Since you asked, and at lunch it didn’t seem like you know, either.
I don’t know.

Do I think we should separate?
I don’t know.

Do I think you love me?
I don’t know.

Am I depressed?

Do I think there is ANY reason to go on living?
I don’t know.

Does it feel like my heart is broken?

Is there something you can do to help me with this?
I don’t know.

Am I seriously considering ending my life?
I don’t know.

Would I ever intentionally hurt you, or our children?
I don’t think so, not if I could help it.

What do I want?
I don’t know.

What do I need?
I don’t know.

Can I tell the difference between WANT and NEED?
I don’t know.

Wait, maybe…

I NEED to feel loved BY YOU…
…by someone?…
…by anyone?…

I NEED to feel like YOU WANT to be with me…
…like someone wants to be with me?…
…like ANYBODY wants to be with me?…

I NEED to feel like YOU care about me…
…like someone cares about me?…
…like ANYBODY cares about me?…

I’ve told you before how important it is to me to feel your touch… to hold your hand… to experience your love. Earlier today, we sat across from each other in a fast food restaurant, tuning out the world… saying things to each other but failing to communicate. You seemed distracted, like you couldn’t wait to be someplace else… like you’d rather be anyplace but right there… rather be with anyone other than me.

For more than a half-hour, there we sat. I struggled, and failed, yet again, to find my words… to tell you how much I love you… to tell you how scared I am of losing you… to tell you how meaningless my life feels without your love… without any love.

There we sat, each of us with our hands on the table… inches from each other… but no touch… no caress… no spark… no indication of love for me… no reason for hope… no recognition of pain… no acceptance of responsibility for causing hurt…

And then you said, “I guess we should go.”

I guess we should go…

Guess we should go…

We should go…

Should go…


So we did.

I shuffled out the door, and staggered quickly to my car, feeling like I was going to explode with grief. I sat, in the car, in the parking lot, sobbing so hard I thought I was going to die. Shaking so much I couldn’t see clearly.

And watched you drive past, slowly… but not like you cared.

You stopped at the corner, and I tried to watch for a glance… a turn of the head… something… anything… but it didn’t seem that you looked my way.

And then, you drove off.

You were going.


And still, there I sat. Sobbing. Convulsing. In agony. My only friend… my love… the only person I can really talk to… had gone. Gone and left me. Without saying “I love you.” Without grasping my hand. Without smiling. Without saying goodbye. Without love. For more than an hour, there I sat. Wondering… why? Why can’t I get the words out? Why do I get so upset about seemingly trivial things? Why?

And when I’d cried until I couldn’t cry any longer I thought to myself, I guess I should go…

I should go…

I’m going…


3 thoughts on “Going?

    1. Aspie Kent Post author

      She will, I believe… When I wrote that, I wasn’t sure if I would come back… but, since I’m at the computer again, it seems I have.

      Thanks for the comment!

  1. wicked which

    Crying silently, deep inside, like a friend of my second child explained once when we were talking about sad movies. The children were about eight years of age then.
    And I am glad, at the same time, that you’re back at the computer again!
    I admit that I have been looking out for posts from you and your wife because I felt so much the terrible place both of you found yourselves in. Seems to me like a place I have seen but I am autistic and may have gotten it wrong entirely. But I definitely relate to that nobody: I just get the feeling right now that there must have been years that two nobody’s have been living side by side in this house I call home.
    We’re working on that and it can be done, I’m autistic and always in for solutions to problems! Just don’t give up!
    And there are the children, they need to know that the expert (that is the name that makes my best friend talk about how he experiences life) loves them and knows how to add his knowledge to make their lives a better place to be.
    Liane Holliday Willey has a lot to say about her father’s role in educating her.


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