My relationship is over. Although we haven’t officially sat down and discussed the details of how we’ll take care of our children and what our separation will look like, I know it’s over. For the past couple of months I’ve noticed the change in her behavior; how she barely looks at or speaks to me. We’ve stopped being intimate for more than six months so I’ve become used to sleeping on my side of the bed while she sleeps on her side, never coming into contact during the night. It’s funny how I used to take those nights for granted when I used to simply spoon her in my arms, listen to her breathe, and wipe her slobber off my arm several times throughout the night. Man, I miss those nights. Now it seems like she can barely stand the sight of me. She doesn’t have to say anything, I can tell what she’s thinking by looking in her eyes.
I’ll never admit it to anyone, but I’ve spent several nights crying and asking God what went wrong with my relationship of six years. Like any relationship, we had our share of problems. I’d complain about her cooking skills, and she’d complain about my romantic skills. “You don’t romance me enough,” she’d whine from time to time. I told her that I’d work on myself and I thought I was. I guess I wasn’t changing fast enough for her. I used to know what she wanted in our relationship, but I don’t know anymore. It seems like I can’t give her enough no matter what I do. To be honest, I got tired of trying to please her. I guess I gave up, too.
Watching my relationship deteriorate reminds me of how I sat by my father’s bedside day by day and watched him slowly die from cancer. There would be times when I thought he could turn it around and fight to stay alive. Then there were those days when I’d be afraid to leave the hospital because I didn’t want to be home when I got “that” phone call in the middle of the night. I feel the same way about my relationship. Sometimes I want to be the one to break the silence and just end it—pull the plug and watch those last precious breaths slowly escape never to return again. But I can’t find it in me to end it. For a while, I’d have this recurring dream of me carrying around a stillborn baby, refusing to bury it. I guess that was God’s way of showing me the reality of my relationship.
It’s funny how going through such heartache draws you closer to God. I’ve been praying lately and I can honestly say that the man upstairs has been helping me to cope. I’ve come a long way in a few short months. I’ve finally accepted the fact that my relationship is dead and that I need to move on. I think I’m ready to have that conversation with my girl. I know it will be painful, but I know it’s what I have to do.
I hope I don’t break down as I tell her what’s on my heart. Most women don’t think men cry but we do. We hurt more than you’ll ever know. But we don’t always show it—not in the ways y’all think we should. Don’t get me wrong, we cry when we’re alone, but we tend to lash out instead of talking things out. We’ll say mean things that we know will hurt you instead of being straight up at times. I hate to say this, but I kind of wish my girl was one of those ghetto chicks that will cuss me out, slash my tires, and bust out my car windows because it would be easier for me to kick out her out of the crib, cut her off and throw up the deuces. But my girl has class and she’s not into that. I gotta handle this like a real man because I’m dealing with a real woman.
I’m taking things one day at a time because God is helping me to deal with not being with her anymore. But I still need him to help me deal with not seeing my kids every morning. That really tears me up inside. I love those kids, even the one that ain’t mine. She doesn’t think I know about it, but I do—I always did. While we took a break for a few months a few years back, we both saw other people. I can’t look down upon her simply because she got caught out there because I had a scare myself. The shorty I was kicking it with got pregnant and I thought it was mine. But after the baby came we got a DNA test and I found out the baby wasn’t mine. I dodged a serious bullet on that one and I never told my girl.
Starting over is going to be a beast. I have to find an apartment and get used to really sleeping alone. I know I’ll find somebody to smash with no problem, but I’m 34 now and I want something more. I want a family—like the one I had.
I know I’ll get through it. I’m just hoping I get through it with the least amount of pain.
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