The strength of innocent victimhood.

Gentle Readers, how kind and supportive you are all being. So very kind. I read my comments and feel like I’m having the most glorious group hug. Thank you.

I am moving out, you know. Just… not very fast. I want to get all my ducks in a row (pecky little fuckers) and move out in one graceful and majestic step, into my own place that I actually own. The thought of short-term renting makes me feel ill, as does the thought of moving in with family while commuting a trillion miles a day. Both are indeed possibilities, yes, and are emergency back-up plans should things hit a critical mass of mutual displeasure. Meanwhile, I don’t want to leave my stuff, my home for the past ten years (my entire married life) and, frankly, I don’t want to leave my husband.

Don’t get me wrong. I am nevertheless going to leave my husband. The particular nature of the Velociraptor made that completely non-negotiable.

But I regret it horribly. H and I started dating in our teens. He’s been part of my life for more than half of it. There were bits, great long bits, chunks even, where our relationship was pretty bloody wonderful. He really was my best friend, I adore him. I love his company, his quiet slightly daft sense of humour, his everyday thoughtfulness (the cups of tea, the dinners cooked, the bunches of daffodils just because). There will be a hole torn in my heart the size of the Taj Mahal when I do move out, and I don’t know how long, how painfully long, it will take for the frayed edges to knit together again.

I worry about being lonely. I worry a great deal about money, and budgeting, and dealing with mortgages. I worry about H being on his own, and going back to play with his Velociraptors. I worry I will panic and buy a flat I hate. I worry I won’t find a flat I don’t hate. I worry I won’t be able to have a cat. I worry about slipping when getting out of the bath, breaking my neck, and being eaten by the sodding cat before anyone finds me. I worry that I am being a pathetic cliché, and any of my Gentle Readers who do live alone are curling their lip at me right now.

As for H, well, as for H. This weekend I ended up crying like a toddler who has lost his Irreplaceable Blankie – great, wracking, purple-faced, open-mouthed, howling sobs (It was not fun. It was not good. I had such a headache afterwards). And yet, H was crying too. It would be simple and easy to set fire to his clothes, tell all his friends and family exactly what he has done, burn bridges, change locks, and deep-fry his amaryllis. Even he would probably agree he deserved it. But, and this is an important but, a very important but, he has to be H for the rest of his life.

I get to suffer the pain of betrayal, and the shock (I thought things were looking up! I really did!) and losing my chance of having a biological child (do not fucking argue with me on this one. I am 39 this year and have had ten miscarriages and the last one very nearly killed me. I am not going to be having biological children now, and it’s cruel and silly to pretend otherwise, and not in the least bit comforting). I get to suffer a loss of income, and the loss of my home, and my marriage, the loss of a good and much loved husband. I lose my identity as wife, as the half of a whole, as Life President of Federation H&May.

But H has the burden of being the Bad Guy. He too has lost his marriage, his beloved wife (I don’t doubt he did and does love me. Just… not enough, and certainly not wisely and thoughtfully enough). He too will lose income, and his home of the past ten years. As he is only 39 and healthy, he may still have a chance of children (if he can find a woman dumb or brave enough to not mind about the Velociraptor, but, yes, he has to find a woman who is either spectacularly stupid or suffering from some kind of St Teresa complex and won’t that be fun for the pair of them?). He is going through all the grief I am, of loss and abandonment and his whole life falling apart around him, but whereas I get righteous indignation and the golden burning knowledge that I did my utmost to make this marriage work, he gets guilt, shame, the ugly reminders that he did this to himself. And to me. When I weep, he knows exactly who just stabbed me to the heart.

So, yes, H is the Bad Guy. It very much is that simple, which I agree sounds unlikely, but there it is. And he will have to live with that knowledge for the rest of his life. I can afford to be civil, and patient, and kind to him on occasion, for exactly that simple reason: He is to blame, and I am not.


16 responses to “The strength of innocent victimhood.

  • starrhillgirl

    You are big in all the ways I aspire to be.
    (Also, I have been compiling a personal list of Great Things I Get To Do Because I Am Single And Childless. Let me know if and when you are ready to read it.)

  • sheilamcameron

    I’m so so sad for you both, but particularly for you May. xxx

  • Jo

    I totally get how hard it can be to end a marriage, particularly when you still love the bastard. I was never strong enough to do it. Because of that, I endured a lot of shit I shouldn’t have. You are incredibly brave, and strong, even if you don’t feel like it right now. Sending so much love.

  • QoB

    Oof, May. I’m reading every word; I’m lost for words.

    (I remember that type of crying. I think the headache is a result of your cerebrospinal fluid leaking out your eyes. They lie when they say it’s tears. It hurts too much for that).

  • Charity Patterson

    |Seriously.. one of these days there must be an answer to what Velocoraptor – Scary Dino with sharp nails is. But Darn it doesnt it suck ? 2013 was the worst year. For somereason it spilled into 2014 on you. I do know the pain and fear. having realized that i was in an abusive relationship for 17 years. I was shocked! i had no idea and yet when I saw how it really was I was horrified and appologetic to all my friends who knew all allong. HUGS yes many Hugs, lots of wine, and tea. not neccesarily at same time. My spelling is attrocious right now. i appologize. But I feel your pain.

    There is no simple answer. Cry, scream, shower , drink plenty of water (it helps with that headache) fall in love with garlic and Cheddar cheese (cause i did) and then Discover who MAY is . not May as part of May & H but May all on her own. There is Life post appocalypica crapola – and there is so many awesome blogs about the “after” life. (post trying -giving up i mean)
    (H is gay or at least Bi isnt he? thats my guess, maybe one of those blog contests but I am not sure what you’d give as a prize for such a pathetic thing, but it is also my way of trying to accept such crap news)
    From Canada with Love.

    • Hairy Farmer Family

      It is very much not my place to wag fingers at anyone here, or be Miss Censure 2014, but I do have a general observation to make about Guess The Dinosaur. Lurid speculation is blameless when kept to yourself, but it is something that I, personally, feel considerate manners generally dictate against being expressed as an open or oblique question. Because – again, I personally – would feel anxious that either my guesses were too close to the mark, and hence May may feel that she has not guarded H’s privacy sufficiently, or that my particular speculation, if projected quite wrongly onto that person, might be hurtful or insulting to the people concerned. I don’t speak for either May or H, and their views may not co-incide with mine, but I have also lost a home and relationship in the past due to Dinosaurs, and I found the gossip surrounding us quite wounding. Just a thought.

      • May

        Dearest Hairy Farmer Lady, thank you, for saying what I was wondering how to say, so very well. I hug you.

        • Anonymous

          I very much like that May has a cadre of protective guardians on this site (HHF and F.U. Velociraptor in particular). They are the very opposite of velociraptors, and I wish I had the imagination to conjure up a suitable name for these wise women (I assume) should be called.

  • a

    Much luck in finding the perfect home. I’m glad that the story is clear in your mind. I feel badly for you both, but that doesn’t make H any less the bad guy.

  • jjiraffe

    How do you continue to create these wonderful posts, full of beauty and insight, out of, well, dinosaur poo? The comments are something too. I’ve brushed up on Hamlet (Something is rotten in Denmark?) learned about St Teresa (lover of pain?) and read about the wives of Henry VIII. And the miserable man himself (Henry VIII – not H. Although I’m not happy with him either.)

    I can’t offer any lovely lessons based on tales of yore, but I can say this: sometimes the scariest thing is not knowing what’s next. Fear of that can make Hell itself look like an unpleasant but warmish valley. I understand why the hesitation.

  • g

    much love. This is such a painful time for you.


  • Mina

    Have you seen the Call the Midwife episode with the holocaust survivor who did not leave the house for years? What she said to Jenny, “you just keep on living until you feel alive again” – that is a very good piece of advice. What you are going through, dearest May, is so awful and horrible. I am glad you have enough clarity to see that you are having the “easier” part, that of the innocent victim, and do hope you find some solace in the fact that H will have to live on knowing that he is the one that wrecked everything. I fear there are still headaches from crying ahead of you. But I also know that you will feel alive again. Many hugs, and much love to you, darling!

  • Melissa

    Despite the shear horrible-ness of the Velociraptor , of course you’re mourning the loss of your marriage! And the loss of who you thought H was. That’s only natural. Continued love and virtual HUGS!

  • Jenny F. Scientist, PhD

    How eloquently you put it. I don’t actually think it’s necessary to set anything on fire – you are, of course, mourning all these terrible losses. Since your faithful readers have no relationship to mourn, we are free to be filled with incendiary rage without the check of wanting to be decent people afterwards.

    (I respect your perfect and complete right to keep the nature of the Velociraptor private, and it’s none of our business. The VERY MOST LURID speculation, however! It’s positively Victorian. Well, I hope the lurid speculation amuses you at least a little amidst all the catastrophe.)

  • twangy

    So true. Many years ago, I went through a not-otherwise-at-all-comparable break-up with someone. I was sad and baffled, but used the situation to run away and join the circus. Not until much much later did I realise I had had the less shitty end of the stick: I was heartbroken but my self-image was, if not pristine, mostly intact. He had all sort of uncomfortable questions to answer about himself. The haunting, guilty-making sort. Horribler, for sure.

    Also: a cat! Yes, that is fundamental. A cat, please, Universe, it is the least you can do, quite frankly.

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