Day 19

I’m sitting here on the couch, having gotten home from work about 15 minutes ago, and I feel like shit.

I don’t want to feel like shit.  But I don’t know how to help it.

Maybe there is some resentment in there.  Why can’t my husband want to live? — it’s really not asking all that much!  Why can’t he appreciate me?  I do so fucking much for him.  Why can’t he be here for me when I need comfort, a hug, to have sex, a back rub, someone else to make dinner – really, when I need anything?

I need my husband.  I need him to tell me that he loves me.  Tell me that I’m doing an amazing job and that he’s proud that I’m his wife.  It’s not fair that I’ve been the strong one for the last year, and he’s been the one who’s focused on himself and only talks to me when I make him.

I know, I know.  Life isn’t fair.  Anyone who says otherwise is selling something.  (Goes for life being pain, too.)

But why does it have to be this way?  For my part, I feel like I’m doing a ridiculously good job of holding up the marriage bargain and that if I was married to me, we’d have a great relationship.  Sure, there would be fights and misunderstandings sometimes – there always are.  But there wouldn’t be attempted suicides and abandonment.


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I'm a young, childless widow who is trying to figure out the best way to deal with the world in light of my late husband's suicide. It's harder than I ever imagined it would be, but somehow at the same time I am still alive and even happy sometimes.

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