I don’t know why I feel sad that my husband is gone, I want to be happy about it

My marriage turned sour pretty much as soon as it began. My fiancee was hard-working, financially stable, clean, and always kind to me. Within just a couple of months of us getting married, he had stopped working, causing me to become the sole provider for the rest of our marriage; he had completely stopped taking care of himself – he never showered anymore and would wear the same clothes for weeks and refuse to change. He just sat at home all day playing video games – I cooked him breakfast, worked, came home to cook him dinner, rinse and repeat. And our bedroom life had also become pretty bad. And I convinced myself this fine, and he convinced me it was fine, because money isn’t everything and he had never promised me he’d always be working, and things were actually okay weren’t they? And then he started hitting me, and he started hitting my cat I had before I met him because he thought I “loved it more than him”, and he started to break things, and I decided things weren’t okay. After bad things would happen, he would come back remorseful and ask if we could “go back”, and I didn’t understand because there was nothing to go back to, there was no good part I could reminiscence over. Even though he wasn’t paying rent anymore, evicting him from my apartment would’ve been difficult, so instead I just decided to move. I was moving up by my mom in another state, who was bringing a truck. I told my mom that no matter what, he can not come with us. I still don’t understand how it happened, it’s like a fog in my memory I can’t unpack, but he ended up coming. My mom always liked my husband, and still insists he’s a good guy. The first night at our new place in a new state, I ran away, got on a train to another city far away, slept for a few days on the floor of a train hall. Everyone in my family encouraged me to go back to him, they told me it could be worse, they told me he would do better, and I was just so tired and so alone, so I went back. And he got so much worse instead. I had to buy a metal security bar for my bedroom door to get away from him when he would go on a rampage. Finally, after another 5 months in this new apartment, I convinced my parents to help me, and they convinced him to move out – into their house. He lives with my parents now, who I think love him like a son. I tried to get rid of every trace of him, deleted all of my photos and contacts, deleted all of my social media accounts, my email account, my data backups, factory reset my phone and computer, threw out anything even remotely related to him. I even managed to purge my own memory somehow – I should still remember it, but I can’t even remember his phone number or his email, and that gives me comfort to know I couldn’t contact him even if I wanted to.

The thing is, I feel like I should that my nightmare is finally over, but I’m not. I’m just sad, and alone, and my apartment and my life feels hollow. He was the reason for everything I did in life, I made money to support him, I went to the store to buy the things he likes, I cooked dinner to feed him, I cleaned up the house to make him happy. Since he left, I’ve stopped going into work and am running out of my own savings. I don’t cook for myself. I stopped cleaning and let the house become a mess for the first time. My own hygiene has become bad. I just look at these things and can’t bother anymore, and I feel lost. I don’t think I know how to be alone or to do things without someone else to do them for.