Name Changer

Inspirational song: Cold Day in July (Dixie Chicks)

It has been obvious for a long time that something is up at Smith Park West. I haven't been able to hide my sour moods behind flowers and cat pictures, much as I've tried. Now that key family members have been notified, I'm going to pull down the privacy screen again, and explain what's going on.

A few months ago, Mr S-P announced he was ready for a name change. Henceforth he is going to be known as Mr X. I'm not crazy about the new moniker, and I have fought it with everything in me, but I have lost. It's the last thing in the world I have ever or will ever want, but there it is. The end.

We know how this looks, coming as it did less than two months after my diagnosis with an incurable disease that explained 90% of the problems I've had physically, mentally, and emotionally for the last three decades or so. It's not the ideal time for me to cope with such a change. Perhaps that is the reason he is still here, working furiously to finish the projects he began, things that I can't possibly do myself anymore. He's trying to get this house and grounds as functional and easy to care for as he can, and make all the modifications I wanted done that would have never been made otherwise. He says he learned that lesson from all the other houses that we never fixed up until it was time to sell them. I have a few local friends who are handy with a hammer, table saw, or lawn mower who may be able to help me out with a crisis, but for those times it's all on me, I need to have as few things to repair as possible.

This has been coming for a very long time. Years and years, really. If you know where to look in this blog, you will see that I've been telegraphing it for almost two years. More than a year into his last deployment, things suddenly changed in a way that only I could perceive. It was while I was having my annus horribilus, when Cricket the cat was wasting away in my bathroom, when my smoldering diverticulitis burst into flames again, and when my friend Molly died suddenly from a DVT. Through all of my crisis and pain, I noticed that Mr SP/X stopped talking to me. He cut me off cold on Facebook, stopped being willing to Skype, and the tone of his emails turned very distant. It was then that all of the inspirational songs at the beginning of the blogs every night (my hidden messages) turned plaintive, into desperate wails of heartache as I knew something significant had altered. I tried to pretend things would return to normal once he returned, but unfortunately normal entailed me screaming for attention while he turned away from my constant complaining about pain and fatigue (only part of which was diagnosed then). Every project we entered together confused me, because I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, and for him to tell me he was finished. I could feel it, even as I denied it to myself and others.

You might wonder whether living apart for a cumulative one half of our entire relationship had a damaging effect on how well we got along. It did. But the times we were in the same house didn't go so well either, so I can't blame it all on geographical separation. In fact, I don't want to place blame at all. We both caused damage here, and it's not fair to either of us to try to figure out whose sins are greater. Let's just say it comes down to a coin toss, and I'm not tossing that coin to find out whether it was mine. Military life is very hard on marriages, and so is autoimmune disease. Few bonds can withstand the stresses that we put on our relationship.

Here's what I don't need: I do not need one more person to tell me that we beat the spread from the betting pool at our wedding. All that does is show me how you always thought we were total shits, either as individuals or to/for each other. I don't need to hear how one of us is better off without the other, for much the same reason. Against all logic, I still love him, and will love him unconditionally forever. It doesn't do me any good now, but it's the truth and I have to learn to live with it. I don't need anyone to trash him in my hearing. And for the love of all that is holy, do not tell me things he said or did behind my back. No good can come of that. I swear to you I am suffering enough to satisfy anyone's thirst for Schadenfreude.

Maybe someday I will be ready to move on. Maybe someday I'll find someone else. Right now there is no one even in the pipeline, and I'm not sure when I will be ready to look again. Not now. I need time to grieve and space to do it in. My moods will continue to go up and down, and in a few weeks when he drives away for good, I may totally break down. If one night there is no text, just a song and a couple pictures, that's the day. You'll know it when you see it. Please have sympathy for both of us at that time.