I left my wife. It was ugly, and I haven’t actually gone just yet.
We’ve been sleeping alone for years, though before it was in the same bed.
Now we’re in separate rooms, across the hall from one another.
She told me she’s afraid I’m not leaving in an attempt to repair our broken home so much as to dip my toe in the “single life”.
I hadn’t really thought of it before, but maybe she’s right.
I kind of doubt it, though. I’ve never been the type of guy that had to beat the ladies off with a stick; I don’t see why that would change now.
I think it’s a matter of simply wanting to be alone. Answering to none but myself. I want to live a life I don’t feel guilty about, one I won’t resent each night as I’m falling asleep in a cold bed with the wrong woman.
I’m tired of hiding, I’m tired of going along with things.
Is this crisis existential or mid-life?
Any way you slice it, it’s a crisis of my own creation, and one I must live through.