Friday, October 11, 2013

Homesickness, and the choppy seas of marriage.

This is a continuation of the theme that has been invading my blog for quite a while.

I have struggled through another week, and come through it tired of crying, but still depressed. With a husband who equates living in Britain with my leaving him. I suppose because he’s unable to even consider the possibility of his own happiness in my country. Although he expects me to be happy in his country!

He says he wants me to tell him how I feel, when I’m angry with him and homesickness overwhelms me, but what he really wants is a quiet life. In the end all men want is a Stepford wife, a woman who looks good, cleans house, cares for him and doesn’t feel anything but euphoria and ecstacy. Maybe the older ones are a little better, but probably not by much.

The trouble is every time I do tell him I’m angry with him, its another argument about the same thing over and over again. You can only rock the boat so much until someone falls out of it. I don’t want him or me to fall out of the boat! I’m a woman I need to talk, I need the safety valve of blowing off steam. I have girlfriends, my parents and this blog but that doesn’t communicate my feelings to him, but I’m scared I’m going to rip us in two!

As I said in my last post, my homesickness isn’t quite the same as say the homesickness of someone just arriving in a new place. Don’t get me wrong, the feelings are just as intense as those of someone who has recently moved away from everything they know! Its just that all of those little tips to make yourself feel better don’t really help me any. All I can do is keep busy, and try not to dwell to much on how much better I would feel in the UK. I’ve arrived at that stage of numb emptiness, where you don’t really care about anything anymore, because “where’s the point?”. I manage to get up in the morning, I manage to get dressed, I loathe leaving the flat and I don’t really want any company, not even my husband’s, even though I love him to death! But he doesn’t get it. He will never get it.

I find myself searching for things to give me that sensation of being home, its a terrible obsession! I watch BBC entertainment, which is about the closest thing I can get to british TV, I watch Dr Who repeats there and wallow in british-ness of it all. I have my Google account open practically 24/7 waiting for the next email from my parents, I call them up on the phone or Skype and absorb the sensation of home. I do everything I can think of to feel that sensation of wellbeing, even if its just for a moment. There’s only so far you can go on moments of wellbeing, eventually the sensation fades from those things and your left with the overwhelming feeling of being lost and unsure. Eventually you just have to do the one thing that cures the ailment, and hope that you don’t hurt anyone in the process.

I don’t know when I will go home, but I know -  past the numbness, past the emptiness, past the insecurity of being here that in the end I will have to go home and it will have to be for good. I just hope that when that day comes my husband comes with me.