When I first wrote the title I did not use the word damn.  I used a much stronger, more adequate expletive.  But I changed it.  I’m censoring myself in case someone ever does read this, but you know what?  The hole just got a whole lot fucking deeper.

I had a miscarriage the night of December 12th.  The nightmare continues even now.

I shit you not, that barely 15 minutes before my miscarriage the Boy said to me, “If you don’t admit that all of our problems are 90% your fault, then there’s nothing left to talk about.”  I replied in anger, “Absolutely not! I will take 50% at most but I am not taking 90%.  I have the same exact problems with you that you have with me.”  He looked back at his laptop screen- actually, no.  It was my laptop. The very laptop I’m writing with right now and he said, “Then there’s nothing left to talk about.  I’m printing out divorce papers.”

The very trust and respect I had for him was yanked out of my heart and I remember feeling this really weird rush as a realization hit.  He didn’t mean what he said when he made his vows on that mountain top.  He didn’t feel the same way I felt.  That we had made a choice and divorce was not going to happen.  That we would figure out a way to make it work no matter what.  And he just throws out divorce all calm and casually, like a teacher telling a student the consequence of an action.  I couldn’t believe it.  He just threw out it out there without even blinking.  He didn’t rush to take it back either.  I could hear the wireless printer- the one I had bought- printing his disdain for me.  In that moment I realized: he really didn’t love me.

Then, not even 15 minutes later as I was packing some clothes to leave the house and stay the night with mom I started bleeding heavily.  I was having a miscarriage.  I remember going to the bathroom and realizing what must be happening and all the happiness, hope, and joy that had filled me when I found out I was pregnant left me in a single second, empty and broken.  I think I said something vaguely passive aggressive as I left the bathroom, shaking.  Something like, “Well, you don’t have to worry about the baby because there won’t be one.”  I can recall his sudden intake of breath and his confusion.  For a second he might have thought I meant that I would get an abortion but I followed it up with, “I’m bleeding.”  I couldn’t even look him in the eyes.  I know he wanted the baby though I don’t know that he wanted a baby for the right reasons.  I now think he was hoping that a baby would fill a hole, that a baby would complete the something that was missing in his life.  I think he wanted the baby, he just didn’t want me.  He wanted the marriage, the white picket fence (literally, he wanted that), and he wanted to be a father.  I just think that I was the safest bet for him.  That’s why he chose me.  Not because he was ever really in love, but because I was safe when he needed safety and I made him feel like he was a good person back when he used to doubt it.

That night, after hyperventilating-crying and refusing to go spend the night in the ER since there was nothing they could do I lay next to the Boy with my arm across his chest like a thousand nights before.  I said, in complete vulnerability, “I love you.”  He just lay there.  He said nothing.  The silence stretched on. I held my breath, my chest tight.  I tried to give him more time.  “Boy?” I had started to sit up, fear coursing through my veins and pounding in my ears.  “Let’s just take one thing at a time,” he said quietly.  My guts clenched and my mind raged.  “Are you fucking serious?  I’m miscarrying our baby and you can’t even say you love me!?”

Luckily for me, the anger took hold and I didn’t have to feel unloved by my own husband while miscarrying our baby.  I said some more wonderful things to him.  Then I left.  I got in my car and left.  I didn’t say another word.  I was sobbing while driving and just…driving.  I don’t know where I would have ended up but Boy called my mom and she made me come to her house.  At least he did that. That’s something.

You know what I really think, now that I’ve had time to reflect?  I think Boy blamed himself.  How could he not?  How could he not think that barely 15 minutes after printing divorce papers I started to miscarry?  I think he felt either guilty or ashamed.  I think he blamed himself and it made him feel so awful about himself that he eventually turned that pain into lashing out at me.  He turned that pain into pushing me away, again.

He had made up this story in his head that I blamed him. I was hormonal, miserable, depressed, and dealing with the fact that not only had I lost my baby that I had already started thinking of names for but that my husband now thinks divorce is a totally viable option if I don’t take the blame he unilaterally gets to decide is mine.  I was having a bad day, my head hurt and my wallet had been missing and we didn’t have food I wanted to eat.  After finally getting some cash and getting myself Taco Bell while the Boy played Elder Scrolls Online, I came home and still felt miserable.  I felt empty and broken and unloved and I still had a damn headache so I went to bed and cried. Later, I was to find out that I had disrespected him by not saying goodnight to him.  (By the way, I did.  He just didn’t hear it and I didn’t wait for his recognition that he’d heard me). Boy came in to go to bed and I couldn’t cry anymore since that would disturb him.  Plus I was convinced he wouldn’t ask me what was wrong since I suspected he knew I was laying there crying and didn’t say anything.  What partner doesn’t notice little bed shakes and sniffling coming from their spouse?  I couldn’t stand feeling so alone while he was laying right next to me so I got up and started cleaning the dishes.  Suddenly, he comes out and says with force, “I’m sorry you’re not happy, but it’s not my fault!”

And there it was.  I just stared at him for a second, bewildered as the water ran into the sink.  “I never said anything was your fault…”  His statement then, and the force behind it, is why I think he felt guilty or ashamed or was blaming himself.  I really didn’t blame him and I still don’t.  I don’t think him printing divorce papers magically created a molar pregnancy.  That’s just not how it works.  But I think he felt bad about it and because he’s never really loved himself this was just another thing for him to absolutely avoid taking responsibility for.  Which is totally fair; it wasn’t his responsibility to take.

But what I needed, what we both needed, was to have an honest and vulnerable discussion.  I needed to know how much the loss was hurting him- if he was even affected at all by the loss of our baby.  Did he ever picture our baby?  Did he ever imagine what he would teach our son or daughter?  Or did he even care?  Maybe it never meant all that much to him and I just didn’t know it.  I needed to know that he still loved me even though my body had failed at the one thing a woman’s body is supposed to do.  He needed to know that it wasn’t his fault and he needed to know that I didn’t blame him even a little.  This, obviously, is not what happened.  We tried to limp along with our relationship and we even were able to have some fun times  (I’m looking at you Laser Mania Family Fun Center and Fiesta Fun Family Center with your indoor blacklight mini-golf) after the miscarriage and our lack of resolution.

But was that even real?  Did he even love me then?  Did he ever really love me?  If he did, how can he treat me the way he’s treating me now?  How can he be so callous after five years of me believing the best in him?  (He would tell you I didn’t believe the best in him but I did.  If I hadn’t, I never would have chosen him over and over and married him.  I’ve always known he could be an amazing man if he could just love himself instead of pushing me away).  But this is how he’s treating me now and there’s no communicating with him from a place of peace or forgiveness or friendship while he’s busy being whoever this new, awful, hurt Boy is.  It seems like I’m just shit on his shoe that he’s just come to accept and is waiting to disappear over time.  As if there was nothing between us ever. He can’t even bring himself to honor our friendship.  Even I can do that and I think I have plenty of reasons not to.

So now I find myself sitting here wanting justice.  Here are the things I have to deal with that he doesn’t:

• Having his students call him by my last name- a gut punching reminder to him that I’m with another man and don’t want him anymore.
• Finding cards, website usernames, and mail that has my last name and realizing he has to go back to the Social Security Office to get his maiden name again and then wait for that so he can go back to the DMV and get a new license.
• Dealing with that fact that I am physically and emotionally with another man.
• The fact that I’m totally at peace with brushing aside how I had adamantly promised I would never abandon my vows for weeks (before then brushing aside my vows for another man).
• That I never took responsibility for my part in the pain of our relationship.
• Dr. appointments where he must have something physically inserted into his body.
• Blood tests, blood tests, and more blood tests.
• Surgery on his abdomen.
• Weird stuff coming out of him after his surgery.
• What is basically cancer in his testicles that will require either A. chemotherapy or B. REMOVAL OF HIS TESTICLES.
• That fact that he might not ever be able to make children of his own.
• Me keeping  money of his despite the fact that I have something he already invested money in that he will never ever see again and that I will, in fact, share with someone else.

It’s like he has zero empathy for my situation at all- not that he really had it to give even when he loved me.  I’m sitting here hoping Karma gets the shit out of Boy, but maybe he’s already paying his Karma.  After all, if I’m right, he’s automatically going to fail at everything he ever endeavors to do because all of his perfection expectations, his judgement, and his distrust is born of not being enough for himself.  He will never reach his high expectations and because he puts them on himself he puts them on others and that automatically sets them up for failure too.  He will never accept the vulnerability of true joy so he will never experience a true connection with another human being.  His powerful mind will continue to protect him and in the long run, it will actually end up hurting him more than protecting him.  Is that his Karma?

Meanwhile, what do I do?  I just found out today that my hCG levels are going back up.  They’ve gone up in the last two weeks and it’s been a little over four months since the miscarriage and about just about a month plus since my D and C surgery.  This means I have gestational trophoblastic tumors (GTTs).  There are three kinds and while this isn’t considered cancer it is treated like cancer and can apparently spread to your liver, lungs, or brain.  Boy is off happy, moved on, not giving a shit about the person who stood by him and tired her best to make him happy and just couldn’t while I’m here trying to figure out what the hell happens next?  This is outrageous and I demand a recount!  Someone get the universe on the line because I’m sure that when it looks at Boy’s life and then mine it will see that Boy is the one who should have cancer.  And you know the worst part?  Even if he got cancer tomorrow, I would reach out and make absolutely sure that he was going to be supported.  And if new girl bailed?  I would be there for him because I’ve seen cancer- I’ve seen taking on sickness alone and no one deserves that.  That’s just the kind of person I am.

I just don’t know what to do with myself and this whole new swell of emotions.  Life isn’t fair- it never was, it never will be, and it’s not “supposed to” be.  It just is.  It may be unfair but that doesn’t detract from the beauty and awe of conscious life.  It just makes it challenging and sometimes ridiculous.  I just want it to stop hitting me all at once.  It’s like I’m not even able to fully stand on two feet before I’m getting kicked in the face all over again.  How am I supposed to move from “why me” if I don’t even get a chance to breathe without emotional pain in my chest and neck?  How the hell am I supposed to move from “This isn’t FAIR!!”?  Seriously, I’m in a pit and I don’t see the top.  When does the pit stop being a pit and  start being something else?

-Self