I thought my husband was special. And I thought I was special to him...
...I am not special to him. AND, worse, he is less special to me.
I have been struggling with this post for days. I'm still not sure I can or should even respond. If this post sucks, please let me know and I will delete the text immediately.
The loss of special is something that cut through my heart and soul so savagely that I just prayed for my stupid heart to quit beating so I could be free of the most horrific pain of all: Proof that I was not special, but even worse, prostitutes and a girl I'd loved, nurtured and trusted was more special than me. For me, the loss of special was, and remains, the greatest injury.
I can't bring myself to type all of the life events that shaped my identity as not being special to anyone, but suffice to say that until I met my beloved at the age of 40, I'd had plenty of reinforcement of my lack of worth.
So, when my beloved came along and bent over backwards to show me in countless ways how special I was to him, I began to believe it. And I loved it. And I soared.
After ten years with him, I'd not once had a bipolar spell, which for me cycled every five years or so. The ever-present depression pole was easily managed with an antidepressant. In ten years, I'd never even needed the dosage increased! I was doing great!
My self-esteem began to grow and with it success in my career as well as our social life. We had friends! People liked to be at our house! I'd never been allowed to entertain guests, but now we hosted neighborhood and family fish fries and bonfires and theme parties and chili cook-offs! Finally, my life was rich and rewarding. The love I gave was returned, and I was doing the things I thought only other people did.
I felt so very blessed that God had given me my soulmate. Surely, all of the bad things were just allowed to prepared me to perfectly love this beautiful soul that was my husband. My gratitude overflowed, and I was determined to "pay it forward". I had everything in the world that I could dream of; I needed nothing more other than to take care of others the way the Lord had taken care of me.
One of my pet projects was to "mother" my grandson's very screwed up mother. Even though she and my son went their separate ways, I accepted as my mission to be the mother she never had. I was going to model good mothering for her and help her until she was able to stand on her own and be a good mom to my grandson. I provided the roof over her head and the food she ate and was more involved in caring for my grandson than she was. The only thing I wanted in return was to see her flourish for the sake of my grandboy.
And while I fell into bed at the end of each day, my husband was sneaking into her room for sex. And he supplimented her with prostitutes. And, and, and...
So much for feeling special by any damned person on the planet.
For me, the loss of special has been devastating. It's been akin to having a limb amputated. I remember what it felt like, but it's not there anymore. I no longer feel it.
We are doing well repairing our marriage, and he is working diligently to recover from CSA, which is the root of our troubles. But the effect of the loss of special is something that has had a profound affect on me. Things I once took pride in caring for, my home, my job, my friends, my children, my grandchildren, my parents, my own self, etc., just don't mean anything to me anymore. I have no motivation within. I am not special, and nothing is special to me.
I am starting to laugh again, but I can't say I have a drop of joy left in my soul. I've doubled up on my antidepressant and have so far avoided the edge of the bipolar cliff. But, I still mourn the loss of special. I think it's gone forever. And that is the greatest death of all for me.
Wish I had something uplifting to share with you on this topic, but I got nuttin'. Maybe I shouldn't even post this downer.
Joyfully (an attempt at optimism)-