We Finally Closed the Distance, but My Marriage Feels Like a Cemetery

I survived months of long distance by telling myself one simple lie: "Everything will heal the moment we are finally under the same roof." The distance was torture. We barely existed to each other—no emotional intimacy, no heartfelt conversations, just cold, transactional 5-minute phone calls every three or four days. I spent every single night crying into my pillow, holding on purely to the hope of a future where I could wake up next to my husband and finally feel loved. Now that future is here, and it feels like a living nightmare. He didn’t come home because he longed for me; he came back because his visa was cancelled. I know the sudden uprooting was deeply traumatic and sent him into a heavy depression. I tried to be the understanding, supportive wife. For three months, there was zero touch, zero romance, zero intimacy. I told myself to be patient, that trauma takes time to process. He is slowly getting back on his feet now, but he still looks right through me. I am begging for breadcrumbs of affection from a man who shares my bed. He never reaches out, never holds my hand, and constantly tells me he "just needs more time." But how much more of my youth and sanity am I expected to sacrifice? There is no talk of planning a family, no warmth, no partnership. We aren't husband and wife—we are miserable roommates haunting the same apartment. I gave up my peace for this marriage, and now I feel completely invisible in my own home. To anyone who has felt like a stranger to their own spouse: how long do you wait for someone to start choosing you before you realize you’re waiting in an empty room?