My estranged husband died in January 2016. We had been separated for almost five years at the time of his death. He died from a rare form of brain cancer that I did not even know he had because he had blocked all communication with me for the three years prior to his death.
I left him in April 2011 after years of mental and emotional abuse, which he blamed me for. When I left him, we had been living in separate households for two years because we lived with his parents for our entire marriage and his parents had kicked me out because I had been unemployed for a year (and unable to even get an interview for a month). When I was kicked out, I was given less than four hours to pack what I could of my clothes and my personal property and get out. I'm just lucky that my parents had room that they could take me in.
I continued looking for a job (and spending weekends with my husband) for the next six months, with my mother driving me to the town that I had "moved" from three times a week to try to get a job back home so I could be with my husband. I stopped looking when I was informed that I would not be welcome to move back home even if I did find a job. What was the point? Me getting a job wasn't going to let me live with my husband again. I was not qualified for anything that would earn enough money to get me a place of my own where I could live with my husband, and he was too dependent on his parents to ever move out on his own just to be able to live with the wife that he claimed to love.
The abuse lessened for a while while we were only spending weekends together, either at my parents' or in a motel, but never truly stopped. The final straw was the sexual assault in March 2011. I struggled for almost a month to come to terms with what happened. When I did, I told him that I was done. I want a divorce.
Shortly after, I enrolled in an online school that screwed up my paperwork so denied my financial aid. I fell into depression and began seriously considering doing something unforgivably stupid. I had a plan and the method necessary to end my life. The only thing that kept me from doing so was the pair of black tabby kittens that were my boys: If I was gone, then who was going to take care of them?
Fortunately, an old friend from grade school found me on Facebook and gave me something to look forward to: Spending time with him and his family. I finally had friends again and a reason to get out of the house a few times a month. That friend is the person that introduced me to BDSM. His wife suggested collaring me and picked out the collar they bought for me.
I was happy for a time, spending every other weekend with my Dom and his wife, and occasionally with the kids. My estranged husband had figured out my schedule for going to my "friend's" house for the weekend, and would randomly show up at my parents' house on those weekends with our son "trying to see me", even though he knew very well that I would not be there.
We moved and I made more friends in Denton. They've made my life 100% better than it's been since high school. One became my play partner. Then my mom had surgery to replace the plastic parts of her artificial hip and ended up with an infection that went septic and we almost lost her. It meant three months where I was unable to get away to see my Dom. When I finally did make plans to go see him, one of my friends offered me a weekend job. I had not worked in years, at this point, and I was permitted to make the choice as to whether to go spend Vallentine's Day with my Dom or whether to work.
I made the wrong choice; I chose to work.
He texted me 90 times in three and a half hours, then didn't speak to me for two months. The next I heard from him wasn't really hearing from him. It was him removing me from his relationship list on Fetlife in March. We had a fight in April and that was the last we spoke for over a year. I focused on my play partner, even telling him that I wanted to be more, but he did not want to date a married woman, so we just stayed friends and occasional play partners.
Now, I am a widow, but, while he does feel affection, he does not love me. He wants someone else, though he does not even have anyone he wants to date right now.
I guess I've kind of done this to myself. I rushed into being play partners with someone that I liked a little too much when I wasn't really available. Now, I've got a play partner that just wants to be my little kajira, but only when it suits him. In four years, he's fucked me three times, and then only because I demanded it. It's been a year since the last time and neither one of us climaxed.
I've gotten to the point where I don't even care about sex anymore. I've managed to convince myself that the only purpose in sex is reproduction, not pleasure. At least until I have a committed relationship with someone that actually loves me like I love him.
Unfortunately, I think I'm a little too picky... I have an example of an amazing man, one whom I love, to which I compare everyone else. Someone that's funny, smart, witty, creative, and caring. I can only hope that I find someone half as good as him someday. Our friends all hope that he will finally "get his head out of his ass and realize that [we'd] be the perfect couple".
I will probably always carry a torch for him.