This week I’m participating in Five Minute Friday. Writing with a timer has been beautifully freeing. Who knew?
My divorce papers were finally signed by the judge Wednesday afternoon, all of two days ago, after a 90-day stall. I spent a lot of those days wondering what was wrong with me, on many levels. Things to the tune of, “Parents didn’t want me, husband didn’t want me, employers don’t want me…. Hell, I don’t really want me right now, either.”
Gentle readers, even the dog likes my ex-husband better, and I’m the one who feeds and cares for him. This takes a toll on a person.
I had thought that, in those 90 intervening days, I’d grieved and Felt All The Things, and that the final paperwork would be a relief.
Ahem. No. No, it was not. Reading that paperwork was the real heartbreak, and that shocked me. There was, in fact, no feeling of relief. Where is the sensation of a heavy weight lifting? I was promised the sensation of a heavy weight lifting!
Even though I’m leaving an abusive situation, even though I’m cutting myself away from someone who literally dropped thousands of dollars at a strip club, no less, who picked up a spanky new substance abuse issue, and buried us in secret debt, I have no relief about this. I’m sad about our marriage. I’m sad that our friendship was burned up like that, for no better reason than his wanting attention from twenty-somethings[note]Or, as a friend more succinctly put it, wanted strange tits in his face.[/note].
I’m sad that I waited so long, and abandoned my wild and precious self. I spent so many years trying to fix things. So many. I did everything. I’ll say that again. I did everything. I was the only party in a two-party system who thought there was a problem, and the only one trying to save our marriage. I’m sad that I tried so hard to be less than I am. Smaller. Quieter. Not noticed. Helpful. My marriage was turning into my childhood all over again.
With the judge’s signature, my marriage and divorce are simultaneously complete. Life. Death. Life. As with any birth, there’s going to be some pain and helpless crying.
In case you’re having a hard day, too, here is a chicken in pants.