Breath Out

At some point you have to breath. You can hold on by your fingernails for so long. Then you crash to the bottom of the twelve story building. Splat. Yes I’m mixing metaphors. Sue me. But I lost my grip on perfect supportive wife and started to sob. And sob. And sob. And panic. My anxiety level went through the roof. No amount of xanex would calm me down.

So I did what I always do when my life falls apart and there is no problem to solve. I walked. I got on the treadmill and walked to China. And listened to angry girl music. Tori Amos mostly. Tori Amos is a sign in our marriage that I’m really losing it. And I was losing it. But I just kept walking. And walking. And crying. Until I wore myself out. Until my husband was willing to approach me and talk. And a whole second set of questions came out. What does this mean? Do you still like women? Are you leaving me? Until I ran out of questions and lost my ability to be angry.

I was angry. I was sad. I wanted the life I planned. My heterosexual life. My life as a wife. Protected. Safe. I wanted everything to go back to the way it was and let me have my place as a wife. Why was this happening? But then it would come flooding back that this was really what was best for the love of my life. How could I even begin to deny him that? I couldn’t. If you love someone you want the best for them. So I put my grief in a box and separated it from my love and decided to go on.

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