Last week, the ex-husband was released from the hospital. Although his family and friends were there to help him get settled in at home on the first two days, day three he was left alone. On Sunday, he called and asked for my help. Because he had been in the hospital for three months, his hair was crazy long and he needed a hair cut but couldn't leave the house. So I went over there to cut his hair, helped him do a load of laundry, and stayed in the house while he took his shower (in case he would fall, he wanted someone to be there when he's in the shower). We also got to do some talking.
To this day I feel guilty about how it ended. It ended with him still in the hospital, me being the only one who ever even visited him. Yet, I couldn't take all the blame for it as he was the one who kept choosing his kid (which is understandable), his family (which I don't like but could accept), and his friends (now he's pushing it) over me. The final fight, and my final decision to end it, came when a friend of his, who had never liked me, told him how bad of a person I am and that he should really consider leaving me. And the asshole of course sided with his friend, because if his friend thinks I'm horrible then his friend is right. Can't he think for himself? The short answer, no. *Sorry, I'm still very bitter about HOW it ended.*
Anyways, moving on. We got to do some talking. Every time we talked after our breakup (which is everyday, or close to it) he always told me about how he was doing and holding up. Then whenever he would ask me how I was doing, I would just say fine, and move on.
Now, me sitting on the living room couch and him on the chair, he looked at me, staring deep into my eyes, and asked. "Really, how are you holding up?"
The question stilled me for a moment. Ever since the split I had never considered how I was actually doing. I started to search deep inside my soul for the answer, and when it came to me, it felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders.
"I'm happy," I finally said. I could go anywhere I want and do anything I choose to, without having someone call and text every hour asking when I will be home. I don't have to deal with moodiness if I say I'm going to my mom's for a few hours. I don't have to contently hear and see his friends as they all settle in front of the TV and smoke up the house. (whoever invented cigarettes should be locked in a very smoky room) I don't have to hide my things in my own house at the fear that his child could get sticky fingers. So yes, I'm happy.
Sure, I get lonely sometimes when I think how nice it would be to cuddle on the couch in front of the TV with someone, or to sleep with someone in my bed, or to go out and do something fun together. But then I remember that he and I never did that. He was always cold and distant with me. He gave all his tenderness to his kid only. He would cuddle with her in front of the TV only. I need someone who would love me as well.
I left soon after that conversation. It is over, for good, but he and I are still friends, and I could now concentrate on what makes me happy.