I have just over an hour before I go to the marriage counsellor. I'm shitting bricks. Literally, I've been treading water emotionally for this moment for a week. I can't get my wife to talk to me. I can't get her to reply to anything I say. I've done nothing but give and give for three months. I'm pretty much done. If I can't get her to commit to giving me an inch for every mile I give her, I don't know how I can continue.
It's too painful to have her in the house with me. I can't talk to her. I can't touch her. It's killing me. If I can't get results today, I'm going to suggest separation. Maybe she can get her Dancing Queen stage out of the way quickly enough to where our kids aren't too fucked up and I won't have moved on. Regardless of what happens at the counsellor's, I need something to happen. Status quo is killing me. It's literally killing me.
The good news is, even though I haven't been able to run or work out at all, the pounds are absolutely melting away. I'm under 200 pounds now. Trying to heal and not being able to eat really does the trick.
I went to the surgeon's today. Got my stitches out. Everything looks great. The procedure was so invasive, I've got a lot of numbness though. I'm numb from leg to leg across the front of me, from the base of my penis to halfway up my pubic hair. That will come back to some degree over the next couple years. It doesn't seem to impair getting an erection though. I don't mind.
It'll be another month before I can play disc golf, lift weights, or really blast myself out weightlifting. My daughter and I went on a long walk, almost three miles today after the appointment. It was nice. The weather is beautiful. I even forgot life as I know it is coming to an end soon. Who care though, right? Life as I knew it ended three months ago when my wife threatened divorce and she suggested we start swinging. Fuck it. Lots of mistakes were made by both of us.
When I learn how to hate my wife, I won't hate her for divorcing me. I'll hate her for not doing shit to try to save the marriage. Since the day she told me we were in critical danger, she hasn't lifted a finger or acknowledged anything I've done to make things better. That's bullshit. What the fuck did she agree to go to counselling for in the first place?
Dying inside still. I can't wait until the anger gets a firmer foothold so I don't have to hurt so much. I can't describe the feeling I have, killing time, waiting to leave for the counsellor's office.
I feel like there's going to be an announcement when I get up to enter the office, "Dead man walkin'"
I'll let you guys know how it went.