I Grieve

Listening to podcasts all afternoon as I packed paper packs in the studio yesterday, it hit me that I grieve the end of my marriage the same way I grieved my father's passing. Not for the loss of the relationship I had, but for the loss of a relationship that never existed. The loss of hope that it ever would be. 

I did not mourn for the father I had, I mourned for the father relationship I never knew. A healthy love from a healthy man who could love me unconditionally and with the nurturing a little girl needed. 

I do not mourn the loss of this marriage that is finally coming to an end. I mourn the knowing that, at 56 years old, I've never known real "romantic" love. Always my relationships have been an act of desperation. Connecting with someone to fill a void. Always that someone has been glad to prey on my desperation. Always I've lived in the illusion of it. Always, I've wrestled with my own demons. 

Tried to purge my own personhood. Contorted. Distorted. 

It has been nearly three years since we separated - over a year since the paperwork was filed in court. As the final (please for the love of god, let it be the final) court date draws near, the memories unfold in my mind. Scene after scene of emotional abuse and my unyielding hope that I could find just the right combination to make it work. 

To somehow prove to myself and the world that I was worthy of it. His love. Knowing full well, and yet somehow blocking it from my mind, that he was a clinically diagnosed narcissist, incapable of giving or receiving anything resembling it. Chasing my own tail.

In the past three years, I've found that combination I sought in order to be loved. It never had anything to do with him. 

For all those years it took me to finally see my own worth and love my own self--I grieve.