This is surreal. We live in parallel worlds. We wake up in parallel rooms, then converge on the routine we've had for 16 years of going to work, live our daily lives, return and eat together and return to parallel rooms.
Except he's not eating much, and that makes it all feel worse. I'm not quite sure why I continue to cook, except I have this weird feeling of guilt. No- I can't explain it, verbalise it, give any substance to it. I just feel guilty that I am the one who has let this marriage down; that I should have known better.
And as I avoid talking, he is slowly (or maybe not so slowly) stripping everything away. Sofa cushions tat I lean against are no linger plumped; he refuses to close my bedroom (oh so recently it was OUR bedroom) curtains without my permission. Boundaries I do not want nor do I recognise are being erected.
And I daren't let myself think about the future - because I am so damn scared and insecure. He made so many promises which are unravelling; I believed so many things which it now seems were illusions that I couldn't see through.
OH HELL. I HATE THIS.
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