Divorce, Humanity

lost and found, but lost.

hi. I’m at the end of my recovery day, from yesterday’s full 24 hours of hell, from both ends. the kids were at school for the bulk of it, but after school were play auditions for two kids, and a soccer game so I needed to ask for help. and it came, with trumpets. kids were taken to tryouts, soccer was watched and that kid got to go out to dinner with his dad…dinner was served to other kids, homework was done.  a small crew of 3 adults did what I do on a normal Wednesday.

I’m not going to tell you I’m not proud of my life.

and I’m going to tell you that you are lucky if you have family and love like I do. so lucky.

today is recovery. fair amounts of water, boredom in bed, sickness at the thought of food, but hungry.  by the time the bus rolled around today, I had moved myself to the kitchen cozy. spent an hour just chatting with my girl because I missed her yesterday. an hour. the bliss of it. just cozied up. I learned about the lady who did all the math for the moon. (Katherine Johnson) Everything stays the same, yes? but these tiny differences? that my girl sits on my lap and tells me all about the LADY that did all the math to save the men who traveled to the moon? oh, it’s rich with possibility. if this were a comic, we would turn the page to the next ms. marvel.

but since I’ve been in bed all day, I now can’t sleep, as weak and ridiculous as I feel. and so I’m here, apologetic.

one thing: I paid to print out the whole of my old blog, wifemotherexpletive.com  

1016190912I thought it would be so cool to go through it and pick out the things that I loved, that I have written, those bits of beauty that slipped through and away during those years.

and I can’t. I read the first post, and the second, and did some flipping. and it is just unbearably sad. I was so sad, all the time, and mad, and lost. like the perfect puppy who lives under the bridge while the happy family walks by, unseeing. I hate ‘near miss’ movies, and I’m pretty sure I lived one for a long time. Maybe the hate comes from the experience.

It was ten years of my life, that writing. and makes two volumes, when divided chronologically. the first is so fat, rich with hope and trying. and the second volume thin, with so much less of everything.

I don’t want to look into the memories, or remember what the code was in my stories, as I was trying so hard to communicate with my husband my devastation at what i was, what we were.

Its been crushing me a little, into sickness maybe? and this is the season when I feel devastation the deepest. if one has any choice in that, at all.

so there it is. my late-night blog. what the hell do i do with all that?

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25 thoughts on “lost and found, but lost.”

  1. I love the rawness (is that an accurate description?) of your writing; that you’re just putting it out there. I hope that it helps you heal in some way.

  2. That’s heavy thinking. But, I get it! In a different way. I have 2 under 2 which I’m caring for while dealing with postpartum anxiety and postpartum ocd. Everyday is a struggle. I hear you, I see you. Good for you to ask for help. Hold strong mama.

    1. 2 under 2 is a mammoth undertaking, even if you have no postpartum anything. All i can say is that there is an end to it, there is growth and change and you’ll make it.

    1. It’s definitely a personal blog, but it sure does satisfy my need to marry work and pleasure…

  3. So glad that the hour with your daughter just talking was able to bring you some peace. Always take full advantage of a recovery day. They can be taken for granted so many times.

  4. I tried to get my daughter interested in Hidden Figures and that amazing woman’s story but she just wouldn’t bite. I’m so glad that you allowed yourself the day to recover and savor the moment with your daughter.

  5. i’m a firm believer in fake it till you make it. the very act of getting up and ‘acting’ happier eventually brings about the happiness you seek. it’s a process.

    1. Yep, I’ve seen it work for others, I haven’t quite found the words for it, for myself yet…still looking…

  6. I think if I had a detailed diary of my life 10-20 years ago, of the good times AND of the bad, I’d be pretty surprised, pissed at myself and others, and maybe baffled each and every time I reread it. Hindsight has a way of messing with our perspectives, huh?

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