We are coming up on the end of this journey. Within the month, D will be my ex-husband. Except…only on paper, because he’s been my ex-husband since November 18th, 2012, when I moved out. I keep reminding myself that we’ve been divorced, physically, mentally, and emotionally, for seven months now, and that the court date is only a mere formality.
So why I am so afraid of it?
I couldn’t tell you that. Maybe because, to me, it’s too ceremonial, it reminds me so much of a mockery of our marriage. Something we so lovingly cared for and crafted and planned out, dreamed of, rehearsed, and found such joy in…eradicated in ’30 seconds’ (which is what the court clerk assured me yesterday). Four and a half years with someone…burned away to nothingness?
Yes. All of that.
You’d think I’d be excited. You’d think I’d be happy. The things that he’s said and done in the last eighteen months were heinous. He has not treated me the way you would even expect someone to treat a casual acquaintance. To quote one of my friends “there is a difference between murdering someone and torturing them to death”, and when it came to how our divorce was handled, he definitely chose the latter path. His reasons for doing so, I will never know. I’d like to think it was all misguided fear of hurting me. He didn’t want me to know. He didn’t want me to be hurt.
Or I could choose the more likely scenario — he was protecting himself. His ego, his reputation. He didn’t want the world to know what we were, who he was, what he really thought of me, what really went on behind closed doors.
I feel so old beside him these days. And it’s not even because he’s 28 and I’m going to be 30 in just three months. I just feel so much older than him. I remember when we first started dating, how weirded out I was by the fact that he was a mere four months older than my younger sister. Over time, I stopped sensing the almost-two year age gap between us; it didn’t seem relevant. And in the last two years…it’s there like a massive rift between us. It’s not even that I’m so much older than he is (I’m not), it’s just that I want so many different things than he does. I was ready. He was not. And it fell apart.
I hate when people say “well, you kind of rushed into marriage.” We were dating for two and a half years before we got married…I don’t really call that “rushing.” And you can’t really put a time limit on something like this. My parents were engaged after only six weeks and they’re going to celebrate their 33rd anniversary in October. It’s not a “one size fits all” sort of scenario. And I think that’s been the most difficult thing about it. There’s no rhyme or reason, nothing I could have done. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out. The end.
All I want now, is strength.
Strength to get through the court date — July 8th — with my head held high, and no tears.
Strength to know in my heart that I am making the right decision; the only decision.
Strength to look beyond July 8th, and see that the world isn’t ending. This world, maybe. But the new one is coming, and it’s brighter and more complete and fulfilling than this world was. Even if I can’t see where the path leads right now.
Strength to hold my anger, my pain, and whatever bitterness I feel inside, because releasing those thoughts, those words, out into the world, solves nothing…but it may destroy something.
Strength to be classy. I never wanted to be trashy, I always feared loud confrontation and drama and theatrics. Please, when this is over, let me have the strength to have carried myself in such a way that nobody will be able to say anything about me except that, through it all, I redefined “class”.
And above all…
Strength to never reproach myself for what has occurred, for any of the choices I have made. They may not have been the easiest decisions, but they were the right ones, no matter how I felt at the time. I may not be happy with them now, or with the direction that my life has taken.
But oh, I believe, I believe with my heart and soul, I am not done yet.
There is beauty left in the beyond.