January in Journal

I’ve decided to start from the beginning of this story. So to do so, I’ll have to back track myself a little. So, I’ll start with January. It’s now eight months later, although it feels like just yesterday. I woke up on New Years morning at my sisters house. For all purposes, we’ll call her June. June is a senior in college with a major in mechanical engineering. She’s nothing like in me in that sense. She’s focused, driven, incredibly intelligent. Everything is going well for her. She’ll be graduated in May, everything she worked so hard for is coming into sight. She threw a little New Years Eve party in her very ghetto house, she has to live in while struggling to keep the lights on while going to school full time. It’s about 8 degrees outside, we go to sleep around 3am but I never really sleep, she doesn’t have central heat. Or any heat for that matter in her bedroom. We have about ten blankets on us but my face is going numb from the cold. I don’t see how she does this every night. I admire her for that. I want to go home so bad. To my warm, one blanket, central heated apartment. I stay at her house till about 8am, then leave to go sleep in my warm bed. The drive takes about 45 minutes. I finally get home. The doors locked. I know why. I try the window on my porch. Shocker, it’s locked too. My brother who is living with me at the time isn’t home. Probably at some New Years party somewhere. I don’t have a key, I forgot to get a copy made a few months ago and still haven’t managed to. My husbands inside, sound asleep. I call him and call him. He doesn’t wake up. Of course not. When he drinks, he’s knocked out for twelve hours without waking. He locked the door on purpose. Fucking dickhole. He says I deserve it. Maybe I do. This is the first time I have went home for more than an hour or two in weeks. I can’t do it. I just can’t. Everything about that apartment makes me feel like I’m drowning. I always feel like I’m drowning though. I think I am. I don’t know how to handle it. My husband doesn’t love me. He knows it. I know it. We’ve decided to divorce. We decided this in October. But here it is. January and he’s still here, I’ve only told my close friends about the divorce. The thought of telling my over religious mother that I will be a divorcée at 21 years old makes me want to throw up. But I have no choice. He doesn’t love me. I don’t love him. I think I may hate him actually. I’ve thought too many nights how much easier life would be if he were to get in some kind of tragic car accident or something of the sort and died. I could be free again. I haven’t been free since I was 16. Everyone told me not to get married at 18. But I didn’t listen. I never do. And now I’m stuck outside of my own apartment in 8 degree weather because my drunk husband has locked me out. How did I end up like this? I’m a shell of a person. Everything hurts. I want to cry my eyes out but I can’t. I can’t cry at all. I just stare numbly into the blankness. All I want is for my husband to hold me and tell me everything’s okay. But everything isn’t okay. And he won’t hold me. He doesn’t want to see me okay. He wants to see me as hurt as he is. I’ve done everything to try to get him to stop drinking but it’s useless. He drinks because he’s unhappy. I don’t think I’m the whole reason he’s unhappy but I’ve tried everything to be what he wants. The truth is. What he wants isn’t me. I’ll never be the person to make everything okay for him. I’ll never be the person that he thinks about when he’s at his lowest. I’m just not his person. And as much as I want him to be mine, as much as I’ve told myself he is that person for me. The real, raw truth is, he’s no where near that person. My father died on October 5th. Suddenly of a heart attack. It was so fast and surreal. My husband, the person that’s supposed to be there for me when I don’t even know how to feel wasn’t. That’s the day I realized it would never get better. It would never work itself out. Because he didn’t love me. My fathers funeral was October 14th. I went alone. I went knowing I no longer had a husband and no longer had a father. I didn’t cry. I was numb. Now, it’s January, I’m sitting in my car with the heat cranked as high as it goes, praying that if there is a god for him to make something in my life okay. But he doesn’t. I sit in my car till about noon when my husband wakes up. I beg him to let me in, he finally complies. I go into our room. There is trash everywhere. I can barely even step in it. There’s a bottle of piss on the floor because he was too drunk to walk to the bathroom. He blames me. I’m not home enough. I abandoned him. It’s my fault. But he made me. I had to chose me. He was killing me. I was dying. Being with someone who doesn’t love you is the worst kind of torture. It feels like someone stabbing you and twisting the knife in your stomach every time they look at you with that blank, loveless look. He drunk texts me sometimes. He tells me how much he hates me. He tells me he wishes I would die. He tells me terrible things. When he sobers up he tells me he was just drunk and laughs about it. He laughs about it. I sit in my car at 3am, trying to sleep because I can’t go home. I have a drunk husband who hates me at home. I’m scared. I sit in my car at 3am while he sits in my home, telling my to kill myself and telling me I’m selfish for not coming home. I am selfish. I let it get this way. I wasn’t ready for marriage, so I backed away, I tested him. I made him hate me. It was me, and I know that. But now that he does, it’s a living hell. Telling him I wanted a divorce was the scariest thing I’ve done in my life. Without him I have nothing. I can’t afford to live alone. My car is under his name. His parents gave us all the furniture. I’ll have nothing. I have no idea what I’m going to do. But I have to do something. So, I go into my home, tell him I’m sorry, get my clothes for a few days and I’m gone till next time he threatens to throw out my things or ruin something precious to me. I go to my friends. Haylee. I went to cosmetology school with her. She knows about everything. I go there and sleep. I feel safe for a minute. Finally.