Leaving

         I left the house this morning.  It was the last time, but my husband doesn't know.  He doesn't even have a clue what's been going on in my life lately.  He doesn't know that I got fired (because I can't tell him).  He doesn't know I'm depressed (because I can't tell him) or that I think about dying daily, hourly, by the minute (because...well, you get the picture).  I can't tell him all of this because he'll be too understanding.  He's too nice.  He'll gather me in his arms and stroke my hair (oh how I used to love that) and he'll tell me how everything'll be ok and how we'll get through it together and he'll help anyway he can.  How can I tell him that stuff and then look him in the face and tell him...what?  That I'm too fucked up to be with him, too screwed up and I don't want to bring him down, too lost that I don't feel anything anymore, too selfish to consider what leaving will do?  I think the latter's the truth, anyway.  How can I tell him?  I can't, and I'm leaving.  And that's the way it's going to stay. 

I'm glad he doesn't have a say.