Finding Forty, Day 125; Lessons

Progress.  I'm laughing heartily at myself.   No, I didn't do anything stupid today, at least not as it relates to S, but progress?   Really?   How dare I be so bold as to use that 'p' word.

The afternoon drive home found me sobbing again.  Sobbing.   I often wonder if I were to record the wails if they'd sound more like sperm whale mating calls or ghouls calling out from the depths of the catacombs.    More likely, they'd sound like the poor idiot who just found out on the Maury Povich show that her offspring is without a doubt, 99.9% NOT the offspring of the man she thought it was.   (On an aside, I always loved the tenths and hundredths of the percentages they gave.   As if 99 as a whole number wasn't enough!)

Now I'm cracking myself up.  Don't ask me why THAT analogy popped into my mind.

But this is my life, my mind, how it operates.

I started actually trying to figure out what the lessons were that I've learned or am yet to learn from all of this.   In a stream of consciousness effort and in NO particular order, I'm going to play a game with myself.   (I'm very, very good at games with myself).   I'm going to list the lessons I've learned from all this, vomit form, and in the end, I can sort through the chunks and see what stands out.

Here goes.

I've learned:

My judgment is NOT what I thought it was.
People you love will hurt you deeply.  DEEPLY.  And I am capable of hurting too.
Sex can be better with someone other than A.
Sex can be WAY better and can consume your thoughts.
Laughter is infectious and sexy and it feels wonderful to experience it on a daily basis.
I like to talk.
I like to write.
I love my kids and can't live without them.
I am restless and without a passion.
People either lie or "change their truths"
I'm too easy on some people.
I live in a fantasy world a lot of the time.
Food and alcohol are not really my friends.
In the end, this is my deal, I really am alone.
Wrinkles and gray hair thrive on stress.
Cortisol is a total bitch.
Crying is good, but it doesn't solve a damn thing.
Fear is paralyzing, as is heartbreak.
Panic attacks are real.
Sometimes the grass is greener because it's actually artificial turf.
A is a good and loyal soul.   He annoys me and amazes me in equal measures.
He also bores me to tears and ignores me much of the time.
My soul stirs and I yearn for freedom.
I have a lot of work to do in the liking myself department.
I am crazy, but not crazy.  I know it in my heart.
I'm scared to death.

As I said earlier, this list isn't complete, it's me, today.

Today my heart is piercing my soul, and as the blood seeps, it stings.   I'm so scared.  Scared of not being able to see what is before my eyes.   Or is it scared of not being able to let go and follow my heart?


Life is short, that's the other lesson I've learned.   Too bad I don't have a clue as to what the hell to make of that kernel of wisdom!

Finding Forty, Day 124; BIG

I have a new follower and she's pretty cool.   I mean, I love ALL of my followers, don't get me wrong.   What makes the new one so interesting is that she's a single mom whose husband left her and yet, she's still willing to read my drivel and make heartfelt comments on what I say.

In a recent comment, she posted about how she could relate to me.   She mentioned that she got it because on some level, we are all after THE BIG LOVE.

That's how she typed it and that's exactly how my love for S felt.   To me, he was my BIG LOVE.   THE  BIG LOVE.

I gave him all of my heart and he took it.   All of it.  Every last bloody ounce.   And now I find that most days, I feel heartless.  Dead.  Void.  Empty.

And I hate him for that.

I have no idea how his days go.   I envision him just rocking along like normal.  Like we never even existed.

I know that I sent him the birthday gift and I've not heard one word back about it.   Nothing.  Nada.  No email, no text, nothing.

For me, that is the nail in the coffin and I find that I'm utterly and totally pissed off.   Yes, yes and again yes, I know the writing has been on the wall.  No need to point out the obvious.  He's doing a fine job of that.

There have been heiroglyphics, smoke signals, banners pulled behind planes,  spray painted graffitti.  If I'm not mistaken, he even somehow managed to tattoo his denial of me right across my naive, stupid, little heart.  And to think he told me he hated tattoos!

He doesn't want me. 

He used me.

 And I was fool enough to let him.

I have never given of myself so completely, other than to my children when they were helpless infants and toddlers, and with them, I always received something in return.   I was so foolish to believe all of the things he told me.

And tonight, it all makes me blood boiling angry.

I wanted THE BIG LOVE.  I believed with all of my heart that I'd found it.   And that belief caused me to risk everything I knew and had known for decades.

He's an asshole.   An emotional terrorist as R calls  him.   And he's 'hi-jacked' me up.  

It's not fair that I can't get through a day without thinking of him 100 times.   The only difference now is that where I used to think of him, sigh, and utter the words, "I love him", I now think of him and with scorn in my voice and most definitely in my heart, I spit, "I HATE him".

The thing is, I'm not a hater.   I'm not the girl who is nasty and cruel and spiteful and ugly.   Compassion and empathy are my nature.

But I'm done making excuses for his shitty, poor, sorry excuse for a human being.   He did a terrible thing and if I can't bring justice on my own, I have to believe somewhere in my heart that his time will come. 

Yes, I know I cheated.   I betrayed the vows of my marriage and hurt A deeply.   I can't undo that travesty.   But in the process,  I was at least honest to everyone and I was open about my feelings.  

Maybe, in black and white, I'm no better than S.   I'm the same, scummy, low life that he knows he is.   The funny thing is, I think by blocking me out of his life and mind, he somehow believes he can make it all better, make it all untrue.

Whatever.   I believe that until he and his wife deal with their truth, their reality, no one ever gets to fully recover.

Certainly not me.   And yet I can't control one single thing he does.

I just want to scream tonight.

I have no real point to this.  I just needed to vent and this was my safe place.

My BIG LOVE ended up being the biggest mistake of my life.   The biggest loser, the biggest asshole, the biggest user.

And I'm left being the BIG IDIOT.

I'm sure there are BIG LESSONS to be learned here somewhere, but for now, I'll have to settle with BIG ANGER and DISAPPOINTMENT.


It's a Strange Condition...

Finding Forty, Day 121; Charlotte

Days slip by.  I don't mean not to write.  Sometimes I know what I want to say, I'm just afraid to even put it out here.

Other days, I feel blank, as if I have nothing.

Today is S's birthday.  I wish I could say I just let it go by, like any of the other 364 days of the year, but I didn't.

I didn't call or text.  I didn't email, although in the few birthdays we did share, our thing was to wish the other person a "happy birthday" before anyone else could, so we'd leave a well timed email in the other's inbox wishing them a happy day just at the stroke of midnight.

I'm happy to report, I slept right through midnight this morning and well past 7 a.m.

What I did do was send him a present.

I hate even admitting it and the instant I left the post office, I had a really sick feeling in my stomach.  Best I can surmise, it was a feeling of regret and embarrassment.  It was as if I pitied myself for being so weak.

The gift was a small, handmade, leather bound writing journal.   We once talked about how he would love to have one and as his birthday approached, I just thought I'd find a simple one and send it.

The journal was called The Epiphany Journal, which I found too ironic to pass up, although I know full well I should have.

He told me before that if I was waiting for him to have an epiphany, to let go of that dream, that he wasn't going to.

I never believed him.   Maybe I still don't, although with each passing day that we don't have contact, I see that he absolutely meant what he said.

So, yes, I sent the journal.   I included a card that was funny and a letter.  The letter wasn't one of my weepy, begging, please have the epiphany you said you'd never have letters.   It was a simple, straightforward, I hope this finds you well letter.

In the journal, I cut out passages from some of my favorite books and glued them on random pages.   Nothing lovey dovey.    Three of them were actually from children's books, if you can believe that.

There was a quote from the Star Wars book Attack of the Clones, an Emily Dickinson poem, a section from Bridge to Terabithia, which is very dear to me, and some quotes from Stephen King's Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption.

Another thing I included  was one of my most favorite of all, the last paragraph from E.B. White's Charlotte's Web.  These words have always resonated with me and for some reason, I was compelled to place them in the journal.

"Wilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both."
— E.B. White (Charlotte's Web) 

Don't ask my why I did it.   Please.   There won't be an answer that suits any logically minded person.   Also, don't chastise me either.  It's done.  Over. 

I'm not proud, not happy, not even hopeful it will do anything other than possibly stir a bit of pity in his heart for the sad, lonely, scorned lover who can't seem to let him go.

Thing is, I know I've been holding onto a fantasy.   Believe it or not, I really can see that now.   I just have to re-frame my thoughts and hopes, re-dream my dreams.   It can be done.  People do it everyday.

If I'd been thinking straight, I'd have ordered the Epiphany Journal for me.  I'm the one who could really use it. 

 

Finding Forty, Day 117; Progress

Progress.

I feel it coursing through me. One way I know I'm making progress is when I am embarrassed by posts like the one I made last night. In the grand scheme of things, my life is really good. No need to whine.

Progress means no sobbing tears over S lately. Those usually come with the wave of end of the cycle hormones, but even still, I feel some distance.

I also don't obsess about my phone anymore. When you aren't secretively waiting for the next text or email, there's no need to carry it with you everywhere, especially into the bathroom.

As for me, I've begun working out again and have added yoga to the mix. Already I am feeling the buzz of treating my body well. And my legs, one of my best physical assests, are starting to tone up again. They are strong and have held me up through three pregnancies, one marathon, five half marathons, and in general through this walk of life.

Progress is me looking upon them, a part of myself, with love and respect.

Progress is wanting today to be a good day and working to make it so!

**disclaimer**
this was typed from iPhone, and I bet there are several typos, but I won't be at computer to fix til later.

Finding Forty, Day 116: Airplanes

Holding pattern here.

Picture an airplane, full of anxious, annoyed travelers having to either sit on the tarmac for hours or circle past their landing a time or two.

While it's not altogether horrible and the flight attendant has provided a more than ample supply of pretzels, it's still mildly unsatisfying.

I want to land or take off, or be in transit, as the case may be.

I'm tired of the holding pattern.

A and I joke constantly about "single life".   We ate out tonight for dinner, just the two of us, and I made a joke about the joint being full of single people.  "Oh, make a note of this place for when we're single." I laughed.

He laughed back.

It's so weird. 

I grabbed his hands tonight, to demonstrate something a student had done to me today and immediately he said, "Grab my hands again!".

It made me feel weird and I jokingly replied, "If I do, am I sure to get laid?"

Yeah, I'm that coarse.

No one taught me not to be.

As a matter of fact, no one taught me HOW to be at all.

Last night, I began a series of letters and lessons to my boys.  They are based on all of the crucial things I wish I'd known or at least heard of before falling off my own, private, personal deep end.

As usual, folks, it's status quo here.

I don't know if A's business is viable for another month, much less another week.  It makes apartment hunting very hard.

And even if I did know where our money was, I'd still be scared.

Until next time,
K

I always loved flying...

Finding Forty, Day 114; A Day in The Life

A day in my life is fairly crazy, at least as far as my inner thoughts are concerned.

Slept in til 9, which is an absolute luxury.  I loved every nano second of it and thank the Sleep Gods profusely for indulging me this chance.  

Awoke rested and ready to make the most of this day, remembering I was loosely scheduled to meet a friend for coffee and girl talk.

As I walked to the coffee shop, A accompanied me and we were able to discuss our relationship in a neutral and open manner.  I always appreciate that.

My friend and I met and talked and pondered and shared for over two hours.   We work together, but our paths never cross, so it was lovely to spend time with her.  I value her opinion and see her as a strong, vibrant woman.   The more I grow to know her though, I also see her as fragile and vulnerable.   I see her as human.   That's a good thing and I  just want the best for her in life and hope she knows I'm there for her always as she figures this out.

Before I knew it, it was time to head home.   Of course, after having spent time with her discussing the details of my life, I wanted to keep talking with A.   As soon as I returned, I asked him, "Do you think we even have a chance of making it?"   Because in all honesty, I can't walk away from this marriage if I think there is a chance.   And deep down, I feel like there has to be.  I'm just not sure at what cost.

Now, having admitted that, I also have to admit that I feel suffocated at that thought and terrified and sad.   I'm not sure how the two go hand in hand.  There are slivers of him, of us, that spring forth to life from time to time, and when they do, they pierce.

I can't ignore it.

I also can't ignore the basic facts of who we are and who we've grown into.

We talked deeply for over an hour and then realized we had to be at middle son's soccer game.   Sometimes I try to pretend we are already divorced, but both equally involved in our children's lives.  I try to imagine how I would feel walking up to a soccer sideline, knowing we were once together but are now no longer.   Would my heart shatter?   Would tears well up in my eyes?   Or would I say, "Hey, how are you?" and not really skip a beat?

S told me many times that you can't "unknow".   In his context, he meant how he felt about me.   It was his way of assuring me he'd always love me.   Funny, it seems he's unknown me pretty well these past few months.    But on some level, I understand what he means.  I can't unknow A.  He will always be a part of me.   Especially in the faces and minds of these beautiful creatures we've created.

Once the soccer game ended, we headed home.  We had plans to eat dinner at a neighbor's house, but there was a few hours lag time.   I don't like empty moments.   They make me crazy, make my mind want to go to work.    And I've found in life that when my mind goes to work, sadness and hard moments abound.

Luckily, another neighbor was heading to Costco, so I bummed along.  I was able to get all the meals for this coming week, plus some healthy snacks and lunches for me for work.    I felt happy to be accomplishing something productive.

As we were checking out, a few aisles over was an older man who looked so much like S it pained me.  It was as if  he'd stepped into a time machine and fast forwarded 25 years.  I felt shocked, taken aback.   And then I felt a wave of sadness.   It made me realize that S lives his life, most likely content without me, running his own errands, with his own wife, just pushing me further and further away.   Unknowing me all the while.

I didn't let it totally derail me, though.  I came  home and began preparing for dinner.  I baked a homemade banana cake and made a gorgeous salad, showered, and headed to my friends' house.   Having the three couples there, laughing and savoring delicious food and drink was great.

During dinner, A told a story about the time that he and I tried to make blackened fish when we were in college.   Dense, acrid smoke filled our apartment and through tears and probably even laughter, we ate our spicy, charred dinner.   I looked at him across the room (because he sat at the furthest chair from me) and my heart hurt again.

Where did we go wrong?  Where did I get off track?

I'm sorry I'm always sad.   You know, I want readers and followers of this blog, but I understand if you can't tolerate my indecisiveness and fear and fickleness and everything else I happen to be.   In the end, I write this for me, to help me sort through my cluttered heart and mind.

Just know I really am trying.   In whatever mixed up way that is.

I do so want everyone to be okay.

Finding Forty, Day 113; Laughter

Saturday has arrived.  The weekend brings such bittersweet emotions.  I know I should savor it and enjoy my down time, but I also feel this pressing sense of urgency to do something or go somewhere or accomplish tasks or...whatever.

It's pretty obvious that I am not good at just 'being'.

Thursday night, after I'd finished the self help book I mentioned previously, I wanted to talk to A a bit.  He opened the door by making a comment on our communication skills and styles.


"You know, I'm not a good communicator and haven't been, but before the incident, you weren't communicating your needs all that well either."

I let what he said sink in and on surface level, I had to agree.

"You're right.  When I knew there was an unrest or a dissatisfaction, I should have told you." 

And I absolutely should have.  

Except in my mind, it doesn't feel like it evolved that way.   I never recall being acutely aware of what I was feeling, it was more of a slow and gradual build up.   None of this excuses my actions, I realize.

But talking about how we communicate led me to bring up the book I'd just read.  I told him a bit about it and then the conversation turned to us and where we are and what we still wanted.

"You confuse me," he said,  "You phrase things and choose your words to make it sound like we are working on this marriage and yet you act like you don't want to be around me."

"I don't know what to say or how to say it," I replied, "I know it sounds like I send mixed signals but I'm not sure what exactly we are doing here."

"Well, I thought I've made it very clear that as long as there is no pressing issue or overwhelming need to do anything drastic, we can just live like friends and help each other with the kids and see what happens."

In the darkness of our room, my face contorted as if I'd just taken a bite of something putrid. 

"Okay," I answered, "But I fear that one month turns into one year and then before we know it, we've let 5 years slip by of just living like roommates."

"Oh, I could never do that," he shot back, "I won't want to do that with you for that long."

He went on to tell me, though, that he still hopes I will come around, that I will fall back in love with him the way I used to, the way I was before "whatever switch flipped in you was flipped".    

It's very hard for me to not feel resentment when he pins it on me in that way.   I don't think a switch flipped.  I didn't just decide one day to not want to love him and I'm absolutely certain that I didn't get to this point all alone.

Yes, I cheated.  I take the responsibility.  Yes, it seems I'm the one who has moved on.   For that I assume full credit as well.   But I didn't just decide to change my life like one changes their outfit right before they head out the door for dinner.  

And he played a role in this.  

I tried to address this a bit, but we are so fearful of conflict, so afraid of honesty.   As we talked that night, the pauses before he'd say what he was thinking would come close to a minute in duration.   That may not seem like much, but try having a conversation with someone and not replying back to them for a full minute.   When the topic is as heavy as ours, that weighs on you and feels like an eternity!

He told me that he dreams of me wanting to be with him and be involved, so I said, "Well, okay, but I'm going to need laughter everyday."   And this is what happened next.

With a bit of a grunt, laced with disdain, he shot back, "Well, you're gonna have to watch a movie or something or talk to R to get your laughs."

My eyes popped open and I couldn't believe he was saying that.   He continued with, "It's not my job to make you laugh."

And it's not.  To which I agreed.   "Yes, you're right, I can't expect you to fulfill all of my needs.  You are absolutely right."    I followed with, "But, what CAN I ask you to provide for me?"    Because in my mind, in a committed, loving marriage that works, there ARE some things that are fair to ask for.

Pause.

Pause.

Slowly, he responded, "Well, I can give you love and support."

Love and support.   Those are amazing things.   So why do they leave me feeling so empty?

I guess I figure I can get love and support from my best friends.   And from my sister.   And from my children.

And I told him that, as nicely as I could.

Is it wrong for me to want my spouse to give me something a bit more?

Is it wrong for me to want to laugh with the person I share my life with?  To find true pleasure in our days and silly moments when we least expect it?    I don't think I feel bad about the fact that I need that.

Our conversation ended shortly thereafter.   It was late, we were tired, there wasn't anything new to say.

And so here we are.

Yesterday when I came in from work, he was on the computer, engrossed and busy.  I tried to tell him a funny story, but quickly discovered he wouldn't be able to listen.   When I mentioned I needed to run to the grocery store, he said, "Well, I'll go with you if you wait."

So, I waited.  At least 30 minutes.

When I asked, "Do you have any idea when you might be done?",  he said, "One sec..."

One sec turned into no response at all, so I got up and did my own thing.

Later, he said, "I'm sorry if I made you mad.  I just didn't say anything because I didn't have an answer."

But do you see how this is confusing and dejecting for me?   I didn't ASK him to go with me to the store, he offered.   I just wanted a bit of a time frame so I could plan accordingly.    Then, when he tells me 'one sec', it leads me to believe that an answer is forthcoming.    Instead I get nothing, silence, which he even admits that he does.

The silence speaks more than any words could and he just can't see that.   This morning when I tried to explain how it makes me feel, he told me that "people don't like hearing 'I don't know' as an answer."

So his solution is to outright ignore them? 

I don't see how that turns out any better for anyone.   Yeah, if he'd said "I don't know" when I asked how much longer, I'd have most likely been frustrated.   But at least I'd have been acknowledged and heard.   The silence just makes me feel neglected  and shunned.    It says to me, I don't care enough to even give you the courtesy of a reply.

And it's this avoidance  and closing off that gets so hard to deal with.

But alas, my Saturday is slipping away and I don't want to spend it working myself into a tizzy.

I think I'll put on my music and go for a walk.