Eight Years

Today is Doug and my eight year wedding anniversary. Instead of celebrating together, we are miles apart. Him in Minneapolis, me outside of Mankato. I haven't really known how to talk about what's going on, because truthfully I don't really understand it. That and I've realized talking about it doesn't help. That no one I have talked to has been able to make a difference. To make it better or bring clarity to what's happening.

I have never felt more alone in my entire life. I've never felt such heartbreak. I've never felt so low. And I've been through some serious depression before. Back in the early years of my twenties I went through a dark period. I was in therapy. I was on antidepressants. Eventually, slowly, I got out of that blackness. I emerged stronger and healthier. I can only hope that is where this path will lead. Someday.

I made the choice to take my girls and move in with my parents' for awhile. They live out in the country on a hobby farm with a few acres. The original homestead resides on their property, as well as the old schoolhouse from the 1800s. It's peaceful. It's beautiful. It's isolated. It's quiet. I am hoping being here will bring rest to my weary soul. Hope for my spirit. But, if I was being honest I would say that I am angry. At Doug. At God. At myself. I'm reminded daily that life isn't fair and too often I expect it to be. I am beginning to feel numb. And wanting to pull away from everyone and everything familiar.

If you're reading this and I've been distant, please know it's not you. I just need space. And time. I appreciate the encouragement and prayers said on my/our behalf. Thank you.

I still love my husband. Madly and deeply. And I miss him more than words can say. That probably explains why I feel so broken without him. I don't know if he'll ever see this, so for what it's worth; Happy anniversary, babe. I love you.