Finding Forty, Day 111; Crumbs

I finished another self help book today.   In the past few years, I've grown obsessed with them.   In a desperate attempt to find validation, I thumb through page after page of life affirming words, written by strangers miles and miles away.

It's soothing.  It brings me comfort.  I like knowing I'm not the only broken cookie in the jar.

This book I read in less than 24 hours.   I must confess, I liked it, even though it was scary and at times annoying.

I want A to read it but I know he won't.  He doesn't like self help books at all.   He barely tolerated therapy or so it seems to me.  I know before Kenya left, he didn't see any need to continue visiting her.   "Why pay money to hear her tell me what I've heard her say before?" he'd ask.

Thing is, I could pay to see her daily.  I s'pose that's the depth of help I need.

And seeing how we are still on the verge of fiscal ruin, a $15 book I can read and reread seems more economical than a one hour visit at $100 with a complete stranger. 

The book was called "Too Good to Leave, Too Bad to Stay" and it outlines questions in a sort of check list format for you to work your way through answering.   The author's stance is that if you run across any element in the check list that gives you pause, and then cause for leaving, you will most likely be happy having done so.

Her take is that even if you have ONE thing that gives you reason to end your relationship,  you'll probably be happier if you left.

Out of 36 criteria, I had 19 that should indicate that leaving is okay.   I had 17 that indicated my marriage was too good to give up on.

You're not supposed to compare them or keep tallies.  One should be enough, but for me it's still not.

Regardless, having read the book, I find myself in a contemplative, pensive mood.   I so want A to read it or at least peruse it or possibly even ask me about it, but I know he won't.  He likes to avoid.

Speaking of avoiding, he's yet to visit the banker in light of our potential bankruptcy situation.   We continue to float along our river of denial.  

Going through the motions is our strong suit and I'm convinced we've done it for years, maybe even since the beginning of our relationship.   It just wasn't until after S was in the picture that I realized how uncomfortable and unappeasing it is to do.

With the weekend here, maybe we'll find time to really talk.   It's been a busy, tiring, week full of activities and appointments.  I want a slow pace, another good sleep, and some peace of mind.  I don't mind being a broken cookie,  I just don't want to feel alone anymore.

Finding Forty, Day 108; Oppressive

The humidity today was horrible, stifling.  Each time I stepped outside, I felt suffocated, choked, struggling for breath.

It probably didn't help that I chose to wear a black, maxi dress, but how was I to know how thick the air would be?

Today's weather is how I feel about my love life.  Nothing lately feels breezy, airy, light.

Either I'm missing S, wailing into the nothingness of my car as I drive home from work or I'm sitting at the dinner table feeling smothered by my life, my choices, by A.

I don't want to whine, so should probably just shut up now, but I truly am stuck.   I feel confused and unsure and scared.    I feel angry and frustrated.   Even though I have friends who love me, I still feel alone.   If for no other reason than that this is my problem, my dilemma, my situation from which to arise.

The more I think about S and how he's disposed of me, the angrier I get.  I trusted him, gave him my all and he tossed me aside.   I am angry with myself for not being able to move on, for being in such debilitating denial that it's left me feeling crazy most of the time.

A and I do okay, but are definitely in coasting mode.  That makes me mad too.   Why can't I just love him like I used to?  Why can't I just be happy with my life?   What is wrong with me?

Work is so much more difficult this year, which makes me sad because last year, it was one of my greatest joys in life.  I looked forward to going every, single day.   Not so much now.

But there is good.  I can always find something to smile about.   R says that my ability to find humor in my depths of despair astounds her.  I know I don't show it here much, but the two of us do share at least one laugh a day.   I can start with that.

Tonight I'm going to smile about a warm bath, a good book and my cozy bed.   I want to sleep like a baby tonight.    Nothing oppressive about that.

Finding Forty, Day 104; Wrinkles and Wisdom

For my birthday, the big one I just had in May, my friend R sent me a gift certificate to Sephora.   I love stores like that.

While not a girly girl, I do love to look pretty and I love to play in make up.   Ironically, I'm more apt to not wear anything than to "put on my face" before I leave the house.  I'm a concealer, lip gloss and mascara person, so a store like Sephora with a billion and one choices really throws me into a tizzy.

Having money that I get to spend on frivolous perks is fun, but also overwhelming at once.

Upon entering the website, I'm bombarded with choices.   Do I want make-up?  Hair supplies?   Tools like brushes or gear?    How about a fragrance or something for bath AND body?  Hmm...where does a simpleton begin?

In the past, I think I would have splurged on some exotic sounding make up.   This is very, very tempting.

It's called The Love Set and  comes with blush, lip pencil, and a gloss.  Anything with a blush included called Orgasm has GOT to be good.

Except, I don't need a trio called Love Set.   I lived that all last year and into this one.   I'm done with that.

Being part of "The Love Set" has taken a huge toll on me physically (see last night's post) and my face is really showing it.

Forty year old skin isn't as forgiving as it once was, say, six months ago even.   Apparently the salt from tears really, really wears out a groove under those old eyes and does nothing for crow's feet.   You know, that's cruel.  It would be awesome if I cried tears that included lipid enhancing qualities or Retin-A.

Which leads me to the Skincare section of the store.  Surely here I will find something to change my life or at least change the lines I wear like battle scars around my eyes.

The thing is, it's hard for me to shop because I become so mesmerized with the labels on everything.  What an amazing job it must be to get to come up with fun, fresh names for products.

After careful consideration and an equal mix of random clicking on things I liked, I've narrowed my top choices down to these.  It's going to be hard to choose.

Truth Serum.   Love it!   Wouldn't it be awesome if I could dab a bit on my skin and instantaneously I'd have to tell the truth, no matter how hard it would be?   I mean, I certainly make a stab at it now, but fear holds me back.   Their tag line could be "Remove the lines AND the lies!"

Here is a similar product.   "Express the Truth" is a wrinkle resistance face cream.    I've heard it said that 'the eyes don't lie'.   Maybe with this, the slogan could be transformed to "I don't lie'.   I'm not sure.

I think Philosophy nailed it with this one.   "Help me".   I've been squeezing off this tube for longer than I care to confess.     And on a totally random tangent, this product reminds me of one of my favorite movie scenes.   I'll add it because it definitely brings a smile to my face.

Help me...


These last ones are compelling too.

Okay, actually, this one cracks me up.   "When Hope is Not Enough".   Wow...the story of my life lately, both with my heart and on my face.  Seriously, this one might just be the front runner by default.

And yet the optimist in me can't just pass these by.

I can only imagine that if Lennon and McCartney could do it all over again, the lyrics would read, "All you need is hope, all you need is hope, all you need is hope, hope...Hope is all you need."    They could have further profited from their name with a line of women's beauty products. 

And lastly, we come to this one.

I'm totally digging the "hope will set you free" part, as what I'm craving in so many ways is freedom.  Freedom to be me,  free from the heartbreak and pain, free from all the yuck.   I just am not sure I can buy this set because of the Purity label.   Certainly, there's nothing pure about me anymore.

As you can imagine, shopping with me is exhausting.   Just ask R.   The first time she ever met me, we stopped at a liquor store to buy something and I was overwhelmed.  I'd never really been in one before and I went into sensory overload and almost shut down.

It's how I am with any decision, be it face cream or my next move in life.   At least with the beauty products I can return what I don't like or stop using it if it doesn't work or causes me to break out.   In life, choices aren't always that convenient.

But, much like the present R sent me, I have been given the gift of life, the gift of choice.   I plan to spend wisely.

Finding Forty, Day 103; Shockingly Six

Wow!

Wasn't sure what in the hell I'd write about tonight, but now I have my fodder.

All day long I've been missing S.   I don't really like to write about it, because there are certain readers who particularly hate him and never hesitate to let me know.

Last night I dreamed of him.  Dreamed of showing him my new, short hair.   Today, and yes, I will sadly admit this, I took pictures of myself, of my short hair and seriously contemplated sending them to him.

I know it's for naught.   I know it only makes me look pitiful.   But I still cry.   And I don't mean the single, solitary, Indian crying over the state of garbage in our world, sort of tear.

I SOB.   I scream at the top of my lungs, I wail, I run the mascara, I make my throat raw.  I cry.    Missing S still 100% consumes me.    And yes, I hate admitting that.

So, flash forward to tonight.   I'm on the computer, helping son #3, who is only 6, gather pictures for an assignment for class.  He needs a picture of everyone in his family.    We quickly peruse through my album and then completely out of the blue he says to me, "You were way happier and skinnier when I was young."

I shook my head as if to make sure I heard him correctly.   My eyes bugged out and I asked him to repeat himself.   For the second time, he said the same thing.

My throat clenched.   What could I say?  

"Yes, sweetie.   Mommy WAS happier.   Everyday last year, she spent a good deal of time talking to another man other than your daddy.   That man made her laugh, made her love.  Made her feel a way that she had never felt before.    She was skinny because she didn't care about food.   All she wanted was more of him."  I could have said that.

I could have followed with, "And guess what, baby?"   "That same man completely dumped me.   What Mommy thought was honest to God, true, everlasting love...well, he didn't really see it that way."

I could continue on with, "So, yes, Mommy has gained some weight.   Lately it seems that food is really the only thing that I feel like won't let me down.   It makes me feel good and I can control every other aspect about it.   It comforts me, brings me pleasure and is always there for me.  Very unlike the man I so loved last year."

I could also say, "And yes, I was happier.   Mommy's heart was so full of love, she didn't even know what to do.   For the first time in her life, she was able to be herself and admit and confess to all of her quirky, odd ball ways.    And she truly thought that the person she was sharing all of that with loved her back and would always love her back."

I don't want to have to add, "But, guess what darling?   People say things they don't mean.   They tell you all sorts of beautiful, heart wrenching stories and words that make you believe that magic really can happen.    And then they get scared, or realize they have changed their mind, and then, in an instant, they take it all away."

It's no wonder I'm not as happy.

It's no wonder I'm not as fit.

Dealing with a broken heart makes for a shitty existence.   In the midst of it all, I haven't been as chipper, nor have I given a shit about how I looked.

And yet, now I do.  

My six year old notices.  

That means something to me.

I'm so sorry I've let myself go like this.  I'm so sorry I got so incredibly sad.

Who has benefited from this?

Who?

In then end, I think no one.

Finding Forty, Day 101; Fear Less

I've never seen The Exorcist.  I've never seen most horror movies.   Scary movies are not my thing.   They are disturbing, graphic, and I don't have time to be completely and totally freaked out.

Not having ever seen The Exorcist has led me to formulate many hypothetical scenarios about the movie.   If you don't know about something, your imagination can create a world far, far more dangerous and vile than the reality might be.   I can't say for sure and I'm not willing to watch the movie to find out.


I've also never bungie jumped or dreamed of sky diving.  I don't thrive on fear.   I'd rather get my adrenaline rush from a great bite of dark chocolate than free falling from an airplane.    Fear and I just probably wouldn't be friends if we met at a sorority party. 

The thing is, as terrifying as that movie or sky diving or anything of that nature seems to me, real life lately is scaring me even more.   The fear I feel about the decisions I *think* I have made leave me paralyzed and in a bit of a panic.

I knew the status quo wasn't working for me.  I think that if I allowed it, kept my mouth shut about S, hid all of my crying for when I was alone in my car or in the confines of the shower, A could have lived out the rest of his days with me.   I am not so sure I could say the same.

I don't want to cry in the shower to muffle my sobs.  I don't want to cry in my cute, fun car and then have to wipe my face clean and take 10 deep breaths before walking into the house.   I don't want to live the rest of my life pushing my emotions away.

Talking to A is always so scary.   He's such a nice guy, I hate to bring up things that are disruptive or uncomfortable.   Telling someone you feel like you love them, but have moved on from them is one of the worst things possible. 

I hint at it.  I ask a lot of "what if..." and "do you think..." sort of questions.  I want his permission to feel the way I feel, I want his understanding.   And for the most part, when he can separate himself from this mess, I do think he understands.

On Friday night, it occurred to me that the two things I love most about A are his amazing fathering skills and the way he is full of rock solid, compassionate advice.   I realized that both of those things can be savored whether we are married or not.    What he is unable and/or unwilling to provide are the things I need most.

It felt good to realize and accept that.

What didn't feel so good was trying to convey this epiphany to him.

Anyway, last night, I was feeling amorous and asked if he wanted to make love.   He told me no.   I'm not surprised, but that does hurt me a bit.   Not my feelings, but the realization that in wanting my freedom, it truly means letting A go.   I can't seem to make those things go hand in hand.  But I know I cannot have it both ways.   I can't.   It's insanely unfair to him.

When I awoke this morning, he wasn't in our bed.   Looking over at his side, with it empty, my heart flipped and I immediately jumped up to find him.   He'd spent the night in our son's bottom bunk.  He'd gotten up to read when he couldn't fall asleep last night and just ended up there.

Why do I panic when we make a move for what I want?   He deserves someone who loves him more than I do.   I deserve someone who can and wants to pay attention to my needs.   Neither one of us are bad people (save my affair) and we care about the other.  I just have grown to believe that our relationship has run its course.

And yet, today, we've had a good day.   We've talked, even laughed a bit.   We haven't kissed or hugged or even held hands, but we've been able to be around one another.

The Exorcist doesn't have anything on the fear this makes me feel.   I can't imagine living with him for the rest of my life, but I certainly can't fathom living without him either.

I'm more scared than I've ever been in my entire life.

Petrified, frozen with fear and unsure about how and what to do next.

The thought of the kids and how this impacts them just further perpetuates the fear.

And yet, the need to step outside this, to find me, the me that is separate from A, it just feels too strong to push away.

Sometimes I wish it was as simple as exorcising a demon or pulling a rip-cord, those seem lame in comparison to uprooting a sweet family and starting anew.

But the fears must be faced, one way or another.  

**As further proof of what a huge chicken I am, I first googled images from The Exorcist to add to this blog but was too afraid to look at them and post them here.   I know it would have been far more interesting, but I  just couldn't.   Imagine now, how scared I am to do the necessary things I have to do in REAL LIFE!**

Finding Forty, Day 99; Whoopi

Wow!  I last blogged on Wednesday.  Damn, I'm slipping.   My apologies.   I'll blame it on the hormones.  I knew they had to be fucking with me this week because the influx of sadness and tears was just more than usual and sure enough, on Friday morning, I started my period. 

My emotions bounced all over the place.

Fortunately for me, I have excellent friends.  R, who lives miles and miles and miles away, is amazing.   She's been my rock of support since before the affair and daily she brings a smile to my face.  Actually, she brings more than a smile.  She makes me laugh out loud.   I can think about things she says and will laugh hours later.  She's awesome like that.

The other day, after that dream I had about S, our texts went something like this:

Her:  You better today?  Sleep ok?
Me:  Yes, thanks.   Did sleep better, trying to find a way to broach separation talk again.  This status quo doesn't work for me.
Her:  I"ll do it for you.  Like Whoopi did in Ghost.  Molly girl, you in danger.
Me:  OMG.   You're a hoot.
Her:  I'll be your Whoopi.
Me:  Danger of stagnating?
Her:  No, that happened ages ago!

She is hilariously funny, but also brings the real.

Yesterday, we were able to IM a bit.   Before I worked we'd spend more time than I'd ever dream of admitting instant messaging.   I miss talking to her in that way, so any chance I get, I'll pop online and shoot the shit with her. 

Lately, she's been sexting with an old flame and that always provides fodder for laughs.   We also always talk about my situation because as I said earlier, she's been a pillar of strength and support for me for many years now. 

What follows is a fairly typical conversation for us, but this is what we discussed yesterday.

Me:  Yo!
Her:  Sup yo!   How are you?
Me:  Not bad.   I really think this weekend I'm going to talk to A.   It's just so hard, so scary.
Her:  I know, it is hard and will be a bit scary.   Much like anal sex.
Me:  Right!  Anal sex IS scary.    I've tried it with A and it hurt like hell.   My little sphincter was as closed as a liquor store in Texas on a Sunday afternoon.  Funny though, I always wanted to do anal with S.   With him, I bet my ass would be as open as the Grand Canyon. 
Her:  Oh boy!
Her:   You should see what I have going on in my other IM window.
Her:   I'm sexting with F as he's driving his son to practice.
Me:  Oh my!
Her:  Apparently, butthole licking is huge in porn right now!
Me:  Eww, gross.    Although, if S wanted me to lick his ass, I would.   Probably in the shower though.
Her:  If S wanted you to eat his shit, I'm sure you would.
Me:  I would.  Sad, but true.

And through it all, she loves me still.   I can be me, shit eating, asshole licking, daydreaming dork and she will just roll her eyes as she's rolling with my punches.

Recently I told her that I missed S terribly and that it had sort of hit me anew that he'd truly broken my heart.   This was her reply:

"No surprise the heart was broken.  I saw pretty much a lot o f what he was saying all last year and why WOULDN'T you believe he was just as invested in the relationship as you were?  PRICK!  Don't even get me going on that emotional terrorist!  I wish I had easy tips on how to stop thinking about someone who really impacted your life experience."

Yeah, she makes me smile.   My Whoopi tends to have that effect on people. 

Finding Forty, Day 96; Soup Aisle

Sometimes it happens on the canned soup aisle in the grocery store.   I'll be standing there,  comparing brands and calculating sodium and fat content, when an old Asian or African American woman will push her cart past mine.   As I look up and see her yellowed, wrinkled skin, a wave of sadness will wash over me.  

I don't know my mom's exact lineage, but she was definitely olive complected.   Very unlike the white of my skin.

Even though I hadn't been thinking of her, feeling her, selfishly even needing her in that moment, there she is.    In that moment, I was genuinely debating the benefits of Low Fat Progresso soup over a can of Healthy Choice.  

And yet, there I stand, blindsided by a fellow shopper.

It happened to me last night.

For a few weeks now (see how good I'm doing...I can't even tell you the exact number of days), I've had no contact with S.   I've even been so busy back at work and so genuinely excited about it, that I can make it from sunrise to sunset with nary a thought of that man.

I have been proud of myself.   Maybe too proud?  Or perhaps too relaxed?

For last night, while I slept, he slipped into my dreams.

Before I realized it, there he was.   Standing in front of me, less than an arm's length away.   My heart lurched, squeezed, flipped.

We embraced and I could feel his warm breath on my neck, the scruff of his goatee on my cheek, the smell of him in my nostrils.

It was heaven.

As he held me close, he whispered in my ear, "Do you really, honestly think we could make it?" and as I kissed his lips, I murmured, "I always knew it'd be hard, but I never doubted for one second."

And then, as dreams are wont to do, A walked up and S and I quickly parted.   As if he'd been listening to our conversation, A interjected, "I know exactly how things would turn out."    There was more than a hint of disdain in his voice.

Resentment flooded me and all I wanted to do was find my way back into the arms of the man I love...S.

But the moment had passed and before I knew it, I was riding shotgun to A, driving home over hilly terrain, plotting when I might see S again.

The rest of the night was fraught with more hints of S, with a huge appearance from his wife.   It was as if I was seeing her for the first time, in an entirely new light.   In the dream, I knew I was the outsider, the unwanted one, although neither she nor S were truly happy.

I awoke to the most unsatisfied, heavy hearted feeling I've felt in ages.   All day long, thoughts of S gnawed at me, with little reminders of him cropping up everywhere.

I've wanted to talk about it to someone all day long and honestly, there is no one.   Who wants to hear this?  Who has an answer?  No one.

And at this point, I certainly can't drop another $100 on a new therapist to listen to my drivel.

It's just like life to throw you a curve ball and mind you, I know full well, I'm talking Little League play compared to what terrible realities lurk just around the corner.  I know this is small potatoes.

It's just that I felt so strong lately, so willing to move in the right direction.   It's hard when my subconscious can't even let him go.

And with that, the workings of my mind at rest, I realize how deeply I do still miss him.   And how lost I still feel.   And trapped.   And scared.   And poor.   And tired.  

But life goes on and I have to live.   I wouldn't have it any other way.   So, live I must.   However that ends up looking.

However that might be.