WARNING: Not a happy post.
I've decided to get this out of the way right now. It's been bothering me some.
Valentines day is next Saturday. I have no valentine, no sweetheart. I have an ex. I have reminders of her past presence all over the house. Things not easily gotten rid of, like the furniture that I have left or the fridge. I haven't the cash to replace them or I would. Then there are things that I don't want to and wouldn't get rid of, like the dogs.
I have memories. 20 years worth of memories. Memories of vacations, of our kids growing up, of special occasions. Memories of great sex, which I have been devoid of for over three years now. And there are memories of a thousand little things, things that remind me of her, and of how love kicked me in the crotch while I was already down.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: What my wife did to me was very, very hurtful. It still pains me. She left me because of my bipolar disorder. She actually told me that if she had known at the beginning that I would end up with a mental illness that she never would have married me. She left me when I needed her the most. It makes me wonder if she ever really loved me. She seems pretty happy now.
So, Valentine's Day will be a bitter reminder for me. A reminder of what I had and lost. A reminder of my struggle to be happy and healthy the last three years. A reminder of my struggle to not hate myself. That there is no one special in my life. Even a reminder that my illness is still waiting for me in the shadows by the back door.
At least I still have my friends.