Rotting

My kids used to joke that if I died they would simply prop me up in the living room and keep me around like a stuffed animal.  You know, if I was whining that something might kill me....a lot of sympathy I got, as you can see.  But, thinking about that makes me think how something can be present but not be alive.  Not be useful.  Not be healthy.  And, frankly, can get to have quite a stench.
That's where I'm at.  Here I am.  Here he is.  But, death occurred a long time ago.  Nobody else seems to notice.....or if they do, they don't care.  The relationship is still here to make others feel comfortable.  But it's beginning to rot.  To smell.  To decay.  It's not alive.  It's not growing.  It's not healthy.......went from not healthy to comatose to dead.
But he prefers that to buried.  Smelly.  Plainly gone.  But, not buried.  No way to mourn and go on and heal.  He likes to keep it sitting around as if somehow by pretending it's still alive that that will make it feel right.  For so many years it felt like I was giving it constant CPR.  Compressions.  Breathing.  Trying so hard to keep it alive.  To make it good for everyone. And now I couldn't be more done.  Not that I can't love or don't love.  It's just that I can't do what I did.  Well, not without serious repercussions.  I need to go on in life.  Find a better way.  I need to think about myself as well as everyone else.
That is proving to be very hard for me.  Because, my joy comes from allowing others to find their gifts and joys.  But, in my marriage, it became about everyone else.  About every rule their could be.  And, I was tossed aside.  Not neat enough.  Not busy enough.  Not smart enough.  Not pretty enough.  Not athletic enough.  Not politically knowledgable enough.  Not religious enough.
No matter what I have ever been, I haven't been enough.  Not worth noticing nor trying to make life easier for.  Not worth protecting nor cherishing.  I'm sure that he "loves" me.....I made it easy for him to live.  Took care of the kids.  Made all of the plans.  Gave him freedom to do as he chose.  Encouraged his talents.  He took it all in.  He has never been able to give anything back.
And I'm not willing anymore.  He tells me not to have a hard heart.  I'm not feeling hard hearted, but perhaps I am.  I simply see that I need to make these changes.  Need to get rid of the corpse.  Need to quit keeping it alive artificially.  It's heart and brain dead.
So, the stench grows.  Makes me ill.  Makes me cry.  Makes me wonder if I'll ever be free.  Free to live.  Free to breathe.  Free to be joyful.  Free to choose.  Free to be loved just for me.  I don't know that I will.  He holds onto the corpse like a child with a precious pet.  They might not have fed it or walked it or watered it or taken care of it.....but it made them feel good and they are devastated when it's gone.  That's how he is.  He didn't nurture nor cherish nor care....but now that it has died, he wants to pretend it's still alive.  I just wish that he would give me the time to get better.  I can't say that there's never a chance.  All I know is that the longer he forces it, the more detached I have to become to keep any sense of sanity.  And, I'm finding that it's harder and harder.
I don't want to start over.  I don't want anyone else.  I just want a chance to get better.  I want to allow myself that.  That one simple thing.  And yet.....I guess it's too much to ask.  Makes me sad.