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I left him for my own sanity. It was selfish, I know, but I couldn't do it anymore. At least that's what I keep telling myself. I left him because I just could not do it anymore. I tried to help him, I tried talking to him, I tried medicating him, I tried being there and waiting for him to come to me. But nothing worked. He stayed in that damn office, day after day. Night after night. Obsessing over things that were not there. I know it had to be hard for him, before when he was still "in hiding". I got to leave. I was able to go to a job I really liked, have interactions with people, see my family. He had nothing....he had me. Being cooped up in that office concerned me, but it seemed justified. But now he chooses to stay in there. He refused weekend getaways, dinners out, Christmas at my mother's. It broke my heart watching him slowly become swallowed up by darkness. Then he started to take me down with him. The feeling would start as I was driving home...as soon as I crossed the county line. It got stronger and more overwhelming as soon as I pulled onto our dirt road. Walking up the steps and opening the door felt like I was walking into a funeral. I was coming into my home after a long day at work and I felt like I was stepping into sadness. That is not what home should feel like. When I first mentioned the apartment, I told him it would just be convenient for those late nights so I wouldn't have to drive home. He made no comment, not even a nod. I don't know if he was even listening to me anymore. One night away turned into two, then a long weekend. But then I didn't come back for two weeks. When I opened the door, the house was just as I had left it, but dustier. When I went to his office to check on him, he didn't look up, just mumbled, "What's up, Doc?" I asked him how he was and he gave me my "I'm fine" response. I asked him what he had been up to the two weeks I was gone and he stopped and stiffened slightly. He didn't notice I'd been gone....for two weeks. I had become that insignificant in his life. I quietly retreated the office and closed the door. I went upstairs to our bedroom and packed what I could. I couldn't be there anymore. I loved him, but I couldn't do it anymore.
I left so I could live my life. I left him and drove to my new home (that has never felt like a home). I left him and cried. I went to work then came home and cried. I called my mom and cried. Then one day I stopped crying.
It has been 8 months since I left him. I was doing okay. I was busy at work, attempting to regain some kind of a social life with colleagues. I called to check on him. I was fine. And then we moved back to the basement. That fire was suddenly back in his eyes. He shaved, maintained a nice haircut, got dressed every day. He looked good again. He looked like my Mulder again. Our eye contact made my heart flutter, our banter made my cheeks hurt from smiling. I remembered why I fell in love with him, why I was still in love with him. But I was afraid. What if this didn't last? What if he retreated back to the darkness? It's been three weeks, and I'm so confused. He is my whole life....and he is the most frustrating person I have ever been around. I need him, but I'm afraid of him. I long for him, but I fear that sinking feeling coming back into my life.
As I walk into my apartment, that still does not feel like home, I'm fighting an internal battle because I don't know why I left him.