Yesterday was 5 months. 5 months since my entire world turned into some type of Lifetime for Women movie and everything that I trusted in as normal simply withered away.
5 months ago winter was just starting–the world was cold and desolate with no end in sight. And now, the whole world is green again. Mint is budding, grass is flourishing, cherry blossom trees are in their yearly week of pink glory. Days are long and nights sitting outside have resumed with regularity.
5 months ago, things that seem incredibly preposterous now were just…the norm. PC: I’m leaving you for the Trollup but we’re going to live in the same house. Me: Okay… Really, think of the absurdity of that: he’s leaving me for another woman but is still going to retain his status as “husband” by sleeping here, utilizing the gym, showering in the comforts of home but then leaving to spend the night with his Trollup. And I said, okay…
5 month ago…I was strung with a million different emotions, most of which revolved around crying uncontrollably. I think back and almost feel…embarrassed. I know there is no reason to…divorce and the end of a long relationship is a death in many ways. He did break my heart. But…
5 months ago I could not be around him without feeling a mixed up flurry of emotions. Heartbreak, sadness, hurt, anger, disbelief. Now? Its just a lot of hatred and anger. We cannot speak. Our communication is minimal and via text. It is often fraught with dysfunction and verbal abuse on his end. Face to face conversations instantly become volatile because I am so filled with rage at what an asshole PC is to me, that I cannot even ask a simple question without wanting to bash his head in.
5 months ago I looked at our history with longing and nostalgia. Now…I see it with clarity. It was never really real. He never, ever treated me like I should have been treated. He controlled and manipulated. He is an alcoholic and a narcissist. I submitted and accepted this not because I was weak…but because I loved him despite his flaws. Funny, huh?
5 months ago his insanity and verbal abuse would send me into a tailspin. Now? Eh. I am just ignoring him. In the past few weeks he has claimed that I am (a) a lesbian (b) bipolar (c) someone who belongs in an institution. He has threatened to have a mental evaluation done on me to prove this. BRING. IT. ON. Please, PC. Spend an inordinate amount of money to have a professional evaluate me and tell the world that there is NOTHING wrong with me other than that I am the victim–yes, victim–of a controlling marriage and abusive divorce.
And so my lovely medium/therapist friend pointed out to me recently, while I was regaling my woes of getting nowhere in this process, that I’m 5 months closer than I was 5 months ago. Simple math, but really. I am not who I was 5 months ago. I think back to things he said and did my reactions and I want to go back in time and shake myself. Woman up, girlfriend! Stop believing his bullshit!
But of course, I cannot. And this is the process. I cannot tell you that I am rising above and forging ahead and full of hope for the future, because I’m not (quite) there yet. I’m still undone by a cruel text, a piece of bad news, or the occasional shattering reality when I stop and think, oh my god, this is my life.
This is my life. While he lives some fantasy version of playing house with the Trollup and their combined offspring, hoarding all the money and just…trading her in for me, I’m left here alone. Single mom. No clue from day-to-day what drama will be thrown at me. No clue whether I’ll wake up with a go-get-em attitude or whether the day will wear on me and my night will consist of maudlin thoughts over many glasses of wine. Its a crapshoot.
5 months ago, PC poured me a glass of straight vodka and proceeded to tell me he was leaving me. If that is telling of our whole life, I don’t know what is. Him, making spontaneous, spur of the moment, life-altering decisions without consulting me. Always complimented with booze of some sort.
Today, I was driving and ended up behind him (happens more often than you’d think.) I was behind him for a while, and I watched him in his stupid, dumb two-door car. How he smoked with his right hand even though the left hand is by the window. How he continuously changed stations and reached across himself to ash out the window. The familiarity of it all was crushing.
5 months does a lot. And my hatred and my realization of how little he truly thought of me weighs heavy. The desire for familiarity and comfort pushes down on the other side of the scale. And in the middle? Just me. Hanging on for another day, sitting on my patio of the beloved home I must sell, listening to Meatloaf and wondering where I’ll be in another 5 months…