so, the ex contacts me to tell me he just read the blog. and thinks its about him. I’ve told him enough times not to read it. that nothing, even if he is in it, is about him. all me, all the time. And everytime he tells me he has read it, I feel like I need to go stand in the darkest corner of the house and never write again. and sometimes I have stopped, for ages.
so today, as a mark of noticing the dropped shoulders that I got from yelling alone in my kitchen?
I write. As an act of defiance, i write, however small a piece… because he got enough out of me already, and he can’t have anything else.
and i’m not being ‘too dramatic’, or ‘angry’, i’m just showing you how I save myself these days.
the kids are flying off to Florida tomorrow for a long weekend and a swim with some manatees.
the ex is dating, has broken up with the woman he was with immediately after leaving (foggy dates there, intentional) and it’s coming back around on me.
I don’t care. I do care. ego is involved. things are not equal. they won’t be. my kids are very lucky.
and I’m going to miss the kids a lot. its only one night more than regular that they’ll be gone from me, but the fact that they’ll be having all these first-time experiences without me is a little bit peaky. and airplanes.
and i’m having stress dreams about disrespect and the way i felt when i was married and the futile feeling that i had about my life all the time.
and i’m calling my friends and they are holding my hands, and my LM is being lovelier.
and man, there is this gift in all this… that i’m not there anymore, that he isn’t in my life anymore, that i can yell and be mad and not be constantly gaslit about my own worth and sanity.
that i forget. and remember. and yell in the empty kitchen, to myself, ‘he is not in my life ANYMORE’. and the yelling feels right, and loosens my shoulders.
here i am.
sometimes i am mad. catch me at 9:30 at night when not one.single.kid. is making any progress towards sleep and i am a fucking harpy of doom. totally.
and i don’t have to hear anymore about what an ‘angry person’ i am. because i am so much more than a person who gets angry sometimes. and really, i always was.
i’m not there anymore. and the fairytale fell apart and the crying in the wedding dress is done. (i’m sure i’ll have some more moments, but.)
and i’ve got amazing kids with me all the time, and i’m allright man. right here in the middle of all this, i’m still allright.
there is something that unravels in your chest when you are in the right spot. shoulders let down, breath slows.. its a piece of you that you don’t even always recognize as being wound. (this one is tricky. not a wound. but wound, the tightly wound spool of thread…)
I think, even in a good marriage, you forget to take those moments of unravel. but I don’t know, surely, as I only had a good marriage for a short while.
it is akin to surrender, this unraveling, as a vulnerability in and of relief, a certainty that you are in a safe spot.
seems so simple.
but hello. it isn’t.
all the tiny steps you take to get there. to unlearn and relearn and step out and step back… those tiny steps to move away from a gigantic broken, blistered heart? ‘tiny’ being a euphemism for ‘each and every one is a gigantic, monolithic mass of granite that you can’t see the top of when you first approach. we’re talking rock climbing every step of the way, with our out-of-shape, middle-aged everythings. I’m talking bloody fingers every reaching hand, every single one. and then the release. that spot.
I survived the November/December overwhelm but something needs to be different when it rolls around next year. There is grief for my father, yes, which can’t be undone. but it is complicated by the loss of the marriage (Yes! Still! I can’t believe it either!) and all the dreams I thought were mine for so long… the holidays are a minefield of negotiations, two kid birthdays and thanksgiving, christmas eve, christmas day, new years eve, new years day and all of the days in between… and full days of childcare/love in amongst it all. negotiations between what is and what I thought life was, negotiations between their father and me, so many of them. Negotiations for myself and my expectations of real life and real love and the real-ity that I am in with the Loveliest man. (he’s still a lovey) I’m fully exhausted.
There is the world, which is frankly, and still, just TOO MUCH.
I have made my own laundry detergent. LM did the grating of the soap and it still smells lovely. Fels Naptha, Washing Soda (think baking soda) and Borax. I think that is it. Pretty sure. no link for now because everything i just looked up was corporate or link-laden. i hate that.
I have more plants than fully makes sense.
I’m going to forbid my kids any plastic bottles, starting tonight, which, believe it or not, might cause an actual walk-out. it used to be a thing to get drinks after sports. cold ones. now there’s a whole lot of ‘suckit up, kids, we’re almost home’. I’m going to save a lot of money as well. so, bonus.
and, lastly. i hate gingerbread houses with a passion straight from the divine. molten lava hatred. this one was delivered to a little girl by the LM, who did not know. It was all pre-formed, all of it. all i had to do was frosting it together. has my hatred dissipated, you ask? no. no it has not.
yeah, i am in some sort of dark tube of hellacious premenstrual bollywood currently.
i’m dreading the days i will miss the kids before christmas, when they are at their dad’s. i already want to cry about it. probably will. ( i get them back christmas eve, but there is no telling me, in current state.) last year i stayed in pajamas and drank too much wine and wrapped things and cried. some people call that heaven, i know.
it’ll pass. i know. yes. and i still have been wondering if i should revamp my consideration of my anti-depressants. i’ve stopped taking them, roughly 8 months ago. (plenty of rollercoasters, that i’ve survived just fine…)
premenstrual rollercoaster, you all are my witnesses. hand to god.
its like this: self-loathe. rationalize. hit the wall of regular life. self-loathe. bump in the road grows insurmountable. quit. lie down. do laundry. self-loathe, rationalize. and so forth.
and it might all subside in the next 24 hours. if i’m lucky. might have to wait 36, or 48 more. i’m a loser like that. see?
(don’t ever underestimate the power of a hormonal swing, my friends. ever.) (((if i ever had a need for a picture of swing, now would be the time. now.)))