Chase the wind and touch the sky

It’s over.

I will not be writing out a blow-by-blow account of my divorce experience.  I know me, and I know I will go back and read it over later and I do not want to remember every detail of the four hours I spent in court (90% of it spent sitting there waiting).  I don’t want to remember that.  I am hoping that, with time, the finer details will eventually fade and fuzz and I won’t remember them clearly.  I have, to be honest, already forgotten what the judge actually said.  He spoke the words so quickly.

What I will write down, and what I do want to remember, is how, an hour after leaving court, when the numbness wore off (yes, I did cry, but not until the decision was pronounced and we were leaving), I finally felt the weight of the world shift from my shoulders, to be replaced with…lightness.

And then the tears flowed again, but they were tears of relief, tears of happiness, tears of realization that finally, after twenty-two months, there were no more “what-ifs’ there was no more hope of reconciliation, there was no more push for me to fix what I had known for months in my heart could not be fixed any longer.  There was no court date hanging over my head, there was nothing left to tear down and set on fire.

Freedom.

 

Please don’t take this to mean that I am happy that my marriage ended, or that I’m thrilled to be divorced.  The best way I can put it into words (and this is after almost 48 hours of thinking about it) is this:

I’m not happy that I’m divorced.  I’m sad that our marriage ended.  But I am so happy, so relieved, so thrilled, that there is nothing left to burn.

I had been carrying this horrible burden since September of 2011, this push, this drive, to fix this marriage, to make it work.  Even knowing as I did that David gave up on us back in 2011, even if he didn’t admit it until almost a year later, I still felt obligated to fix what I could.  Which was ludicrous in hind sight, because from Day One, it was on David.  He was the one who was unhappy, he was the one who didn’t want to be married, he was the one who decided, on that day in September 2011 that I will never forget, not if I live to be 100 years old, that he was ready to tell me that he didn’t want to be married to me anymore.

If anyone says, “Divorce is not an option, you MUST fix your marriage“…well, that’s all well and good, and it’s a noble thought.  But for a marriage to work, both individuals need to want it to.  Both need to strive with every fiber of their being, every single day, to make it work.  You have to wake up every morning, determined to keep your marriage strong, whether consciously or unconsciously.  If even one of the two people in a couple is not on board…it isn’t going to work.  It took me a very long time to figure that out.  And even after I had realized it, I still kept hoping, against every hope, that David would change his mind.  Even knowing as I did, that it would never work.  My trust had been broken far too many times.  There was no realm of being where I could have ever trusted him again.  Without trust, you cannot have a healthy marriage.  (I sort of laugh when I think about how often I said that before we were married.)

 

But once the divorce was final, there was nothing left.  There were no more expectations, no more hopes, no more fears.  What was done, was done.  The worst had truly happened…and I had lived through it after all.

Months ago, acknowledging finally that my castle in the air was long since abandoned by its other inhabitant, who had no interest in coming back, I made the decision to burn it metaphorically to the ground.  All of it, burn everything.  I knew that if I held on to even one scrap of those dreams, if I looked back for even one moment, I would be trapped in a dying dream forever, like Miss Havisham in Great Expectations.  I didn’t want that.  Only when everything was ashes could I step out and rebuild.

As of July 8th, everything, every last piece, of that lovely mad dream, is ashes.

My heart has never been more full and open.  And I’m shaking the ashes off my feet, and walking forward, never looking back, to build myself a bright, beautiful new future.

 

There’s one thing I want to say, so I’ll be brave
You were what I wanted
I gave what I gave
I’m not sorry I met you
I’m not sorry it’s over
I’m not sorry there’s nothing to save

I’m not sorry there’s nothing to save…

– Stars, “Your Ex-Lover is Dead”

Advertisements

Fall to pieces

I reread some of my old blog today.  Posts from last summer, from our first “separation” that lasted all of five days.  We moved back in together, not because we realized that we were making a mistake, but because he got caught doing something he shouldn’t, and he wanted me to forget about it…and because I had a complete nervous breakdown and couldn’t handle it.  Or didn’t want to.  Whichever.

Rereading those entries really drove two points home to me.  The first being that we’re making the right decision, because being put through the wringer like that by someone you love is unacceptable, and should never be acceptable.  And the second being that I am afraid — really afraid — of falling to pieces again like that.

Of course, the chances that this will happen are slim, and I have to keep reminding myself of that.

1. The “divorce” has already happened.
Nothing is going to change except that, by law, David and I won’t be husband and wife anymore.  This has already happened.  We live in separate apartments.  Our finances are separated.  We have no bills together — except our cell phone bill, which we retain until January so we don’t have to pay an astronomical fee for breaking our contract.  The only time we encounter each other, really, is in our social strata. 

2. I’ve been mentally preparing myself for this for months.
Separaion #1, in July of 2012, was something that occurred after three months of talking about separating.  I hadn’t prepared myself for it at all.  In this case, I first brought up “I want a divorce” in September of 2012.  It has been nine months since then.  Everyone knows about it, nobody is going to be shocked (I think — although I did just run into someone from church who hadn’t known), and I’ve had time to think about it and wrap my brain around it for quite some time.

3. Nothing is going to change.
Except my name.  I won’t be “Megan B.” anymore.  I’ll be “Megan F.” again.  That’s…it.  Everything else that is going to change, already has.

I’m not going to fall to pieces.  I’m not going to let myself fall to pieces.

I’m in a sort of depressive funk right now, but it won’t last forever.  And I’m wondering if that’s more because of this horrible dreading of anticipation.  That we’re only a week and a half away.

I just can’t wait for this all to go away.  And then I’ll be okay again.

Strength

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.

 

Rather than what I’ve lost

One of the perks of having a roommate who works in the university registrar’s office is getting to find out what you got for grades the moment they’re handed in.  The deadline was last night at midnight, and Sam was able to check my grades today.

A and A.

4.0 a second time in a row.

As soon as I saw it on the computer screen, I became the total loser who was crying at work.

I kind of knew I had it in the bag.  I mean, Dr. S gave me perfect scores on every paper that he gave back to me.  Granted, the three that I didn’t get back (because it was the end of the semester) were all the biggest, most important papers…but I had a feeling I wouldn’t completely bomb them, which is what I would have had to do to not get the A.

But it never gets old, it really doesn’t.  I can’t wait until I actually see the grade on the website, see what my new cumulative GPA is, and can actually go public about it.

 

 

Timing is everything.  And timing might be very fitting, really.  Sometimes, having a good memory can be difficult.  I had a historian’s brain long before I set out to be a historian.  Dates, to me, are very important.  “It’s just another day” doesn’t register.  No, it isn’t just another day.  It is the only day of its kind, it will never pass this way again.  I remembered, Friday night, that Saturday, May 18th, 2013, would have been my five year dating anniversary with David.

On my way to the bar Friday night, for Samantha’s graduation party, I drove alone, and I listened to music, and I thought.  Usually when I’m in the car and listening to music, I think about loss.  I think about the things that aren’t, the things that should have been, and what can never be now.  I don’t usually drive, and think “Yeah, I’m good.”  Except last night, I did.

Part of it was due to a well-timed text from my close friend Kim, telling me how “fucking proud” she was of me for getting that 4.0.  Part of it was because I was thinking about how I had rocked my C25K run the day before.  These are things I didn’t do before.  This is not the person I was going to be, when I was married to David.

Don’t get me wrong.  The years I spent with David, from May 2008 to September 2011, were the best of my life, hands down, at least thus far.  They filled me up in a way nothing had before.  I was deliriously happy with him.  Because he made me happy.  Not because I made myself happy.  And then September happened, and the year and a half of indecision…and then the decision came, and I had to make myself happy.

I found myself.  I found things that made me happy, instead of him making me happy.  I went back to school.  I might have gone back anyway, if I’d been with David, but probably not, because he was never that concerned about it.  If I had told him I wanted to go back, he would have backed me to the hilt, but I don’t think he would have pressured me to do so, and I probably would not have.  Running?  Hell no.  I was good enough the way I was, right?  Overweight, out of shape, I was fine, right?

But look at me now.  Look what I’ve done.  I don’t say this to brag, I’m not trying to be immodest.  But for so long I have been thinking about everything I lost, everything I wouldn’t have.  A husband, security, a family, a house.  And that’s not true.  It will happen.  Just not right now.  Someday, with the right person.  But not right now, because the time isn’t right.

It doesn’t even matter.  Look at me now.  Look at all the things I had convinced myself I couldn’t do, that I am doing now.

Five years ago, I was happy with C’s.  I was just trying to keep my head afloat at school.  Straight A’s?  4.0?  HA.  But I did it.  Not once, but twice.  Two semesters in a row.  I could never even conceive of that when I was 24 years old.  Not even on the radar.  But I did it!  Twice!  And at a time in my life when everything was caving in, everything felt like it was falling apart.  As Jess said earlier, “It was a crap situation but you adjusted and totally BAMFed it.”

Running.  I was never a runner.  And now I go to the gym three times a week and I run my little heart out.  Even though Dr. L told my parents, back in 2005, that I should never do any high impact sports anymore, even though he said my body was prematurely aging because of the trauma of the accident.  I listened way too long, to those voices of doubt, that told me that I was too beat up and broken to do physical activity.  I’m done with that.  I’m going to finish training, I’m going to get to the point where I can run 5Ks, and I’m going to go further.  I’m going to listen to the words my father said to me, when he heard the doctor’s words: “Don’t let anyone limit you.”  

Because there are no limits.

I have looked, way too long, at what I have lost.  It’s really easy to do, in the dark of the night, going to bed by myself, or driving down a long stretch of highway when a familiar song comes on the radio.

But what I have lost is equal to, if not less than, what I have gained.  What I have.  What I am going to be.

And I drove, and I cried, and I thought about everything I have done, everything I have accomplished, since I left David in November of last year.  Look at what I have done.  Look at what else I’m going to do.  I don’t know if anyone understands how much these things mean to me — getting straight A’s, running a 5K, climbing Mt. Washington a third time, graduating with my Master’s.  I look at pictures on FB of my friends who were graduating this weekend, and I thought to myself, that’s going to be me within the year.

It is. I believe it.

Look what I’ve done.  Look what I’ve gained.  Look how beautiful this all is.

woman-standing-mountain-top-16240141

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!

If somebody tells you…

…that you don’t need to have divorce papers served by a marshal (just save yourself the money and hassle and do it yourself!): they are lying.  Or if we’re being nice, vastly wrong.

Because of this, our divorce date has been pushed back, and I need to go and re-file.

The word “exhausted’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.  I just want to curl into a ball.  So much of my life is just a huge, expensive, difficult mess.  I try to balance work, school, and what I’m calling a social life these days.  And then something like this just smashes through all “LOL J/K” when I think I have things — finally — under control.

D messaged me when I told him that this was dragging out and just said “I’m sorry.”  I was ready to text him and say it’s not his fault we were poorly directed and that the courts try to dick every single penny out of you.  But you know, it IS his fault, the whole mess is his fault in the first place.

Talking to K (new friend) yesterday, about all this, I could sum it up thus: “We didn’t look at marriage the same way, and that is why it fell apart.

It’s so unfortunately true.

And 99% of the time, I’m so okay, I’m really okay, I don’t want to go back and change anything.  And some days, like now, I just think I don’t want to do this.  Not now, not in April, not in July…never.

I am not

I hate to write “downer” entries, but this blog is called “Honestly, Megan”, and I can’t always be 100% optimistic.  I am not feeling well today.  Part of that is due to staying up until almost 1 AM watching the Oscars.

Part of it is because D told MIL yesterday that he wants a divorce…and then told me on the phone how truly miserable he is.  All this time I’ve been telling myself how happy he is, how much he wanted this, when in reality, it’s not that he wanted it, it’s because he was too scared to do anything except step aside and let this marriage fall to pieces.

Part of it is because I look back on the last two years and see a beautiful relationship that imploded, and it just hurts, it hurts to see every hope and dream we ever had in shambles, damaged and irreparable.

Part of it is because I am so tired that it truly hurts.

Part of it is because I am tired of crying, and I’m even more tired of people telling me that I am foolish for crying, foolish for hurting.  I hate that certain people act like I have to put on a happy face all the time, because sometimes, I am anything but happy.  Sometimes I need to grieve.  Sometimes I need to hurt, and shunting my feelings under the rug?  Doesn’t help.

I am sorry that my crying and my pain and my grief is offensive to people.  I am sorry if people think I am better than that, and in reality, I am not.  That I am tough and strong and I DGAF that my marriage fell apart, that the man I love changed into a completely different person, that even though so many have told me that this isn’t my fault, I still feel responsible because we were each other’s responsibility and I never realized that something was really this wrong until it was too late.

I’m sorry that people don’t want to see the mess left behind.  They want me to feel nothing.  They want me to be stronger, and I’m not.  I’m just me.  Honestly Megan.  Just me.

And even though it’s just one more nail in the coffin, and a nail I’d been expecting, I can’t pretend that it doesn’t hurt like hell when it goes in.

This is not going to be an easy ride.  You can get off it at any time.  I can’t.  I am in this until the end.  It’s started, I can’t stop it, and I only have two choices.  Ride it out, and pray that there’s something good at the end.  Or throw myself out and die.  I can’t do the latter, so it has to be the former.  I’m sorry if the ride is longer than you thought it would be.  It’s much, much longer than I expected, myself.

But I have no choice, I have to ride it out.  Ride or die.

If you can’t handle me at my worst, then you can go.  This is unfortunately as good as it’s going to get right now.  I can’t promise that it will get better soon, but I can promise that it will get better.  I just don’t know when.

Right now, it just hurts.  And I need to grieve.  I don’t mean shut myself in my room, I am not doing that.  I am not sitting here mourning all the time.  But I am going to break down and cry.  I am going to be sad.  I am not going to be gleeful as my soon to be ex husband falls apart.  I can’t sit and calmly talk about severing the marriage that we so lovingly built up.  I can’t think about seeing my MIL for the last time, of never seeing my IL’s again, and not tear up.

I am not made of stone.  And I can’t apologize for that.

Frederick William Elwell – The Wedding Dress, 1911

Depression

I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder and PTSD back in 2008 (well, PTSD in 2006, anxiety disorder in 2008, if we’re being fair).  I have never experienced depression.  I mean, we all have our moments.  But I’ve never had five days where I’ve just cried, and cried, and been lethargic, and done nothing, feeling broken and unable to pick the pieces up again.

So much has happened in the last few days that I just…can’t comprehend.  The short story is that, after a slew of really painful incidents last Wednesday – Friday, I hit a point where I just stopped.  it was like a piece of my brain broke, and I couldn’t get it under control again.  And where I’ve cried probably buckets of tears since September 2011…I probably cried the equivalent of that just between Wednesday, February 13, and Sunday, February 17.  Generally over the past year, I’ve been okay when I’ve been around other people.  That isn’t the case anymore.  I cry anywhere, any time, and it’s…inconvenient, to say the least.  Embarrassing, to say the most.

But the worst comes after dark.  When I’m alone in my apartment, and the thoughts that used to eat me alive when I was a teenager come back. 

I am a bad person.  I must be.
Things like this don’t happen to good people.
If I was a good person, my husband wouldn’t have cheated on me.
My friend wouldn’t have lied to me.
My boss wouldn’t have yelled at me today.

My parents wouldn’t be disappointed in me.
If I was a good person, these things wouldn’t happen to me.

I don’t feel strong anymore.  I don’t feel sure anymore.  And if you get all psychological, this is just one more step on the Kubler-Ross grief scale, and I was going to get here eventually.  But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, every minute I go through it, every day.

I’ve tried slogging through it, pushing through, thinking to myself I am better than this, I will not let myself fall apart.  But in the end, it just prolongs the inevitable.  And I get more upset with myself for falling apart, when it does.

I am afraid to go to my friends, or my family.  I am afraid of being judged or being a burden on anyone.  I cry all the time, and I pick the skin from my fingers (I didn’t realize until this morning that this is a thing that people do when they’re anxious or depressed, I figured it was just something that I did that was fucked-up), and after months and months of pushing through and being strong and being okay, I’m on a downward spiral that just goes nowhere, ends nowhere.

The one person who promised he’d stick by me and be there for me regardless of anything, isn’t there anymore.  Doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t love me or care about me.

I’ve known this since April 2012.  You’d think I’d be over it by now.  I thought I’d be over it by now.

But I’m not.  And I hate that I’m not.

Sense of relief

I finally told my boss today that D and I are divorcing, and that I want to file for an annulment.

This was a huge, huge task that I’d been putting off for months.  Partially because, when D told me that he wanted to separate back in April of 2012, I broke down and became an uncontrollable mess for months.  It really affected my output of work, to the point where my boss finally said “I know you’re going through a difficult time, but I need my secretary” and I knew I had to buck up and start putting myself together.  And partially because my boss was very vocal, in the beginning, about my marriage being a Catholic marriage and I had to fulfill my end of the bargain, and work it out.  I didn’t want to seem like I was giving up.

That last sentence would probably seem laughable to most of my friends.  Most of my friends have argued that it wasn’t “giving up”.  Even D said, back in September, “Meg has given me more chances than I ever deserved.”  To most people, I’ve hung on far too long — and maybe I have.  But I’ve lived with this horrible, horrible fear of being judged as flighty, or not taking my marriage seriously.  My friends and family, hell, even D, will tell you that this is anything but the case.  But I couldn’t make myself understand it, at all.  I felt like I had to go down with this ship, I had the ring on my finger, I had put my head to the grindstone and I had to make it work at all costs.

I hadn’t meant to tell my boss today.  My boss is a Catholic priest — furthermore, he married D and I two years ago.  The idea of telling the man who married us that we hadn’t managed to make it work chilled me.  I didn’t know how I’d ever do it.  But I did.  It just sort of came out.  We were talking about marriages and annulments and vocations and I just…blurted it out.

And he understood.  He shook his head and told me I was better off, under the circumstances, filing for divorce and applying for the annulment.  The fact that D told me he doesn’t know if and when he’ll ever be ready to have children, coupled with the fact that he hasn’t attended Mass since we got married and has no faith in the Church, pretty much nullifies our Catholic marriage right there.  I always knew that D only agreed to marry in the Church because I was Catholic and he knew it meant a lot to me.  But when we got married, he said he felt it was the right choice, that he was glad we had a Catholic marriage, that we would have children in time and he was okay with raising them Catholic.  All of that fell apart within the first year of marriage.

The weight that fell off of my shoulders when I confessed everything to my boss, and when he gave me that response, was incredible.  I felt like the terrible fear I’d experienced since December was finally gone.  He was the last person I had to tell…and now I am free.  D still has to talk to my IL’s about our divorce, but he has to do that, not me, and it’s not my responsibility.  Though I’m dreading the conversations that I will have with my IL’s (if they see fit to contact me) after he finally ‘fesses up, I have no more mountains to climb when it comes to telling the truth…and I feel…bittersweet, but free.

Send help

Guys.  Send help.  Seriously, I feel like I’m drowning in my own mediocrity this week.

Plan was to go to the gym on Wednesday and Friday.  Wednesday did not happen.  Friday is still up in the air.

I haven’t gotten more than about four hours of sleep a night.  None of that is uninterrupted.  I sleep like garbage.  I tried to remedy that by using Law and Order SVU to sleep by (surprisingly, this usually works).  It’s not working right now.

Due to to the financial burdens of separating, my bank account is…sad.  We’ll say sad.  Savings is good, checking blows, D’s car payments this month came out of my bank account instead of his, and though I AM going to get that money back, you can’t get blood from a stone, as they say, and D now owes me $300 for this month.  Super.

Oh, grad school?  BAHAHAHAHAHA.  I am about halfway finished with The Behemoth.  As for reading for my other class…not even close.  I emailed the two Civil War historians on campus, per my thesis adviser’s orders…and they haven’t responded.  Thanks, guys.

I vacillate between “I am okay with getting divorced, this is going to be a new start”, terror about the idea of dating, feeling sick over the idea of divorce, and freaking out because this was not supposed to happen.

Hopefully I’ll be feeling better tomorrow.