IT'S TODAY AGAIN

I feel like I am doomed to spend the rest of eternity trapped in a loop with a man who cannot, and will not, love me back. I feel that way, because I am.
You see, I have been living the same, horrendous day over and over and over again for the past six years. In my head, I know I should say or do something differently, anything differently, but when I open my mouth, I repeat the same words in the same sequence as that fateful day.

"Are you ready to go?" I ask my husband, Paul, as I pick my backpack off our bedroom floor and slide it over my shoulders.

"I guess." Paul replies with a deep sigh. "I don't know how this is supposed to save our marriage and I honestly think it's stupid, but yes, Adelaide. I'm ready."

I ignore the feeling deep in my being that strongly resembles being punched in the gut, I slap a smile on my face and say: "Come on now, grumpy! It'll be fun! Dr Erickson said it'll be a great team building exercise. Besides, you love mountain climbing!"

Paul shoots me a look of disapproval that makes my heart ache and my soul crumble, leaving me feeling...filthy.
We hit the road in our minivan and spend the next 45 minutes in a stiff atmosphere filled with complete and deafening silence. My stomach is knotted, my throat is dry and my head is racing as it desperately searches for a topic of conversation, but as I open my mouth, my heartbeat shifts from my chest towards my throat and the words somehow get stuck. I lose my nerve and shut my mouth in silent agony. Want a piece of advice from an expert? The worst is not saying words that can never be taken back. No, the worst is having ten thousand words to say, but not having the nerve to say them. It's the words that are never said, that are the dangerous ones.

We arrive at our destination. I open my car door and I am instantly filled with sorrow when I reminisce about the days that Paul opened and closed my car door for me.
He ensures that he keeps at least ten paces of space between us, deliberately walking too fast for me to keep up. We rent our gear and an instructor offers to accompany us, which Paul denies as he explains that he is an experienced climber.
We climb in silence as sweat forms across my forehead and starts dripping down my face, occasionally stinging my eyes.
'Why are you doing this, Adelaide?' I ask myself. 'Why do you insist on torturing yourself? Let him go! Stop trying to win over a man who clearly doesn't want you. Have some self-respect, woman! Let him leave! Have some dignity!'
I ignore myself and try to find a more optimistic outlook as I try to keep up with my husband, but as I look up, I see that he has already reached the top.

'It'll get better.' I promise to myself. 'He just needs more time. Don't give up on him. Don't let him go.'

The conflict inside myself escalates as I reach the top of the mountain, clumsily struggling to pull myself up and scratching my knee against a piece of rock in the process. Paul stands in front of me, ignoring my struggles as he.tries to find cellphone reception.

Finally, something inside me explodes and I start vomiting up vile, unforgivable words out of my mouth like it was poison inside me that my body needed to get rid off. I call Paul every name in the book. I accuse him of horrible things. I threaten to file for divorce.

"You'd make me so happy if you would make good on that promise." Paul calmly says as he walks around the mountain top, still in search of signal for his phone.

I start sobbing. "How can you be so heartless? Why are you so cruel to me?"

"Because," he states while keeping his calm demeanor, "you slept with my brother in my own bed and I can't even look at you without wanting to sit in the shower hugging myself for 45 minutes and scrubbing you off of myself until my skin peals off."

I scream at the top of my lungs that I'm sorry, that it was a stupid mistake, that I regret it every day, that I'd give anything to fix our marriage, that he just needed more time to heal, that we'll be fine eventually if he was just willing to put in a little effort.

"I don't want to put in effort, Adelaide!" Paul screams at me. "I tried! I HAVE BEEN TRYING! It's not getting better! I'm not even mad or disappointed anymore! I'm just filled with disgust and pity for you. You're so damn pathetic, I can't even look at you. I'm sorry. I really am so sorry, but I do not love you anymore, Adelaide. I don't want you anymore. Why can't you just accept this and move on? I don't want to deal with the therapy and the crying and the pitiful happy family charade anymore! I'm done. I want out, okay? I just want out, Adelaide."

It feels like every inch of my body has been stabbed as I stare at my husband in disbelief, trying to breathe as I slowly back away from him. I'm in a daze as I ignore Paul screaming my name and telling me to stop. I take my last step back and I fall. I fall for what feels like hours.

Not a scream escapes my mouth. I close my eyes. I hit the ground.

And I find myself back in our bedroom.

I feel like I am doomed to spend the rest of eternity trapped in a loop with a man who cannot, and will not, love me back. I feel that way, because I am.