Love is a stranger

It’s Sunday afternoon, I am lying in bed in my husband’s T-shirt and watching Sneaky Pete. I am feeling relaxed. I ran just under 5km this morning with my running group. I felt great after the run but also exhausted. I got home just after ten and slept until after one o’clock. I got up and made a carrot, pepper, radish and tomato salad to go with the leftover lasagne that I made last night. I ate lunch with my husband, then washed the dishes and had a long refreshing shower. I washed a heap of washing and put it out onto the radiators and clothes horse. In between all of this I signed up to parkrun UK so that I can run on Saturday mornings for free at local parks. I have my barcode now I just need to wait for a free Saturday morning. I am not sure how I will fit it in with my Sunday morning runs but will see how that goes.

I spoke with my husband yesterday, not about baby matters, but about my sense of paranoia and insecurity in our relationship. I asked him if I he was emotionally detached from me. He told me that he was not detached. He told me that he loved me. When he asked me what had lead me to come to this conclusions, I mentioned a few things but mainly his behaviour in the evenings after work. He told me that it was because he was tired – emotionally and physically drained – and therefore at that point in the evening he did not want to interact with anybody anymore. He told me that in the evenings he just wanted to be on his own and be in his own little bubble. He did not have it in him to engage with me the way that I wanted.

I suppose it the complete opposite for me – I want to come home and have somebody to interact with (i.e. him) and feel that somebody wants to talk to me and take interest in me and my day. Maybe it’s selfish of me, I do not know. I too come home emotionally and physically drained but I save a little something for him. I will make fuss over him, I remember when he had a problem with his legs I would massage them when he came home and cook dinner  even though I might be tired myself. I gave, I gave the little that I had to him.

He told me that he is a independent person.

I thought about all of this while I was stirring the sauce for the lasagne. I wondered if I still had reason to be paranoid. I wondered if I just just been fobbed of and that was the definition of emotional detachment. I thought that purpose of being in love and in being in a relationship was that you did make the special effort for that special person. And if you found that you could not , you looked for a way to change it, you addressed it. I wonder if my sisters and my mother are  right, and that despite his declaration of love, his actions show something else.

I am lying in bed now and he is on his computer. We are in separate rooms doing separate things. It fills my heart with sadness. We we meant to go and see film this afternoon and he said he was too tired. I suppose I should have gone to see it by myself but I guess I was feeling tired too. He said we could watch a film on TV at home later this evening. Maybe we will, maybe we won’t. I guess this is what he means when he says he needs to be alone and by himself. But this is a Sunday and he has not worked today.

Am I in denial of what is happening to me? Am I paranoia? Is this normal? He told me that this was how marriage was after a while. Daily grind, routine and not really that exciting. It’s funny because up until we got married – life was quite the opposite. I do not know what to think or do anymore. Or rather, I know what my mother, sister and best friend advice me to do. It is easier said than done. My sister and my best friend keep telling me that I should go to counselling. Maybe I do need counselling. Maybe I have watched too many silly films and silly books and have a ridiculous notion of what love should look like. It feels like I am the one who makes all the effort. I am the one who makes the home cozy and lovely. Yes, the flat is old and in need of repair but I make it a sanctuary. I cook new recipes, I ask him what he wants to eat. I make him a cup of tea in the evenings, two sugars no milk, just as he likes it. I do all this even when my brain is screaming tiredness. I do not know what else to do. They say that the first year of marriage is the hardest. I am not sure we even have a marriage here. At the moment it seems that I we are just flatmates. Sometimes it feels like he is this strange man is living in my flat. A stranger. I am not sure where the man I married disappeared to.

 

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