Stressed?! Who is stressed?!

One class left.  One week left until my last papers for said class need to be handed in.  Two weeks until my thesis prospectus is due into the Graduate Studies office.

Five days until I move out of my parents’ in-law apartment and into my brand-new life.

My caffeine addiction has reached new heights.  My bank account has reached new lows (not really, I have money in savings that I’m attempting to NOT tap into, but considering how fucking EXPENSIVE moving is, that’s starting to look less and less like a possibility right now).

I shouldn’t complain too much.  Because I have amazing friends who are willing to help me move, I don’t need a moving truck, so that negates a big bill right there.  And I don’t begrudge them the takeout and beer that I will be paying for on Saturday night.  Much of this week is going to consist of taking drives over to the apartment and bringing my things over little by little.  Friday night, D and I are bringing over the furniture that’s been in his apartment ever since I moved out in November.  And Saturday is the big move itself.  Sunday Samantha moves in, but at that point (hopefully) all of my things, my cats, and I will be settled in, and the internet will be set up (I know, right, priorities!).

I’m meeting with my thesis adviser this afternoon to discuss my prospectus.  Which, of course, being me, I have already envisioned as a negative, with her telling me that my prospectus is garbage and I should just quit the program now.  My mind is such a wonderful place to live at times.

Went to IKEA on Sunday with Samantha, and got some stuff for the apartment.  I needed a new bedding set (well, I guess that’s more ‘want’ than ‘need’, but whatever), and this is the one I got for $30:

And I got these (not from IKEA) for my bedroom:

Love.  I want the apartment to be filled with candles.  I think it will be.  I have enough Partylite stuff to last a year, haha.

There are still a few things I need to get for the new place — a set of sheets, a shower curtain rod (the former tenants took the last one — I KNOW) — but we’re almost there.  By this time next week, I’ll be in the new place, the papers will hopefully be done (they’re due Tuesday, May 7th) and I’ll be on my way to going full-tilt into summer.

I can’t wait.

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Little Victories, Week Seventeen

For 2013, I’m going to have a Friday post every single week, for positive victories in my life.  They may not be big things, but they will be things that I am proud of, things I did in the past seven days.  I’m hoping this will keep me focused on the positive, all the good things that are going on in my life.

– Finished the rough draft of my Master’s thesis prospectus!  Twenty-two pages, and granted, it’s a rough draft, but it’s DONE.  And done earlier than my professor expected it to be.  Dr. LW was a little surprised, but seemed pleased, when I put it on her desk.  I should get the suggestions for revision sometime within the next few days.  Fingers crossed!

– Finished my term paper for Dr. S’s class.  Clocking in at a grand total of 28 pages (counting the title page and bibliography, so really only 26 pages of writing), it definitely was the major hump of the semester.  But it’s finished now, and there are only two papers (and the revisions for my prospectus) left!  So it looks like the semester is all downhill from here.  Let’s hope!

– Began Couch to 5K last week.
Friday, April 19 – Week 1, Day 1
Saturday, April 20 – Week 1, Day 2
Monday, April 22 – Week 1, Day 3
Wednesday, April 24 – Week 2, Day 1

And I feel really good about it!  I had to get some new sneakers because my old ones (purchased in 2009) were shot to hell.  I was going to just grab a cheap pair at Bob’s Stores, but when I went there, I wasn’t totally satisfied with the comfort of the less expensive shoes.  Then I slipped on a pair of the $49 Asics…and you know that moment that women claim to have when they buy their perfect wedding dress?  I had that moment with those shoes.  They were just right.  I didn’t mind paying the extra.  They were pretty much exactly what I was looking for.  I wore them all afternoon and evening last night, so hopefully when I hit the gym this afternoon for Week 2, Day 2, they’ll be somewhat broken in.  (I also bought a sports bra.  It was completely necessary.  My 38 DDD girls were not comfortable running in underwire)

– Had my last counseling session with D and DS.  I have to say it was bittersweet.  I will miss DS, but I don’t think I’ll miss the sessions, the rawness, the pain.  We are two months and two weeks away from our divorce date, and I think we’re good from here on out.

– Started getting my preliminary plans in place for the move, which will hopefully take place next weekend, May 4-5!  I can’t wait!

I’m finding it hard to believe that I’m one week away from moving, two weeks away from the end of the semester, and five weeks away from Wildfire!  I just…I can’t wrap my brain around it.  Seriously excited on a lot of fronts.  There are so many good things coming up right now, it’s difficult not to get caught up in the excitement.

Have a wonderful weekend!  My plans, you ask?  Gym this afternoon, then Knit Night at Drea’s.  Tomorrow…calling my grandparents in Florida, cleaning my apartment, tackling those two papers!  Sunday, Ikea with Samantha, and then up to Massachusetts for Tina’s Partylite/Cinco de Mayo party.  I can’t wait.  This weekend’s going to be a blast.

I said last night on Facebook, something that I haven’t felt was true up until now.

I’m nowhere near where I thought I wanted to be. But for the first time in a very, very long time, I feel like I’m on the right path to where I’m meant to go.

Smile into the fear and let it play

I hesitate to write this, but as I’ve said, this is my journal and this is what I need to talk about.  I haven’t discussed it with anyone in “real life” yet.  I don’t even know if I want to.  I probably should talk to Crazy Bruce about it when I see him tomorrow, but…I don’t know.

My memories of the car accident from 2005 are starting to come back.  I’ve always been very fortunate in that my memory “shut off” for the first ten minutes after impact.  My last cognitive memory (until recently) was of the grill of the SUV that hit us bearing down, too close.  After that, my brain went into shock and just shut down.  I was conscious the whole time, according to my mother and the paramedics at the scene, but I don’t remember about 10 minutes of time, during which the accident occurred, the paramedics and fire were called, etc.  I just didn’t remember anything until the EMTs were already there and in the car with me.

A few years ago, when I was working at Best Buy, someone hit me in my right hip (the point of impact) with a TV set that was on a cart.  When that happened, I experienced my first real flashback, and I’ve never had one quite so real or vivid of the accident ever since.  My vision blanked out and was replaced by a tree line, swaying over my head.  I couldn’t hear anything, I couldn’t see anything but that treeline.  It took me a minute to realize that my supervisor was yelling my name, that the woman who hit me with the cart was apologizing, that I was at Best Buy and not in the car.

There have been other moments when things have come back.  My face will itch on the side of my face where the scars are, and I’ll reach up to rub it absently, and then I’ll get flashes of memories back.  When I first was in the hospital, the doctors told me that memory is a delicate thing; that my brain had “chosen” to shut off in order to shield me from those worst moments, but that it might not be permanent, and I might very well get those memories back some day.  After nearly eight years, I thought I was in the clear.  On August 27th, it will be eight years since the accident.  I thought, really, that I had lost those ten minutes of my life forever, and truth be told, I was fine with that.  There are some memories you just don’t need to have, you know?

But in the last week, that memory, of the car grill, is becoming more vivid.  And there’s more to the memory than just the grill.  I can remember the point of impact now.  I can remember the car slamming into the passenger side door.  And then my brain shuts off again.  I don’t want to remember this.  I don’t know why, after eight years, those memories are suddenly available to me.

I’ve been reading about repressed memories and post-traumatic memory loss, and it’s weird, because even though I’ve been doing extensive reading on PTSD ever since I was diagnosed back in 2008, I always skipped over those sections, because I felt they didn’t apply to me.  After all this time, why should they?  But something I read made a lot of sense to me:

“a traumatic memory will not surface until that person has developed sufficiently to manage the intensity of that information and to have capacity to process it and build a resolve so that the traumatic memories can be put on a shelf along with all the other memories of a lifetime.” 

In other words…I couldn’t remember these things until my brain and body decided that I was mentally ready to handle them.  Which is a comforting thought, really, when you think about it.  It’s like my body has finally decided that I’m strong enough to handle the intensity.  And where my first inclination is to run away, hide, get as far away from those memories as possible…it’s somewhat comforting to feel that my body and brain think that I am capable of it, that even though I wasn’t in the past seven and a half years, I am now.

DS asked me yesterday how long it’s been since I started seeing Crazy Bruce.  It’s hard to believe that it’s been three years…I started seeing him in early 2010, when I was still living in Bristol.  Three years we’ve been together, chipping away at the demons inside of me, trying to make me into the best person I can possibly be.  Sometimes it feels like a Sisyphan effort, like I’m working so hard on self-improvement but it never gets anywhere.  But when I look back at what I was, and what I could have been, and compare it to now…compare the way I would have handled myself five years ago, pre-medication, pre-Crazy Bruce…then I can see the results.  I can see how it has all been worth it.

I’m a work in progress, but the outline is starting to make sense, you can see where this is going.  It’s like trying to look at a Monet painting up close.  You can’t see the delicate outlines, the way the colors compliment each other perfectly.  You only see the blobs, the shapeless flowers, the way everything runs together like a mess.  It’s only when you stand back far enough, that you can see that it really does all make sense.

 

Need a second to breathe

I have been a horrific blogger these days — foregoing all of my regularly-scheduled updates.  I don’t have an excuse at all, except that it’s the end of the semester, I’m focusing on moving and finishing papers and all of those other things, plus I have the world’s busiest social schedule (I really need to start saying “no” to people — at least until mid-May).

So if those are considered “good” excuses, then I guess I do have them. I had a lovely — if busy — week last week.

Thursday I went to Northampton to WEBS with my good friends Tina, Drea, and Jess.  Most of us had gift certificates from Christmas for WEBS, and we were all eager to use them.  And we were all on strict budgets for one reason or another.  But I came off so well!  I scored three skeins of Madelintosh Light in “Cousteau”…for 38 cents (after gift cards, of course).  It would have cost me $60 without the cards and discount!

 

I want to start knitting with it yesterday, but I’m holding off because as I’ve said, I have a massive load of papers to do before the end of the semester.  So I’m saving it as my “end of the semester” treat, for when I’m done.  I’m going to knit another Citron shawl.  I made one last year out of some beautiful green yarn, but I gave it to my grandmother for Christmas and never took any pictures of the finished product.  This one, though…this one is going to be for me.  I can hardly wait.

After WEBS, we went to Roberto’s in Northampton for dinner.  Dinner was good, but dessert…dessert was something special.  We each had the creme brulee — I had vanilla, Drea had blueberry, and Jess and Tina each had butterscotch bourbon.  And although mine was heavenly, I realized after taking a bite of Tina’s that I had made the wrong choice.  Butterscotch bourbon creme brulee is pretty much to die for, just an FYI in case you are ever in a situation where it is offered.  You won’t regret it (but, like me, you may regret passing it up!)

Friday: After work, I hit the gym to begin (again) Couch 2 5 K.  I have a horrible time with self-motivation, and although I’ve started C25K twice before, I’ve always managed to crash and burn out within the first two weeks.  I’m determined that I won’t do that this time.  After the gym I went out with Samantha and we went apartment shopping.  She made out like a bandit — got her duvet, a blender, a whiteboard for the kitchen, and sheets.  I didn’t do as well.  But I did get a cute set of canisters for the kitchen — something I’ve wanted for awhile:

And a mail organizer for the two of us (I can’t find a picture online).  I’m going to check out Marshall’s again today, since I need bed linens myself.  I had picked out a really cute set from Target, but the quilt alone was going to be $70 — all of the pieces I wanted together were going to be something like $110, and that was just for the quilt and two shams!  Nope, back to the drawing board.

Saturday didn’t begin at all like I had planned.  Samantha and I had purchased a sofa from Craigslist, and the owner said she would hold it until Sunday morning (when Sam could go get it) if I came out on Saturday morning and paid for it.  So I left at around 10 AM (after sending a text to the owner notifying her, per her request).  When I got to the apartment, nobody answered.  I went around the block, got an iced coffee from Dunks, and went back.  Same results.  Sent an email, no reply.  I’m pretty angry about it, especially since I wasted about an hour and a half of my time and the gas and wear on my car to leave empty-handed.  But at least I went to the gym and worked out my frustration on C25K Day 2.  It went better than Day 1.

After that, I went home, showered, and then sat down to watch the Red Sox/Royals game.  During which, I banged out my master’s thesis prospectus.  Twenty-two pages in five and a half hours.  I don’t think I need to explain how exhausted/relieved I was when that little project was done (plus, the Sox won).  The paper having been disposed of, I made BLTs for my dad, Christina, and Jess (a bacon veggie burger for myself) and french fries, and then watched Django Unchained with Christina and Jess while trying to bang out my literature review for my other class.  I got the five-page outline finished, and got about three pages of 20 done before I just gave up around 10:30.  I was getting to that point where my writing isn’t making sense; when I get there, it’s best to just close the whole thing down and start fresh another day.

Sunday I woke up early, went to church, and then made pancakes for everyone.  Then I took the car trip up to Pawtucket, Rhode Island, to see my friend Kim in Sweeney Todd.  Which was really great.  And she was really happy that I came.  I wish I could say that I got stuff done when I returned to CT, but I didn’t.  I didn’t get in until almost 7 PM and at that point I was so bushed that I just took a hot bath and made dinner and rested for the rest of the evening.  I passed out sometime between 10 and 11 PM and woke up with my alarm this morning.

 

Today…today I’m really excited because I have a brand spanking new computer at work.  I have counseling with D after work, and then the gym for Day 3 of C25K.  Then…I think it’s home to make dinner and finish that paper, or at least put a pretty big dent in it.

The trees are all in blossom and bud.  It’s finally spring 🙂

Boston, You’re My Home

The Marathon Bombings have taken all the wind out of New England’s sails today.  Boston is a wreck.  Nobody knows who did it, or who is responsible.  There is blood in the streets.  Men and women are missing limbs.  Parents went to bed last night without their child.  The city is in chaos, it will be weeks or months before we know who did this, years before everyone feels normal again, and never before we find out why.

I am not from Boston.  My family is.  My ex-husband’s family is.  I have so many friends who live in Boston that my heart was in my throat as I scanned my newsfeed on FB yesterday, mentally ticking off each person who checked in and said they were all right.  That beautiful city, my favorite in the world, torn to pieces on that most special day ingrained in Massachusetts’ history — Patriots Day.  It’s rocked Boston, Massachusetts, and New England as a whole.

But there is not a single doubt in my mind that Boston will rebound from this.  Boston is scrappy.  Boston is defined by its strength, by the legacy of the thousands of Irish immigrants who came to the city, forced there by the potato famine in Ireland.  The tenacity that makes the rest of the country call its people “Massholes”, some fondly, some in irritation.  The tough but loveable accents, the dropped “r’s” that sound like “a’s”.  The magical city of dreams where a ball team that hasn’t won in 86 years can defy all odds and take home the title.   The birthplace of our nation’s freedom, where the first shots of the Revolutionary War were fired.  The beginning that has no end.  Boston has everything.  Boston is everything.

And she will overcome.  The city by the bay will rebound from this, stronger than ever.  There is no doubting it even for a second.

Little Victories, Week…Fifteen. We’re On Fifteen Now.

(It’s been a REALLY long time since I did “Little Victories” so I could not even remember what week we were on.  It’s the end of the semester, cut me some slack.)

For 2013, I’m going to have a Friday post every single week, for positive victories in my life.  They may not be big things, but they will be things that I am proud of, things I did in the past seven days.  I’m hoping this will keep me focused on the positive, all the good things that are going on in my life.

– Pulled myself (within 24 hours) out of a slump that I felt last weekend.  It may not seem like that big of a victory, but I’ll tell you, divorce wreaks havoc on your sense of self-worth, and if you can get out of a semi-depressive slump in 24 hours, that’s a damn good thing.

– Reached (and passed) the anniversary of the day D first told me he wanted a divorce, without theatrics, without getting (too) upset.  I realized I’ve definitely turned a corner, and that corner is acceptance.  And that feels pretty damn good.

Got the green light from my thesis adviser to start my prospectus for my thesis.  Rough draft is due on April 23rd.  (In regards to the link, my teacher also pushed back the research paper, which was a huge relief).

– Best news: WE GOT AN APARTMENT!  I feel like this should sort of be an entry in and of itself, but…yes.  Samantha and I got an apartment.  It’s about five minutes from school, 12 minutes from my work.  Second floor of a three-family home, doesn’t look like much on the outside.  But inside, oh, inside.  I wish I had pictures, I really do.  It’s gorgeous.  Hardwood floors, windows everywhere, the cutest bathroom, big bedrooms, a washer and dryer (definitely my favorite part of the apartment!) and off-street parking.  I’m a little worried about living there, because it’s only two blocks from where I lived a few years ago (worst couple years of my life, even tops separating and divorcing, really, but that’s all I’m going to get into since it was so long ago).  But friends of mine straightened me out, and said it was practically criminal to give up such a beautiful apartment that was literally everything we were looking for, just because it happens to be near my old place.

Rent (split with Samantha) is only going to be $50 a month more than I’m paying now.  Plus I’ll be splitting the utilities, which will also be a load off.  It’s gas heat (the apartment D and I lived in was oil heat) so that will be pretty cheap.  I’m  excited.

So excited, even, that I even went back to that devil’s social network, Pinterest.  Samantha definitely started it.  She created an apartment pinboard and we’ve both been working on it the past few days.  It really helps that she and I have the same basic loves when it comes to decorating.  We’re both very French country.  These are some of the things we’ve pinned this far for ideas:

NO idea if we’d be able to pull this off for the living room, but isn’t it gorgeous?

The walls of “my” bedroom are sage, so this is the palette I’m thinking of. Less purple, though, more creams, roses, and greens.

 

The bedding set I want. It’s a little pricier but eh, I’m a single girl now!

Sam’s color ideas for her bedroom.

 

I love Monet — hell, Impressionist art in general — and I want to have “Waterlilies” on the wall.

Moving in is going to suck (second floor walk-up, after all!), but decorating and unpacking is going to be great.  And laundry — there’s laundry!  I have to say having a washer and dryer is my favorite part about this new place.

It’s going to be a good weekend, I think.  After work today I’m going to Jess’s house for a bit, and then it’s off to see D’s cousin Amy for the weekend.  We’re very good friends and I haven’t seen her since Christmas, though we talk about once or twice a week.  I’m seeing MIL tomorrow, which is going to be rough, but I’m glad that it’s happening.

Happy weekend, all!

Just don’t give up; I’m working it out

(Adam Lambert’s “Whataya Want From Me?” really speaks to my life as a whole right now.)

When last we spoke, our anti-heroine (me) was inwardly agonizing about relationships and post-divorce relationships and being ready to tackle new things and whatnot.  This may have predicated a foray into angst, “forever alone” nonsense and abstract “will I never be truly happy until I’m with someone else again?” thinking.

I’m happy to tell you this is not the case, as our anti-heroine faced up to the full brunt of the tasks set before her for these upcoming months…and emotions ran the whole gamut from complete ecstasy to “oh shit.”

Good things first:

After months of research, Dr. LW (my thesis adviser) looked over my bulging folder of notes and gave me the green light to begin writing my thesis prospectus.  If you don’t know what that signifies…in order to begin writing a master’s thesis at my university, one needs to go before the Graduate Studies Department (or have one’s adviser go before the GSD) and present the thesis idea.  You can’t just haul off and say “This is what I want to spend a year of my life doing”; you need to have more of a plan.  Specifically, you need to write a prospectus, which is a statement of interest, a literature review, a statement about what contributions your work will bring to the field of study, what other historians have said, what gaps you intend in filling, and an annotated bibliography of all your sources (thus far) and how they will be useful.  If the GSD likes your prospectus, you get the green light to write the damn thing.  If they don’t…well, that’s another story, and hopefully one I don’t  need to think about right now.

Anyway.  This was my response to Dr. LW’s go-ahead:

I totally went and got an iced coffee from Dunkin Donuts.  Because that is how I celebrate.

Then I went to class.  And I got the bad news.

I’ve known all this semester that I had a term paper for Dr. S due.  The syllabus said it was due next week, but since the class is half-undergrad, half-grad, and he hadn’t mentioned a damn thing about the paper, and he’d recently been in Asia and pushed back some of our deadlines, I naturally did the stupid thing and assumed that it was going to be pushed back as well.

Ha.
Aha.
Hahahahaha.
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

That’s the sort of amateur move that a freshman makes.  Maybe an undergraduate junior.  Not a last-year grad student.

Rookie mistake.

So the paper is due next Thursday.  As in April 18th.  As in eight days from now.

How long a paper?  Not that long.  Just 15-20 pages or so.

The above gif was pretty much exactly my reaction when I realized that my idiotic error was going to result in a metric buttload of stress for myself…but that it’s going to get done, it has to get done, so what’s the use of freaking out?

I already have a topic.  My father (the man who instilled a love of history in me so deep that it resulted in borderline obsession) gave me four books from his own personal library that will help in my research.  I used my bff Zotero last night to track down some articles and printed them this morning.  I have a couple of hours this afternoon to do some work before I have to go check out another apartment…

Oh yeah, the apartment search is in full swing.  My parents want their little cottage back (for my sister, who has epilepsy and is disabled), and my (future) roommate S and I have been actively searching for a place for about a week and a half now…

The point of this whole entry?  I’m completely swamped on all sides, so to be spending my time lamenting about a relationship that could have been but wasn’t?  Would pretty much guarantee that I’m certifiable.

Sign me up for the loony bin.

And just because I think my makeup looked pretty damn good today…I think I’ve come a long way since starting to learn how to apply eyeshadow back in September ’12.

2013-04-10 09.31.14

Not-so-realistic Idealism

My life trips by on a sequence of “busy nothings” as Jane Austen would say.  I’m busy trying to find a new apartment, busy with school, busy with work, busy with trying to keep my brain occupied and not think about K, the relationship that could have been but wasn’t.

I wonder sometimes if I am idealizing it.  K was, after all, the first man who paid me any sort of attention, post-marriage to D.  He was like an oasis in the desert, he showed me how special I was, and how not all men would take me for granted.  It’s true that we clicked, in many ways — we shared many similar interests, we made each other laugh, we were certainly compatible in many ways.  But it disturbs me how much I compare everyone to him these days.

I never went through a period where I compared anyone to D, because my relationship with him had already withered to the point of nonexistence by the time I was ready to shelve my marriage and proceed on.  How does one compare prospective loves with a man who hasn’t been your love for some time?  Although D and I just separated six months ago, and just filed for divorce in February (though we had to re-file in March), our relationship had been breaking down since September of 2011.  It’s been so long since we were close, as husband and wife should be, that I can hardly remember what that life was like.

I had expected my interaction with K to feel…forced?  Difficult?  Guilt-ridden?  And I experienced none of those emotions.  I was like a child exposed to sunlight for the first time after playing in darkness for years.  Like a flower that withered on the vine for eighteen months and is suddenly drenched in water.  I felt alive, vibrant, special, vivacious…ready to take life by the horns again.  For several days, I felt that liveliness…and then it was snatched away, and darkness fell again, though to be as dark as it was before.  Potential was realized.  If not with K, then with someone else.

I never thought it would be the friendship I missed.  Someone calling me every night, asking how I’m doing, how my day went, what is happening with me.  I wonder sometimes…did I let him go too easily?  In a world where it took me so long to finally convince myself to let D go…did I cut ties with K, did I let him go, almost too quickly?

No time for second-guessing.  This is life, you don’t get a re-do.  I could call him, I suppose…but I promised I wouldn’t, that I’d give him the space he said he needed to work out his life.  And it hasn’t even been a week yet.  Would be a good way to look like a grade-A psycho!

No, it’s better to let silence speak for me.  Focus on school, focus on work, focus on getting an apartment.

On living my life.

 

 

Exactly one year ago today, D told me he wanted a divorce.

And look how far I’ve come, what I’ve accomplished, since that day.

A bigger victory

I haven’t written in a week and a half.  I haven’t posted “Little Victories”, and that’s in part because…I didn’t know what to write.  Period.  So many things have happened since Monday, March 25th (when I last wrote), and it’s difficult to go back and write about it.  Some things were fantastic, some things were incredibly hard.  But I reached a turning point in my life, somewhere in the last eleven days.  And while I don’t want to go into too many details, especially on a public forum (I have a more private journal for that), I have to address it, in order to move this blog forward.

I met someone in the last month.  He is not someone I am going to have a relationship with (at least not any time in the foreseeable future).  Although we realized over the span of a month’s time that we had a lot in common, we were attracted to each other, and we were both exactly what the other was looking for…the timing was appalling, for both of us.  He is going through some turbulence in his life right now, as am I.  When we realized this, we both spent about four days agonizing to ourselves about it, before finally coming clean to each other last night.

Another time, another place, but not today, not now, and not any time soon.  When we ended our conversation last night he said that he wouldn’t be calling me soon, but he WOULD call me again.  He didn’t expect me to wait around for him, put my life on hold, all that…and that, if he called me and found out that I was happy, that I found someone who made me so, then he would know he had made the right decision.

I’m not happy, per se, over this decision.  I will admit that I cried when we said goodbye and hung up the phone last night.  But on the other hand, I am so relieved, because in the last month, he gave me everything I needed.  He was someone who gave me the time of day.  He reminded me that I was beautiful, intelligent, funny, worthy of love and respect and compassion and honesty — all of the things that D wasn’t giving me.

He made me realize that I was better than I was giving myself credit for.

I closed the door on my past this week.  On the 25th, I wrote that I just wanted to be on the other side, at that point of acceptance, to look back on the last five years of my life and be able to say, “Yes, that happened, and it hurt, but I am going to be better for it now that it’s over.”  And in the past eleven days, I got that wish.  I closed the door to my painful past and I opened the door to my future.  And that…that gift, he gave to me.  He helped me find myself.

Who knows what will happen to him.  I can’t predict the future.  I’m scared for him, and I hope that he manages to crawl out of the hole he is in, to get better.  I hope that, if and when the day comes that I see his name on the caller ID on my phone, I will pick up and he’ll be happy, truly happy, in his life.  I don’t know if anything will ever come to pass between us again.  I certainly won’t bank on it.  Life is too short to wait around, wondering if what happened can happen again.

But in the last month, he picked me up, out of the hole I was in, and he flew me to a place I hadn’t been before.  He put me on the path I was meant to be on, and then he gave me the gentlest of pushes forward.  He showed me who I want to be, but more importantly, that I wasn’t there yet.

Go.  Live your life.  Be the woman you can be.  Claw your way out of this.  You did it before.  You can do it again.  Close the doors to your past and open the door to your future.  Because it’s so much brighter than you can possibly imagine.

And that was worth more than any relationship ever could be.

 

 

I’m going forward.  Big changes are coming to my life.  I received our divorce case number in the mail this week.  I’m going to my XMIL’s house this next weekend to give her back (or try to give her back, at least) the engagement ring.  I started looking at apartments with my future roommate, Samantha.  We may have found one (*fingers crossed*).  School is seven weeks from ending.  I got my June Wildfire ticket.

I closed my heart emotionally on all that happened with D.  Granted, there will still be times when I am sad that it didn’t work out, and I imagine it will hurt on July 8th, the day our divorce is finalized.  But I will never, ever again feel like I could live that life, pretending that the little he gave me was enough.  My self-worth is back and I will never lose it in the same way again.

I’m on the right path.  And I’m going forward from here on out.

Never look back.

Thank you, K.  Thank you for showing me I was worth it.  I hope you realize someday that you’re worth it, too.

And I hope, whenever we meet again, that you will be okay.