bring, I was lonely, and I was vulnerable.
I knew within three months of marrying Rob I’d made a mistake.
A big one.
He certainly wouldn’t up and leave, but solid he was not.
The cracks appeared almost immediately, but I was too pig-headed and stubborn to even admit to my own mother I’d messed up.
A deep-rooted shame stopped me from confiding in my friends.
My ridiculous pride rendered me lonely.
Instead, I attempted to wallpaper over the enormous gaping cracks that emerged throughout the core of us, splitting the foundations and leaving nothing stable to contemplate building anything on.
I fell into the role of Rob’s mother rather than his wife. Instead of having a partner to lean on, I ended up balancing the full weight of a grown man-child on my back.
Rob worked on a building site. He was studying a construction management degree at night. I cooked, cleaned, and dealt with the other dull aspects of adulthood, to offer him more time to study.
But the more I did, the more he let me do.
Which would have been fine if he actually passed the damned exams. It frustrated the life out of me watching him with the textbooks open, staring blankly ahead into space.
Trying to engage him in conversation was like pulling teeth, and I should know. Ultimately, I knew my work colleagues better than I knew my husband.
There was no depth behind those dappled deceiving eyes. During the frequent silences between us, I’d ask him what he was thinking. He would always answer with one word– nothing. And I honestly think he meant it.
How could a person not be thinking anything? There’s always something on my mind.
Why weren’t blueberries actually blue?
What was my life purpose?
Why was I here?
I was the human version of the computer with seven million tabs open. Was it any wonder I struggled to fall asleep each night?
Rob and I were very different. So much for opposites attracting.
The void between us became increasingly obvious. I tried to talk things out, but he failed to understand what I wanted and what the problem was.
The urge to light a fire under his arse and kick-start some sort of drive in him burned like a blowtorch. I craved conversation, communication on a deeper level with the bond that I thought marriage would bring. I don’t think that deeper level existed in him. The lights were on, but there was nobody home.
Over time, I stopped trying.
I accepted it.
We slipped into a rut of resentment. Well, I did. He was happy being pandered to.
We no longer wanted the same things, or if we did, he wasn’t willing to work towards them with me. The drive had left him since we got married.
