Last Thursday, the Bio and I had therapy again.
It’s nearly five years later since he managed to tell me he wasn’t sure he was ‘still in love with me’ and last Friday he blasted me with thestatement that ‘he still loves me’ and he felt angry that we hadn’t been able to work it out. This was not a shock to me. I’ve known he hadn’t dealt with how we split and why it didn’t work out to begin with in the first place. And yet I felt not a darn thing with this news laying out that on the table.
Two years ago, my heart my have lept with false hope and taken this declaration for something it truly will never be. Ever. It will never be the cure to what ails us as a couple. We have grown. Apart. Up. And in different directions. He has become something different than he was when we were 11, then 18 and then 23…and so have I. Last Thursday, I searched for some glimmer of possible leftover residue of that pathetic hope and honestly there was nothing. Nothing but desire for change…for the Bio.
While he’s been sober for going on 7 years and has managed to keep a steady job and income for almost 5 of those years, I wonder if he doesn’t see what I see? I see a man who has settled for someone else’s life. The Bio has many talents…musically he’s amazing, he can draw anything put in front of him and he’s got a knack for medical stuff…all things he’s started and never finished because he fears impulse now. If it doesn’t fit into the cookie cutter he’s been outlined by his sober brothers and sisters he doesn’t explore it. I couldn’t live like that anymore. Living life is too important to me. Making something I can look at and feel passionate is what I desire for my little family of two.
And so in spite of requests from our therapist to seek outside the Program assistance learning how to Live and Learn how to cope with everything that has piled up in his Heart and Head the Bio will do what he always does. Talk to his Sponsor and write an Inventory on it and march forward once it’s done, only to do it all over again when those feelings of leftover Love come creeping back for him.
I love the man who fathered my child. But the Man who sits next to me on the couch at therapy? He’s a stranger and I don’t heart him.