What Loneliness Feels Like

Single Tree Hill

It’s past midnight, and I’m going to bed alone, again.

Loneliness feels like an empty bed on a Saturday night.

I just checked on both boys and they were asleep in unusual positions, matching: Little Dude, stretched out on his back, hands fisted behind his head. He’s normally on his belly. Big Brother, ditto. How cute is that? No one to tell.

My friends came over tonight. We laughed hard, and talked about everything and nothing. It was just what I needed. I am so blessed. Yet, as it often does, the conversation circled back to husbands, marital sex, and the like. I smiled, silent. No funny stories to share. Nothing funny about separating from my downward spiraling husband. Loneliness descends.

Husband has always put up and taken down our Christmas tree. Today, with the help of friends, I took it down myself. I’m capable of anything but loneliness is doing every task in the home, without company.

This morning Big Brother had a birthday party to go to. Last year, we would’ve tag-teamed. I’d take one, Husband would stay home with the other. Today, I was on my own, trying to keep track of two quickly moving boys in a crowded kid zone. Loneliness is realizing the responsibility of  your kids’ safety is all on you.

This evening my sons went for a (supervised) visit to dad’s. We got ready, packed a bag of toys, and went. I dropped them off, smiled and said hello, and left. Loneliness is finding yourself in a 7-seat minivan without your family, with nowhere to go and nothing appealing to do. Loneliness is leaving  your boys with your addict husband, hoping they will be ok. Loneliness is picking them up and Husband admitting that no, once again, he did not broach the subject of the separation with the children, even though I asked him to. Loneliness is having to explain, again and again, all by myself to my oldest son, why daddy cannot come  home with us anymore. Loneliness is knowing that not every parent reads Dinosaurs Divorce before bed.

Loneliness is feeling my body as I take off my clothes for bed, and then suddenly remembering that there is no one to share it with.

Loneliness is a queen bed on a cold night.

Loneliness is knowing that if anything were to happen to my children or I, I and I alone am responsible for taking care of us. Husband is still using, and has a nasty habit of not answering the phone.

Loneliness is blogging late at night in bed, with the lit screen bothering exactly no one.

Loneliness is knowing that when I wake up, nothing will have changed.

Loneliness is accepting that my marriage is dead, and that my Husband will perhaps not get better. Apparently losing us is not his rock bottom.


8 thoughts on “What Loneliness Feels Like

  1. I am sorry for your pain and loneliness. Today, I have a better understanding of the pain and loneliness that my wife experienced when I was out there tearing apart everything that we had built together.

    Three young children, all home at the time. I will never know the horror and fear that my wife lived through. Whether or not she remains my wife, I owe her a “living amends” until we both part this earth. And I will gladly honor that.

    Lonely. I know what lonely is, then and now. I knew it in our marriage before I started to drink, to avoid what I was feeling, and I know it now, post addiction, because I am still married to a women who’s trust and confidence I violated to the nth degree. She’s upstairs in bed right now, on a cold night, as I sit here at 1am and blog away. We are living the married single life. Taking care of our responsibilities together but living with zero intimacy. That part is sorely missed, incredibly lonely…and painful!

    • You really got me thinking that even marriage can be lonely. I tend to forget this now that I’m alone. I was often unhappy and lonely in my marriage, too, especially when my husband was using or lying about something else. I’m sorry for you and hope you regain your intimacy soon. Life is too short for your wife to be in bed, alone!

  2. I wish I would have found your blog 4 months ago. I sit here in tears reading your posts because I have felt these feelings and thought these thoughts. I am 32 years old and I asked my husband (my high school sweetheart) of almost 13 years to leave 4 months ago due to prescription drug addiction. I finally got tired of the lies and empty promises. He still won’t admit to being an addict. It went on for years, but he wants to say that the drugs are not a temptation to him anymore and the issues ran deeper, i.e. codependency. I get labeled because of his addiction. Maybe I was/am codependent, but I picked up most to all of the responsibility for our family out of necessity. I now live alone with our 3 children, trying to make ends meet and trying to figure out my next step. He, however, is “still believing for reconciliation” and is making me feel so guilty for splitting up our family. Last known prescription was only a month ago…although he swore he wasn’t taking “any narcotics or anything questionable” for months.
    Thank you for sharing your story…I will keep reading.

  3. It’s been exactly a year since you wrote this , and this is almost exactly what I am going through these days. I put up with 11 months of alcohol and most recently drugs. So lonely, but there’s a peace in that loneliness. I’m not constantly on edge or angry at someone. My nights are lonely but peaceful. He’s not busy running out for cigarette breaks that are really beer runs, I’m not being called the b word or c word in front of our child. I’m not checking the bed for urine in the middle of the night. And at work in the day, I’m not terrified of how my evening at home will be destroyed because of him.

    I saw him on the street today. He says he’s living on the streets. He says rehab is out of the question. Apparently losing me and our 2 year old daughter is not his rock bottom, either. But that’s okay, because I hit my rock bottom: seeing him yell at our 2 yr old last weekend when all she wanted was morning playfulness, and he was aching for a first beer of the day.,.. Yeah I knew it was rock bottom for me at that point! And I don’t regret kicking him out. Not for one second.

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