When you are in a love/hate relationship, you tend to love/hate everything.

Seriously.... 80s love songs that I used to think were sooooooo romantic to skate to (with the boy I had a crush on and who also never knew I existed, much less enough to skate holding hands with short, tubby, introverted me) at the small town skating rink where kids would share crappy pizza and make "Suicides*" to drink at the soda dispenser make me wistful and nauseous in a single measure.   Back then there was hope that one day, I'd skate with that boy and he'd hold my hand and smile at me like Bad English was practically begging him to do on my behalf.
But now I see him (not the adorable sk8er boy with pale blue eyes, but the man I gave my heart to) trying to get someone else to love him and take care of him and ignore me more and more... and push me away more and more... I miss being loved and I miss being able to look forward without the loss behind me destroying my outlook.
I miss having hope for more than a good day. I miss the ring that he forgets to put on my finger. I miss being treated like I'm actually liked.
So I love and hate the promises we were given by those smooth lyrics.  I love and hate the nostalgia attached.  I love and hate the knowledge that my relationship is gone despite my best efforts. Part of me is loving the thought of moving on and doing my own thing,  but part of me hates that I've spent so many years trying to keep him and not piss him off that I don't know what my own thing is.
And he's got his own love hate thing going on too. Loves the mothers of his children,  hates us for wanting more for our kids.  I'm trying to see things from his side,  but when it comes down to it, I never gave up on him.  I never shut him down when he wanted to do something.  I never had someone else in our marriage bed.  I thought I could get over it all. I thought I wouldn't resent the fact that I make all of the effort to be close. I thought he'd still love me back.

So, my thoughts on moving forward...
Hell, I have none. Love the possibility, hate the unknown.

I'm scared. And I'm scarred. And as much as I love my kids, they sap my energy when I'm depressed and anxious.
I really can't say those sorts of things aloud.
I'll lose them. And I can't lose my kids because my husband couldn't keep it in his pants.

Any helpful advice out there?
Thanks
C.D.

*For those of you who were neither cool nor had a cool older sibling, a Suicide consisted of a little of every flavor of soda in one cup... so 5-6 sodas in one depending on whether you dared to include diet coke in the mix. Disgusting, but peer pressure was intense back then.

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