I haven't written much of anything this week. Every time I try to write Peter and Pippa's story, the words come out in clumps that are as intriguing and compelling as lumpy oatmeal. Figuring out the reason for this icky, sticky case of writer's block isn't hard to do. Him.
A couple of weeks ago, he said to me, "You know our marriage ended ten years ago."
No. No, I didn't know that. Ten years ago, I was still madly in love with him. Ten years ago, I was fighting to figure out why after ten years of marriage, I still struggled with painful intercourse. In spite of my pain, I endured because I thought I didn't have a choice. Three years ago, when the flashbacks started, I had my answer. Years of childhood sexual abuse left me fearful of and unable to enjoy sex. It's only in recent months that I've found I can write about sex in the context of my erotic romance short stories and novellas. I believe my ability write these tales is a good sign. :-)
Last night, I asked him a stupid question. "When did you stop loving me? Ten years ago? Fifteen?"
He replied, "I can't really pinpoint it."
Well, ask a stupid question, get an answer you don't want.
Why does this bother me so much? Because I feel stupid and pathetic. I loved, lived with, and made love with a man who didn't love me for more than a decade. *face palm*
Okay, so I'm thinking of the Hanging Man in Tarot and how he challenges us to look at things from a different perspective. How can I view my ex's words in a new way?
*light bulb* I have felt tremendous guilt for not being the woman he needed and wanted. Hmm, so if he didn't love me anyway, do I really need to feel guilty?
Will his words come back to haunt me tomorrow? Maybe. Maybe not.
In the meantime, I'll sit in peacefulness, happy and guilt-free.