Divorce, Humanity

small life, redux. (ha!)

Its like the balls of tinfoil candywrappers you find around the house after any holiday, but halloween and easter really seem to be the producers around here.  the little bit of sparkle that is bitter when mouthed.

thats what its like. listening to myself when i’m scared of something.

UnwifedMotherExpletive Small Life tinfoil wrapperand i’m scared, a little, of this small life i have, and the change inherent in the choice of vulnerability.

i have this brilliant life.. although there has been a lot of death this week, in life and in my chicken coop, and the contrast between humanity and farm has never been more clear.

the loss of 10 birds to a death by suicide?

wordless .

 

 

 

large break.

and remembering can be pretty hard sometimes.  and imagining can be hard sometimes, too, when pain and deepest sadness are at root. and in a small life it can be all consuming.

but there are other sides to the coin, as always.

this small life, this dandelion of detail that keeps pushing its way into my foreground, this need to spread joy underground, to be persistent against all the formality and form of the ‘just so’… it is me digging in my heels against the perfect lawn, the ‘be happy’ mentality, against my own self-judgement for having a ‘mom’s boyfriend’… because i judge that phrase . so. damn. much.  and i can withdraw more and more. and the small life warps a little… and again, and again, the dandelion bursts its sun into a million wishes… and who the hell am i to warp that?

and i’m so incredibly lucky and so incredibly heartbroken that not everyone finds the dandelion.

 

thats a sentence to end on…

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Divorce, Humanity

Meds and the medsing meds.

So, these last few weeks have been full of small glitches in the routine, which, yes, I know are ACTUALLY the routine. but still.  sick kids, sick me, sick them, sick middle of the day, procedures, appointments missed, car troubles, money troubles, and so on. . . fucking daylight savings time and missed buses! and you get my drift. . .

so, i’ve been off my routine.  and one of the things i’ve done is been inconsistent with taking my anti-depressants. and thats had weird results.

somedays i have a really weepy afternoon, full of conversations (internal) with an ex, that will never ever happen, and shouldn’t and won’t. and the weep will make me realize i haven’t taken my meds, and will also make me realize i haven’t dealt with a certain something that is on repeat in my brain.

today i have forgotten to take it, and i have no excuse. its my Sunday of relax. I mean, well, i get from wakeup til one, when the kids return and we cook , or play video games or have family come by… today there’s another practice, which i hate, but whatever. i just texted the coach to see if she could do the driving for the kid. we’ll see.

i’m not depressed, i will tell you that.  i’ve friends who are, have been, and what i have is not this.  When the marriage was so hard, I had all the therapists tell me to get on meds, honestly, and I kept saying no because i knew my upset was situational and not chemical. ( i know i’ve talked about this before, but i think it bears repeating, again and again, in case someone needs it).

Once the separation started, the therapist at the time, said the only thing that ever made me change my ways.  She said that being in a hard situation for so long will change your chemicals… and thats what i needed help in dealing with.

oh.  so my crushingly depressing homelife, full of repetition and hope and deflation could be eased with a chemical? no. first i needed to be the only adult here, because i can really count on me.

really.

and that matters a hell of a lot.

but . my point. meds and the medsing meds that i am not always taking.

what i wonder about is this:  these things that are popping up on my weepy afternoons and my mind-ratatattat that i am hearing/feeling…. ARE they things that I must feel in order to have them dissipate?  Have I somehow been dulling these details with the meds? –and the only way to actually heal from them is to FEEL all the feels, even these stupid, old wound ones?

i honestly probably need to seek a therapist, right? does some OTHER person have the answer to this? do I ?

ha. just occurred to me i might find an answer in both directions: if i get consistent again and also if i just stop.

blagh. but, as i need to count on me, and so do my kids, i should probably find out if there are repercussions to stopping before i do.

because hello. MOM.

so what if i just had raisin bran for lunch? i’m the adult.

laughing… its my sunday thinks…

Pills Unwifedmotherexpletive
Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com
Divorce, Humanity

Little bit fallen.

this one’s a little tricky.  so- –  it was a surprise to me to be sitting with my ex and his girlfriend at two sporting events this weekend, in the same day.  it was ‘my weekend’ and wasn’t expecting to see him at all… so i was traipsing between birthday parties and soccer and basketball and lunch-out… like all the days of life….it was busy and i needed to call on my mom and hero brother to do some of the maneuvering, in order to fit it all in.

and in the past, i’ve been given a little warning that it would happen. but i suppose that time has passed.

i am so thankful for the experience, really.  it shows me how far i have come and how much there is still to go.  i can make eye contact with her, fairly easily, at this point.  but not him.  that man i used to call HubsJ.  Watching them have intimacy in that casual way of couples doesn’t hurt at all in the jealousy way, which was very nice to notice…

but it hurts in the way of ‘none of it is real’ way…  if it was false for me, it will be false for her. . . if it was so false for me, how will i ever know when its not?

…. and i am not really sure how to incorporate those things into my world view.  THAT hurts.

The small piece of me that wants them ostracized for the total annihilation of myself is small. really small. but burns pretty brightly in my self-critique.  Maybe I would’ve brushed my hair or something ? but that’s only a maybe, because i live my life pretty damn well, and hair-brushing isn’t a thing that hits my list very often.

–In my self-critique, it is the small fire of ‘revenge’ and ‘judgement’ that I’m so harsh on.  I do feel both, that J is a monster, and that J is not a monster.  Both. and I want everyone to know, both. and the vaguery of this, and the fogginess of it…

–and i do, i do want people to rub my shoulder and love me up for surviving the experience. because man, it really is a fucking doozy.   and, i mean the marriage and i mean the basketball game.

my kids like her mostly, and i’m very happy about that.  and it continues, for me, to never be about her, specifically.  its all about J. and his utterly vacuous cluelessness.  And its about my embarassment .  my feeling of fear, exposure and judgement, failure.  i own it. i’m completely overtaken by it when i’m ‘outed’ in public like this.

I try to congratulate myself for being ‘big enough’ to sit with them. but it only works in hindsight and when I’m trying to be self-congratulatory.  (aha. doubly so.)

and in truth, it needs to be more ABOUT ME. JUST ME.  Me, SOLA e CONTENT.  me, the woman at the game with her kids, meeting her former in-laws and watching her kid leave his soul on the court. thats it. thats all it is.

I spent an awful lot of my life making everything about him. and that is not how my life is supposed to go.

there is a hell of a lot more to me than wifed or unwifed.

i don’t really want to post this one.  Wish I could tell you I was all done with all of this.

But I’m not.

closeup photo of black and green foosball table
Photo by Soumya Ranjan on Pexels.com

 

Divorce, Humanity

Letter to that Guy- more online dating fiascos, by me.

Dear Guy,

I have to tell you how sorry I am.  My disappointment is not actually in YOU but in me. Its that classic, its not you but me bit that totally leaves everyone unsatisfied, no matter how true.

All we did was text, WE NEVER EVEN MET… so there are no children to care for, no body parts to have checked, no heart to re-invigorate…. nothing. nothing.  but what i did was something which is both old and well-known to me, and new and sparkling in its dysfunction.

i made you the answer to questions i used to have. desires i used to have.

you said, ‘i like to read’, i heard…

i’m the smart guy you’ve been waiting for… we can talk about books and i can teach you things you didn’t even know you wanted to learn… let’s hold hands!

you said, ‘my children are grown’… i heard…

we can meet anytime, anywhere, he has an EMPTY house… WE ARE FREE…. SEX! ALL THE TIME!!

you said, ‘i’m worried about you’… i heard…

( i heard it right, but my reaction went like this…)  OH MY GOD, this is what it feels like to have somebody care about me? to be watched out for? i’m going to cry.  i should ask him to marry me… i mean, arranged marriages work sometimes, right? why not? he wouldn’t be too freaked out, right? he must feel what i am feeling….

”””””’

sigh.

deciding to straddle the line between wanting a real thing and being ready for a real thing has made an interesting shift occur in me. this kind of mental gymnastics in which i singlehandedly create the makebelieve-come-true is something i did right before my very first date after the marriage ended .

i remember it so clearly. it took me a year and a half to be interested in dating. and my birthday approached and i went ahead and joined the online world and got a date. we texted ahead of time,  and i did the same thing i did this week… i made him into the ‘one’.

really? the first date in a year and a half is THE ONE? hmmm. what could be wrong about that?

i don’t even believe in the ONE.

so, upon seeing him, even in profile, still in car,  i realized what i had done, what i had created.  and never did it again.

and so the fact that i have suddenly succumbed to it, again? so curious.

what is this?

I’m 4 years separated. have had my first date, kiss, sex, whathaveyous… have learned a whole lot, have remembered more.  why, suddenly, am i back to square one ?

forgetting everything that i’ve learned, the power that i’ve reclaimed? would i really want to date and find myself an empty husk again? without the solidity and groundedness that i have now?

i suppose the fact that i’m seeing all this and adding ‘no text’ to my daily list shows a bit of something has dislodged… i don’t want to give into what seems to be a natural skill set for me, the creative imagination overspill.

i don’t know who, or what is coming… but i’m pretty sure that when it does, i’ll meet it face to face and not in my imagination. so i can just ask my monkey brain to step aside for awhile, go eat a banana for chrissakes.

1204181425
This picture? Mostly because of the spiral, the loop loop loop of my brain these days… and the variations of grey. 

 

Divorce, Humanity, Uncategorized

Fog continues. Grief. I know fabrics.

Today i’ve turned off all the kitchen lights, and am typing by computer screen, sparkle lights and a damp grey morning. soft wool. 1120180831a

people are really lovely, they really are. above all.  cashmere.

and still, yesterday i almost crawled back into my bed while the kids were here.  it can be done, but i can only handle it when there is no will left in my body, and vomit is coming forth.

so i must have some will left in my body while the fog is here.  i stay out of bed while kids are here.  old school corduroy, stiff, scratchy.

but man, this grief is hitting hard this year.  and its been five years, so there isn’t a real trigger, except in realizing how much time has passed and how mad i am at my dad for not being here for these five years, and how i would really like to have him around, mad or not.  and how i still look for him everywhere. piles and piles of washed cotton, cold and damp.

its been a big five years.

i think i’d still be unhappily married if it weren’t for what his death showed me.  it uncovered the truth of my unhappiness. the untrustworthy man, the unreliable man, the inexplicable man that i was married to brought Bold in the loss of what in many ways was his opposite.  the things i loved so about my husband were washed out by the things which really make him ‘not the marrying sort’… no matter how many times he tries.

and here i am, swamped into the tub, barely reaching the lip to see out.  turning down work, or asking for delays while i sink.  flannel.

man.

 

its been a big five years. plasticwrap. (not fabric, but still. how it feels.)