We arranged a consultation with the Marriage Guidance counsellor in Alexandra. We were both willing to try anything to save our marriage. Within minutes we both realised this case was beyond the range of the counsellor’s experience. For her, every relationship problem was caused by the couple not talking to each other, by a simple lack of communication. It’s a philosophy which has the odds stacked well and truly on its side, but this was the rare exception. Marion and I did nothing but communicate. Our entire relationship had always been based on talking about everything, and that hadn’t changed. We’d discussed causes for our current difficulties until we were out of oxygen. We’d considered remedies and solutions until there were no words in the dictionary we hadn’t used. Nothing had helped.
Neither, as it turned out, did the counsellor. She suggested causes for our problem - which we unanimously dismissed. She delved deeply into her bag of trusty metaphors - but none of them seemed to fit. She questioned our feelings, our emotions - but we’d already hung them out for all the world to see. She probed and queried until there was nothing but a blank wall and an uncomfortable silence. So we paid and left.
Our options were quickly running out. The previous few months had left me feeling helpless and drained. I couldn’t understand what was happening, and there were no clues to its cause. Everything had simply turned to shit in my hands. We were both desperately unhappy about our situation, yet powerless to change it. All I knew was that I wanted to work things out and was willing to do anything necessary, and that, at least, gave me hope.
Marion didn’t even have hope, because she didn’t know if she even wanted to work things out. So she decided to visit a private counsellor to try and find out why she was unable to feel happy here, with me. Why she was unable to be happy about anything. Even the thought of running away held no great appeal.
The counsellor diagnosed depression and suggested we spend some time apart. With a huge sigh of relief, I agreed. This was, at least, something. Finally a starting point from which to begin the long journey towards rediscovering our happiness together. The worst was over. Marion was advised not to make any major decisions. To forget the future for a while and simply live from day to day. So she moved into a cabin on the Millers Flat Motor Camp, and continued to pick apples to keep her mind occupied.
A few days later I went to visit her. She had, after all, made a decision. She no longer wanted time apart, she wanted a separation.
It was the end.
And it was permanent.
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