Tears and Longings

I have been crying going on ten hours now. This morning, I discovered my ex-husband had seamlessly transferred our twenty-year-old dream of going to England and Scotland to his new love. They have a "list" now of the places they want to go. I stumbled upon this bit of information by my own curiosity. Stupid, stupid me.

I long to wander the moors of Scotland. I long to sit at an outdoor cafe in London. I long to visit and pay homage at Jane Austen's grave. I long to spend the night (or ten!) in a Scottish castle.

I long to be no longer alone. After two and a half years of separation and now a divorce, I have had plenty of time to contemplate my mistakes and to try to heal. Am I healed? No. Will I ever be? I don't know. All I know is I miss mattering to someone.

I long to be at peace with God. Raised in a Baptist home--I won't call it Christian, because no follower of Christ would do what my parents did to  me and my brother and sister--I was taught there was but one way to God. I was taught to fear Hell. I accepted Christ at age eight out of abject fear for my eternal life. This is not what God wished for me. I know that now.

I love God. Not the bearded old white man in the sky who terrified me as a child. But a God who truly IS love, a God who is in everything and everyone, a God who is in the seen and the unseen. I can appreciate the kindness and love of Jesus, but he feels a bit out of my reach, to be honest. I feel closer to the Energy which I envision as God...golden, sparkling, warm, loving, comforting, everywhere.

I love gazing at paintings and figurines portraying Ganesh, Saraswati, Kali, Athena, Aphrodite, Persephone, and Nyx. I feel love flowing from them. I feel acceptance. Do I worship them? No. Do I talk to them? Yes.

Maybe I am strange. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I should stop worrying about being odd and start focusing on what fills my deep longing for God.

Longing fills me, and the feelings this emotion evokes are emptiness and fear. Fear I will never know anything different. Fear I will always be searching. Hoping. Questing. Seeking.

Tears continue to stream down my cheeks, and longing grips my heart. I don't know what to do, but I'm going to simply sit. Be still. Be quiet. Maybe an answer will come.

Violet

The Things I Miss the Most

I'm divorced now, and I find myself missing certain things.

Granted, we were separated for two and a half years, so some of these things, I've missed far longer than others. And to be honest, we were only happy for the first six years of our twenty year marriage...a miscarriage and our inability to grieve as a couple shook the foundation of our relationship. We were never the same again.

Still, we carried on for fourteen more years, raising a daughter and a son.They alone made the rocky journey a priceless endeavor.

What do I miss from those six years of marriage?

1.   I miss having someone to fight me for the covers.
2.   I miss complaining about his cold feet.
3.   I miss cuddling on the couch and watching action movies.
4.   I miss going to chick-flick movies and listening to him whine.
5.   I miss him eating the entire bowl of Cool Whip I'd bought for a recipe.
6.   I miss him eating the last of the ice cream.
7.   I miss complaining because he put the toilet paper on backwards.
8.   I miss eating his awesome chili.
9.   I miss someone coming home who's happy to see me.
10. I miss cooking something disastrous and him lying and saying it's delicious.
11. I miss him saying that I'm beautiful even though I know I'm not.
12. I miss being the one to fret when he's late coming home.
13. I miss being his parents' third daughter.
14. I miss him complaining because I read too much.
15. I miss his noisy EA Sports video games.
16. I miss date nights.
17. I miss the way he used to play with my hair.
18. I miss sleeping in on Sundays.
19. I miss being late for work because he made me late.
20. I miss being the girl he picked.

Postscript. When we were twelve years old, we met for the very first time in study hall. On that same day, I made a friend. One of my best. You know her as Bambi. Well, at break every day, Bambi always, without fail, bought a 3 Musketeers candy bar. She would take one bite then dig out the fluffy insides. I honestly thought it was kind of gross but never said so. I preferred to eat my 3 Musketeers in a more dainty fashion. Know what sucks? I can't even LOOK at a 3 Musketeers candy bar anymore much less eat one. So yeah, she took him. But did she have to take the damn candy bar, too?

Of oatmeal, ex-husbands, and a love long dead...

I haven't written much of anything this week. Every time I try to write Peter and Pippa's story, the words come out in clumps that are as intriguing and compelling as lumpy oatmeal. Figuring out the reason for this icky, sticky case of writer's block isn't hard to do. Him.

A couple of weeks ago, he said to me, "You know our marriage ended ten years ago."

No. No, I didn't know that. Ten years ago, I was still madly in love with him. Ten years ago, I was fighting to figure out why after ten years of marriage, I still struggled with painful intercourse. In spite of my pain, I endured because I thought I didn't have a choice. Three years ago, when the flashbacks started, I had my answer. Years of childhood sexual abuse left me fearful of and unable to enjoy sex. It's only in recent months that I've found I can write about sex in the context of my erotic romance short stories and novellas. I believe my ability write these tales is a good sign. :-)

Last night, I asked him a stupid question. "When did you stop loving me? Ten years ago? Fifteen?"

He replied, "I can't really pinpoint it."

Well, ask a stupid question, get an answer you don't want.

Why does this bother me so much? Because I feel stupid and pathetic. I loved, lived with, and made love with a man who didn't love me for more than a decade. *face palm*

Okay, so I'm thinking of the Hanging Man in Tarot and how he challenges us to look at things from a different perspective. How can I view my ex's words in a new way?

*light bulb* I have felt tremendous guilt for not being the woman he needed and wanted. Hmm, so if he didn't love me anyway, do I really need to feel guilty?

Nope! :-)

Will his words come back to haunt me tomorrow? Maybe. Maybe not.

In the meantime, I'll sit in peacefulness, happy and guilt-free.

Letting Them (Him + Bambi) Go

I first typed the title, "Letting Him Go," but then I realized he's only half of the challenge.

*Bambi is the other half. My dear friend, my confidante, my BFF through my teen years, my bridesmaid, and now my nightmare. Okay, so maybe "nightmare" is a bit strong, but how else do I describe the person whose image I cannot get out of my brain? The recurring mental vision of the two of them together is like a carving knife to my heart.

Now with the very real picture of them playing happy family with my kids and hers ingrained in my mind, I ache all over from the betrayal. He won't tell me exactly when they started dating. Do I really need to know? No, probably not. I know it was before he said he wanted a divorce. I'm not stupid.

After two and a half years of separation, I shouldn't struggle with this. Or, so he says. What he tends to forget is how hard I've fought to let him go and how often I've failed. On February 14, 2012 (Happy Fucking Valentine's Day to me), I found myself in the ER. I'd entered a mixed-state (bipolar) and death was looking pretty damn good.

When I walked into the inpatient facility, I noticed  the few changes made to the nurse's station and open sitting room. Yes, I'd been there before in August, 2004. Collapsing into an uncomfortable plastic chair, I waited for the nurse to give me the welcome speech. What I really wanted was for someone to give me something so I could sleep.

Mixed state is not a party, my friends. Imagine feeling like you are worth as much as yesterday's half-eaten Big Mac, while infused with a gallon of coffee, all poised and ready to leap off the nearest bridge.

Unfortunately, there would be no medicine for me. Ten o'clock in the evening, and the doctors were long gone. I didn't  sleep. I paced, my unattractive green slip-proof socks soundless on the ugly tile floor. Five days and some powerful meds later, I was free. I drove myself to Wal-Mart and walked around the store looking at the normal people.

Fast forward to October 6th. My admittance to the hospital was a bit different. I'd intended on entering by way of the morgue, but that didn't work out. Thank the heavens. Even though living in my present reality hurts me deeply, I do see the beauty around me. My children. I am grateful to be here for my children. The fact I now have to share them with her...yeah, that sucks.

My therapist has instructed me to limit my contact with him. I'd asked her advice on how I could spur along this whole "letting go" thing. That was Tuesday. The urges to text, call, and go see him have overwhelmed me, but I've resisted. He texted this morning with a request to have our homeschooled son give him a call. I overheard bits of their conversation, his voice like a razor to my pale skin. I heard him ask if he wanted to go to the movies. I wondered if he'd invite Bambi and her brood same as when he took my kids (and hers) to see Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2.

How do I stop wondering? How do I stop torturing myself with "what if" questions? How do I stop the flood of pictures in my brain, all starring her plastered against him? How do I let go of my partner of twenty years? How do I let go of my friendship with her? How do I move on?

Violet

*Bambi - not her real name but it makes me smile to type it. I need smiles wherever and however I can find them.