Truths

When I was little, I used to dream about the kind of man I'd marry. His looks didn't matter so much (although he MUST be bigger than me. I'm not marrying a Manorexic) but he needed to be kind. I imagined a huge teddy bear of a man who wanted to bring home every animal with big sad eyes and was adored by kids. I imagined someone blue collar with callused hands and a gentle heart. Someone who could build a bookshelf and wipe a tear. Someone who would know to kiss me when I'm ranting, hug me when I'm angry and surprise me with a note when I'm hurt. Someone who reminded me of how amazing my mother is when I'm angry at her and who would take the kids out for ice cream when I was being an ass.

A partner.

Someone who could be strong when I was weak and who would let me be his strength when he had none.

Someone who laughed at my jokes and reminded me to be kind when I went too far. Someone who made mistakes and took responsibility for them. Someone who would rather lose everything else instead of his integrity.

Someone considerate and with compassion.


I have no idea why tears are running down my face. The husband isn't a bad man. I always tell myself that if it wasn't for his Bipolar, we'd be happy. But I know that he really isn't any of those things I just listed. He puts himself first. Always. And sometimes it just breaks my heart.