(Image/ct11.wikispaces.com) During the 18 months I was sleeping in the guest room, I felt like a lonely stranger uncomfortable in his own home, at best, and suffocating heavy-chest anxiety the rest of the time.
That’s why I loved going to work, and why I dreaded every Friday afternoon when I was staring at a long weekend at home where the best I could hope for was an occasional moment of levity with my pre-school-aged son before spiraling once again into My Marriage Sucks and I’m a Huge Failure.
The Monday commute to work was sweet relief.
But then one Sunday evening, my wife took her ring off, and the next day—a Monday that felt different than the others—she left forever.
And then—even though it should have been impossible—home became more suffocating and miserable than the previous year had been.
Even the shittiest marriage I could have ever imagined felt better…
View original post 1,342 more words