It fucking hurts. I get a full set of feelings and the fucker breaks up with me and I get the whole lot – CRASH! Full dose of pain and grief and horror at what I am responsable: the break up of my marriage. I have driven that fine man to the point where he cannot afford to be with me any more.

I’ve always thought that he saved my life.

I’ve always thought that without him that I will die.

I don’t mean in any dramatic way, like throwing myself off a bridge or taking an overdose. I mean in a mundane, banal way where my actions will cause my death, such as catching HIV or dying in some kind of risky activity where death isn’t supposed to happen.

My throat constricts. I cannot speak. I cry until I can’t breathe.

I didn’t cry when my mum and dad told me that she was dying; I thought “I must be strong”. I never let her see how much her dying upset me. That I regret very deeply: I wish I had shown her a little of my grief – I hope she knew how much I loved her. I always cried when I was away from her. Twice my husband held me as my grief broke my legs and I could not stand.

There is nobody to hold my grief today.

I am feeling this with my husband even more deeply. Being integrated and immediate with one’s emotions is fucking agony. At least my husband knows that I hurt and can see that this rips at my soul. We may be separating, but we matter to each other.

He does not cry. He has never been able to. That does not mean that he isn’t in pain.

I gave him some beta blockers that I’m prescribed as PNR for anxiety; he gave me a Diazapan.

I got ten hours sleep, with only one toilet visit. I do not want to get up in the morning. If I don’t get up and have something to drink, my brain will punish me with a migraine.

It took an hour to get out of bed.

The atmosphere when I do get up is uncomfortable, but that is hardly surprising.

Today I need to look for somewhere to live.

Then he says “I can’t believe you’ve given up on us so easily”. I’m a bit stunned.

So we talk. But it’s no use. He has told me that he wants monogamy. I don’t want sex with anybody else right now, but I don’t know how I’m going to feel when I’m more settled into myself, or when the hormones eventually are started. That’s one of my fears of testosterone – that my sexual urges will come back – and so will my Dark Fantasies. I fear that they will become powerful again and I will be driven to seek them out. As a result, I am unable to promise what my husband needs. His needs matter at least as much as mine. He needs security.

I hate myself that I cannot make the promise that that or relationship has been based upon for twenty six and a half years.

I have to take responsibility for that uncertainty and the pain and fear that I am causing in him.

It’s my turn to say those two little words.