Tuesday, 7th July 2009
I think I've given up waiting for the turning point to come. Noah will never love me the way I love him. And I don't know if I can live with him while I feel the way I do about him. I would stay, if I thought it would benefit our baby, but I'm not sure all this repression is healthy. How awful would it be to grow up in a home where you never feel quite accepted, never feel fully loved? That's something a child of mine will never feel, even if I have to do it all on my own and give double the love. I've done it once before and I can do it again.
I told Noah how I felt. All of it.
I told him I loved him and how I don't think I can continue with our marriage in the state it is.
He took it well. Too well. I wanted him to shout or scream, beg or thump the wall, but he didn't do any of that. Reacting would mean he felt something, and he just doesn't.
Oh, I wish I'd never got myself into this mess in the first place, really I do. I was better off growing old disgracefully on my own, even if I would have ended up as a mutton-dressed-as-lamb seventy year old with a frightening addiction to leopard print attire.