...I lock my door upon myself,
And bar them out; but who shall wall
Self from myself, most loathed of all?

I Lock My Door Upon Myself - Christina G. Rossetti

The apparent emotional immaturity referred to in my previous post is one of the most difficult things that I have had to deal with as the tragedy of our marriage separation has been unfolding. She has boasted of her witch’s hair; how fast she drives; her blue/green nails, six-inch heels and six-inch hemlines; of young men who are willing to pay for her drinks in bars in exchange for a kiss – whilst our lives and that of our children potentially stand to be torn apart.

She has spent endless hours writing blog entries to elicit numerous replies of ‘go for it’; ‘you deserve to be free’; and ‘you have a beautiful soul’ - while her husband is set to move his office into the very house that she told him all along would make her happy, in order that he is better able to face and manage the bleak reality she will leave behind (especially given the current economic climate of which she seems oblivious) and to be more readily there when the children come back from school.

She flaunts her bohemianism and independence while appearing to despise her husband for having had (not out of choice) to work long hours and as a result “not being there” – for the very virtue that has provided her with every conventional comfort and financed her "freedom" - despite both accepting that his long and tiring commute was a price worth paying for a beautiful home in an "idyllic" setting and a "country" lifestyle for the children.

In the last months, I’ve shut my eyes to so much, being too frightened to see too clearly - and now I find that, while I wasn’t looking, silently and slowly and surely, all that we had has almost drained away.………..but I try to hang on to the last few remaining drops.

I became resigned to my wife’s decision to leave me, some time ago. Since then, I have pieced together enough of my shattered self, to wish that she will find happiness again. I know that she could still find it with me, if only she would just open her eyes and be prepared for us to try, given everything that we now both know – very different to 4 months ago. But to her, keeping to her “principles” once the line is drawn in the sand, means no turning back, but continuing like a lemming, blindly on a set course come what may, regardless.

Admittedly, there was a time when I begged her to stay; words of love and cruelty in equal hopeless measure. Unfashionable as it may be, I had hoped to stand at her side holding her hand forever, through good times and bad; loving no one else; wanting no other life for myself.

The pivotal moment was not the acceptance that she did not love me any more as I still loved her but, much later, the realisation that my enduring love for her meant nothing, changed nothing; was no match for this quite relentless, unassailable resolve of hers. Yet, at one and the same time, she says that she wants “to be adored”. How much more “adoration” can a man exhibit than I have tried to show through these pages?

I have loved, lost and grieved, but the dark days have given way to a heavy readiness to return to life, unafraid of the echoes and shadows she will leave behind; I have already grown used to them in these last few empty months………….…where day after day, she has restated her determination to leave our marriage so that she can find “herself” (though her loving, strong, vulnerable, imperfect, perfect self is already there – and I know where she keeps it), but all she seems (desperate) to do is to search for someone else, almost anyone else, who will pay her attention – such a lonely search for a mythical, but all too fleeting, fantasy lover over whom she can exert her power and control, and feel the excitement, the fear and challenge of new attraction.

But this will only be followed again by her inevitable need to feel safe and secure once more within this new “relationship”, which will require fresh mutual commitment, and ultimately result in the same apparent loss of “passion” – and so the pattern will be repeated.

I’m not blocking her way. She has locked the door upon herself. My tears have oiled the hinges and my heart has broken the lock – so who can explain why I don’t tell her so, with a last gentle push, that the door is open? I still do not want her to leave, but I am not the one stopping her.

The fact is, I am the one who is imprisoned, not her! It is hard to move my life forward when I seem to have my very own “Mrs Rochester” in the attic, someone both beautiful and “mad” as she is to me.

I know that deep down (though she would never admit it) she needs me……….as I need her. As we have so often said to one another in the past……….”Who else would put up with you?”………………but, she will no doubt keep forever looking and hoping to find another non-existent such one, in all the dark corners and amongst all the other recycled discards.