I’m not quite sure when it happened exactly, but it did. At some point, emptiness replaced contentment. Anger replaced appreciation. Desperation replaced fear. Purposeful, joyous movements became perfunctory…curt…nonexistent. Things that were comfortable became ill-fitting. The remote control became a WMD, when it used to be a shot of novocaine. I couldn’t be comfortably numb any longer.
Where once I found so much fulfillment, I struggled to salvage a glimmer of hope, struggled to ignore my instincts that there was no hope left, but in the end my instincts won out. My marriage wasn’t salvageable, it was lost.