You have lost your mind. Your love is only in your head. None of these action described are of a man who love you.
Loved. I certainly believed he did love me, and I think
he believed he loved me, if that makes sense. With this, it's confirmed in some ways what I always suspected: for reasons I won't get into, he is a deeply broken person. (He himself admits this.) In my opinion, he doesn't love himself (based on what I know about his past and things he said and did during the marriage). If you don't love yourself, can you really be said to love someone else? What is love, anyway? Finding a person who buys into the good things you believe about yourself, and who reflects the best version of yourself back at you? I can almost be that cynical.
When this originally went down, I was devastated. Now, I am grateful. For years I haven't wanted to accept that the man I loved and married doesn't exist anymore.
I still exist,
I feel like exactly the same person I did then! and in that frame of mind it was hard to believe that he was any different. I so wanted to believe he was still in there, somewhere, and even if there was never love between us again, there could at least be connection and acknowledgement of shared experiences. I didn't realize how badly I wanted that until with these actions he took it away.
Now, I feel like a completely different person. Seeing him in his new chosen form made it crystal clear that he really is dead to me (as are all past versions of ourselves, whether or not I like it that way). This isn't malicious on my part. In his own words, he "wishes he'd known this" about himself before he met me, and it seems common among trans people to treat their pre-transition selves as never having existed and to expect others to do likewise. In trans logic he's always been this way, and the person I knew did not merely cease to exist, "he" never existed at all.
Now, after the finality of seeing him, I'm finding I can truly process the shared memories I've repressed for years, both because they were too painful to recall and because I hoped to share them with him again someday, in some fashion. Now that he's completely gone, it finally feels like these memories are mine, wholly mine. Like I've gotten back a huge piece of my past that was only a black hole for years.
My life, even the parts of it that I shared with him, now belongs to me and me alone. I feel whole again. Free. I see my present in a very different light, and knowing he will never be a part of my future has opened up an entire world of possibility. What he has done, no matter how much it may have hurt at first, is turning out to be the best thing that anyone has ever done for me.
*
In case it's unclear, no, I didn't emotionally process my divorce when it happened. See: strange new city, young children who needed me to be emotionally present. I didn't process it at first because it would have interfered with my ability to be the mother my children needed and deserved, and later because of my hope that I'd form some sort of relationship with him. Better late than never, I suppose.