A List of Why

 In navigating the divorce proceedings, it is becoming harder and harder to cling to the notion of "its just not working out." He wants reasons. He wants answers. He wants a list of "why."

Why won't I work on us? Why won't I try? Why am I willing to throw away 17 years of "bliss" over something as small as "being unhappy?" How dare I be so selfish to make him and the kids unhappy too, just because I'm not happy. And yes, he literally said that. How far back should I go with this list? I've been trying to keep things amicable, but the more he pushes my boundaries, the more I just want to start writing down the list of times I felt used, unappreciated, unheard, and generally ignored. That his interest in fantasy outweighed his interest in reality with me long ago. 

How do I tell him that the reasons "why" don't even matter anymore? I'm beyond done and there really isn't anything he could ever say or do to fix it. I don't love him. Haven't for years and years. Possibly never. I've also lost respect for him, and the constant hand holding through every adulting circumstance is exhausting. I'm not his mother... he still mooches off the one he has! 

I'm so tired. However, November will be here before I know it. 

Divorce

I filed for divorce last week. I saved up and paid a lawyer for her retainer to make sure I am protected. 

I told Doug. He was furious and is now in denial and refuses to sign the acknowledgment. If this continues, I will be forced to have him served at work, which I was trying to avoid. I wanted to spare him the embarrassment, but if he refuses to acknowledge, I will have to use a firmer hand. 

It's been tense and awkward at moments, then he will try to put his hands inside my clothes to touch me as I'm attempting to sleep at night. It's so uncomfortable and he pouts at my repeated denial of his advances. I FILED FOR DIVORCE, AND HE STILL DOESNT RESPECT MY BOUNDARIES. It makes me sick to my stomach, and I don't want to stay here another minute.

I may need to reexamine my strategy and stop staying here at night completely. 

This is a Safe Space

 I had a breakthrough. It was overwhelming and big and hard... and it was exactly what I needed in that moment. 

I was curled up with J and mentally hemmed and hawed about whether I should ask for something that had been on my mind. I finally spit it out. He was thoughtful and kind with his response, and I struggled to hold back tears. "Are you okay?" I said no, burst into tears and explained that I've been wanting to ask for 2 years, but was so afraid of rejection that I just kept quiet. He held me so gently yet firmly as I sobbed. He pet my hair, nuzzled his face into my neck, and whispered "it's okay... this is a safe space." As if I wasn't already in tears, haha. 

There are times I get so overwhelmed with anger, that I let B warp my self esteem to the point that he did. That I played into his narrative that I was unworthy, that he would wield rejection like a slap to the face often enough that I STILL mentally and physically flinch when I sense it coming. There's no way around it... it was abuse. I'm still feeling the aftershocks to this day, but Holy shit.... 

I have a safe space. 

Genuine. Calm. Whole hearted. Compassionate. 

Safe.

A Few Fears

 So... my ability to walk has been greatly impacted this week. I am 99% sure that I have torn my meniscus, but to what extent, I'm not sure. I've been downplaying the extent of the severity, mostly to avoid dealing with some pretty grim emotions, and that old creeping fear of being a burden is starting to get louder and louder. Earlier today I was asked if I was ready to write...

"The short answer is no. I'm not ready to write. There's a can. I acknowledge the can. There's worms in it. I acknowledge the worms. They can stay in there a hot second."

I guess technically it's been a hot second, so I can take a peek in that can of worms.

In this moment I feel dread. People are going to ask questions. People ALWAYS ask questions. Friends and family? Ask away! Strangers on the street or patients at my job? We are NOT close, and you are not entitled to my medical history! But they will ask and if I bother giving them a smidge of info, the pity looks start. The "you're too young," the "but you don't look sick," the unsolicited diet advice and the "have you tried vegan or gluten-free or dairy free or intermittent fasting? You really should lose weight," or the good old "have you tried yoga?" I get that people want to offer solutions to things they view as a problem. Their hearts are in the right place and they want to feel helpful in a situation that to them seems hopeless. I *always* try to answer with a grateful "thank you for the idea!" even when I immediately file it in the trash can of unsolicited advice in my brain. Sometimes I want to absolutely flip the fuck out and scream "Why yes, Susan, I am familiar with yoga! I used to love it! But now that my wrist is fused from my fucking hand falling off, I can't even do downward facing dog without discomfort or modification and the prospect of having to lose yet another thing I once found joy in physically is just too overwhelming at the moment, so kindly go fuck yourself!" But I'm pretty sure I'd get fired for that. Instead I grit my teeth, smile, and say "thank you." 

I didn't tell my mom that I had injured my knee. She's on vacation, and I didn't want to bother her, or make her worry while she's supposed to be enjoying herself. I made a post on IG, and my sister asked her what I did. Her response was "I'm on vacation, you know I am the LAST person Mer would call if she was hurt. She was probably waiting to tell me until I got home." Correct. 

I also tried to downplay it to my coworker, as she has a scheduled vacation this week that I didn't want her to worry about. But last night I couldn't walk. I practically had to crawl to the bathroom, tears streaming down my face. In that moment I felt excruciating pain, embarrassment, fear, and dread. The physical pain is better, but the fear is gripping pretty tight.

I'm afraid of being cut open again. My body is peppered with various surgical scars, and I don't want to add any more. I'm also afraid of anesthesia... its harder to knock me out and bring me back up at this point. I don't want a standard arthroscopy to be the thing to take me out. I'm afraid of what kind of delay this will potentially make in my filing. I'm scared of being apart from J for any extended period of time - not for fear of him leaving me, but because he is SUCH a comfort and support for me. I'm worried that a recovery period will land me out of a job. I'm worried that this is yet another wakeup call that I can't sustain a regular job anyways. 

I'm glad I can spit out my concerns and dreads here. There's more in there, but I'm emotionally fatigued just from draining this little bit. I'm sure I'll have more to say soon. 

Processing?

I don't really know how to process my current emotions. I seem to be at a loss for words, and I suspect it's a combination of lingering depression, recent painful realizations, covid burnout, holiday stress, and just everything existing under a shadow of overwhelming "blah." 

I used to have dreams. Unique to me. But now... now my siblings are living out those dreams, and I'm not sure how to feel about it. I have expressed nothing but joy at their successes, and pride in light of their accomplishments. But I also feel incredibly sad, disappointed in myself, and that pang of grief over the loss of careers I dreamed of and couldn't maintain. I feel overwhelmingly guilty that I don't feel only the joy and pride for them. That I'm sulking internally that they both took on major portions of some pretty significant dreams of mine. 

So I feel a little... off. I'm not sure where to put this. 

A couple weeks ago, I watched an IG blurb from Glennon Doyle where she answered the question "how do I know if I'm a writer?" She talked about her first AA Meeting, and someone asking a similar question. "How do I know I'm an alcoholic?" Glennon looked around that church basement and thought "you're at an AA meeting, how much more validation do you need?" She applied the same thought to being a writer. "If you're writing, you're a writer..."

After I watched her speak, I looked over my blog and shook my head. I'm not a writer. I thought maybe I could be, and blamed not having a proper laptop on my lack of blog posts. Then I got one and still wasn't writing... so... I'm not a writer. I'm not a lot of things anymore. I'm not a massage therapist. I'm not an artist. I'm not a horseback rider. I'm not a small business owner. I'm not any of the things I dreamed I wanted to be. I'm 40, and I no longer know what I want to be when I grow up. 

I don't know what to do next. 

Heavy

 Im finding it harder and harder to keep up my motivation and optimism. Covid numbers continue to climb, communities continue to remain so ugly towards each other, and I grow more and more anxious going into work. I need money, but things are just getting incredibly hard. My patience is low, my temper hot, and I'm feeling like a caged animal. The courts remain closed to in person filings, and family court is currently not hearing any cases. Unless its a domestic violence issue, and those are being handled strictly by email only. 

I feel like I'm trying to tread water, but Im running out of energy and there's so little air. I opted to keep the kids virtual, and in light of recent cases, I think I made the best decision. But its still hard. I feel like I'm running out of options. 

I have this near constant ache in my chest. It gets worse at times and it catches my breath. It eventually subsides, but I know its anxiety based. I'm too afraid to tell anyone, but I'm on the verge of tears most of the time. I feel the safest and most at ease with J, but I can't just live with him, as much as I wish I could. I want to. We will get there, but legally NOW is not the right time. 

Fuck. 

A long day

 This morning started with my first covid test. At work we had a patient come in while awaiting covid test results... she found out she was positive. So me and my coworkers were considered "direct contact" risk, and had to take a test. The test itself wasn't so bad. 

The results of the rapid test were negative, but I have to return in 5 days for a secondary test. 

It was emotional and overwhelming. 

Then my aunt died. I knew she had had a massive stroke and was unresponsive, but a death is never easy. The family has decided against a funeral or memorial, so Im not really sure what to do with my mounting grief. There just seems to be so much of it. 

Oh, and my sons fish died. Im not sure why, but it wasn't pretty and it was just the straw that broke the camels back. I haven't been able to cry today, and I don't know when I will, but today just felt so... heavy. 

Here is Jack the fish from just a few days ago. Alive and well and happily playing in a flowy plant.